Survival Without a Plot

The Third Lie They Feed You

The third lie they feed you: there's nothing you can wear to stop them biting you, might as well just wear a t-shirt.

It's weird, because when I left I knew that wouldn't work. Me and my friends had often joked about the stupidity of wearing tiny skirts and crop tops. But I suppose there wasn't much to hand in the movies. I gathered things over time. First, there was vests and shirts, then jumpers and coats. When I did finally run, I took as much as possible with me. But it turns out that a lot of things are actually quite restricting. It's about finding a balance. I feel like a struggle with that. I can't find a balance between logic and emotion, or the city and survival, or protection and being free to move, or just about anything really. My imbalance helps me survive though. When I got out of the city, it seemed logical to turn everything black and white. It's probably not so good for my mental health, but neither are the zombies roaming the earth. It's the end of mankind, my mental health is really not the important in the grand scheme of things. Yes, the end of mankind. What kind of coming back from this is there? Sure, there's a few cures going around. But the zombie to human ratio is about 100 to 1. I don't think we're going to win. To get things back to the normal the absolute first thing to do would be to enough zombies to get the ratio to at least 1 to 2. We have to be at least double them. Which is highly unlikely. Then, we would need to keep that number like that while we mass produced the cure, which we could then use on all remaining zombies. Then, we would have to find a place for all the corpses, and all the broken building parts and ashes from fires and all that stuff. Then, I reckon, we would all have to gather in one country and spread ourselves our from there.
I know; for someone so obsessed with the black and white and doom and gloom, I have a surprisingly air tight plan. But step one is next to impossible. So, yeah.

Anyway, as I move closer to the farm and the fence begins to just edge into sight over the horizon, I hear a rustling in the grass behind me. I whip myself around, scanning the taller grass for any signs of life. The grass is undisturbed, and I briefly wonder about the wind, before heading towards the farm once more.

The farm is empty as always. The lack of life at a place like this used to creep me out, but the numbness that comes with the apocalypse is enough to slowly deter me from sadness. All the happy signs are faded and rotting in the rain. The last pig lies in the mud, tired and old. I would mourn for her death, but I have to eat. I take out my little bloodstained pocket knife and cut her quickly in the most humane way possible. She doesn't even squeal, her eyes slowly close, and I pick her up. How the fuck I'm going to find somewhere else to get meat I don't know. I briefly glance over at the map on one of the building walls, but they would put a rival farm on their map. And I've looked at it every time I come here. It's not like they're going to come back from the undead to write down instructions for me. After sighing, I adjust the pig, and head back to the barn.