Thursday, September 12, 2013


My name is Amy. I'm twenty years old and I just finished my second year of college. I love the hell out of shopping and make-up. I have way too much of it to count but I still find myself going back for more. I could literally live in a make-up store. It's my addiction. Or rather, it was. Nowadays there's more important things for me to worry about. You know, like the apocalypse.

Before an apocalypse happens, everyone talks about it with a fevered excitement.

Seriously. Stop me if you've had this conversation before. You know the one.

The one where people talk about what they would do, how they would do it, where they would go and so on. If you lived in a food store, then you would never go hungry. You could always hunker down in a weapon shop. If someone came after you, you could always fill them with bullets and be done with it. Hole up in your house, live off of what you have. The solutions are always cut and dry, and the goal is to be a complete and total bad ass, and most importantly: survive.

Then, one day you're actually there. You realize that it's like a survivor movie where even the most sane among us turn absolutely and completely rabid. What the disease doesn't kill, stupidity, greed and sheer panic will. Truly, only the strongest claw their way to the top. Or that's what everyone is lead to believe.

Yet, somehow I'm here.

I'm not exactly the kind of person that even I would consider apocalypse ready. I'm on the short side and I'm not exactly trained in any way to defend myself. I carried mace in my trendy little purse (that totally matched my nails, by the way) as a precaution, but nothing ever came of it.

But yesterday, I killed a man.

I put a bullet in his head because he was bitten. Once that happens there's no turning back. The movies are accurate about that part. You get bitten by a zombie, it's like rabies, but more vicious. Anything that made your loved one human, gone. Save for their face. That's what makes it difficult.

I didn't want to kill him. He was like a father to me, but I had to and I did. I watched him die, heard his last words, his last breath...

And no amount of retail therapy will ever get the image out of my mind.

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