The road is long. I can see the sun peaking over the dusty, shadowed path. After losing everything, everyone, I'm walking in these dirty, old clothes, sunglasses, a rucksack over my shoulder, and a hand gun in my pocket.
This place is desolate, worn down, like the rest of this God-forsaken world. Here, in this nuclear winter, the cold seems to make my bones stronger. I'm done crying, done whining like a small child over things I couldn't stop from happening. I couldn't stop those murders, couldn't stop those injections, viruses, fumes...
I hold my head up high and choke down the last of my tears. A long, dark ponytail sweeps across the back of my jacket. Crickets, frogs, birds. I remember the sounds that used to haunt the days and nights. But there are no more trees, no more sounds. I sweep these now useless memories into the back of my head and move on in the silent and dirty air, a scarf over my nose and mouth.
And down the road I walk, alone; ready to kill anyone who crosses my path. And here, I start to feel the young girl I used to be crack open like an egg shell and fall to pieces at my feet.
Now, here is a woman; Tough and ridged from the years of loss and pain; ready to fight.