Wren is a seventeen year old girl who does what she needs to do to survive. She was born a year before the apocalypse. Wren has two sisters who care of her, teaching the young child to fight, hunt, and survive.
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Sixteen years of fighting, going...
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>~PART ONE~< ~<>~
A/N- I'm changing Eliana to Wren (which is you) so if it says Eliana don't mind that.
Walking. That word is horribly familiar with everyone. That's all we do now. We just keep walking. I'm pretty sure nobody has a great idea of where we are right now. But in the hopes to find a home, we keep going.
We've kept on going for years. Losing people we love. People that helped my sisters raise me. People that loved us and we loved them. We've lost so much, even ourselves.
Like yesterday, we lost someone. His name was Bernie. He always wore Hawaiian shirts, just to upset Magna, and his smile and dad jokes always seemed to cut the tenseness of the air. Magna was too upset to put him down. So he's walking around somewhere, he's going to keep roaming the earth until a random human will stick a knife, bullet, spear, or arrow in his head without thinking. Like he wasn't a person before, like he didn't have a life, or a family before the infection spread.
Nobody has really spoke at all since yesterday. I guess we're still in a weird type of shock.
I looked around, keeping a good eye out for sickos. That's what we call them, the dead...the walking dead.
Connie can't hear them (she can't hear at all), but she can feel a hoard of sickos from miles away, which I think is really cool. Kelly can't hear super great, it's sadly getting worse and worse. Connie told me she isn't worried about it, but it's obvious that she's really worried. Magna and I even agreed she was worried, it's just too obvious. The always checking in, or the side eyes when Kelly doesn't hear one of us speak up or when a sicko is behind her.
Connie is worried about my hearing too, but I know it will get worse and worse. Both of our parents were deaf, so it's in our genes. I've also never met my parents, I was only a year old when shit hit the fan. I'm sixteen years old and I don't know when I'll be seventeen, wasn't it a thing before the fall to celebrate your birthday?
Sixteen years of surviving, Of growing up in the apocalypse. Luke always reminds me, "You've grown, adapted, survived and lived in a world full of people that come back from the dead and try to kill you. And you did it for sixteen years." And I always reply, "Yeah, but I've been surviving for the same amount of years as you, just different ages at the start." And he always nods his head and smiles.
There is only six people in my group. (counting me)
Magna. Magna is a badass. She does what she has to in a world like this. She kills. People and sickos. But the only reason she does it is for us. Magna is like our leader, but she's too selfless to think of herself in such an important role. "We are fighters. Facing a world like this you've got to do things you don't like."
Luke. "The music teacher." He's not very strong, but he will kill. He's killed sickos and people. But only for survival, everyone's killed someone or something before. Luke blabbers about music 24/7. We know almost every story he tells us by heart, but we love it. "At the end of the day, I pretty sure that music is going to be the only thing that keeps us full of hope."
