The fires were burning on the horizon again,
throwing plumes of smoke across the distant, hazy sky.
The wind carried the smell of burnt meat towards me as I walked, dragging Old Faithful(my home made, long handled hammer) behind me. 

Ha home... now thats funny.

It clunked off rubble and odd items as I made my way down the street, abandoned houses rose up on either side of me.

The sun was getting lower, the sky was clear except for the smoke
It was going to be a clear night.

I thought to my self "I might watch the fires tonight..."

Bringing my free arm to my fast I wiped my nose on the dirt sleeve of my top, I sniffed again as I stopped outside a house.

It was identical to the rest on the street, two stories, semi detached, front and rear garden, perfect for families and young couples

I chocked back a laugh 

I was never interested in real-estate before.

I lent on the handle of my hammer and watched the windows closely for a few minuets.
Nothing. 
I lent down and picked a good size hunk of metal near my feet
I sniffed again and strode a few steps closer, measuring the distance between me and the door. The knocker gleamed in the low light.
I sniffed again and threw the chunk, it bounced of the door with a dull thud.

I waited and watched.




/really sucks :I/




 

He ushers me away, pushing me towards the sound of
joyous music and laughter. My face contorts horribly as I try to smile. I've
lost the ability to express happiness. What's to be happy about, though?

Nothing. That's the answer. Nothing, nothing, nothing. We’re all dancing
to a tune of nothing. Wasting our time pursuing cheerfulness, which we
will never be able to attain again. Never, ever, ever. Rich says I dwell on
things too long. Never move on. But there's no point in trying if you're only
going to be pushed back down, deeper than ever.

So I must allow myself to be enveloped in the sadness and fear, greet
them like old friends . To prepare myself for the worst, to
toughen myself up, to remind myself that
things aren't going to get better. So that...so that when the worst
comes, I'm prepared.

Focus on the negative, Astrid. Focus on the negative.

 

 

*

 

It began about a year ago. I don’t remember it well; it’s a distant
memory enveloped in thick fog. There had been quite a few rumours cutting
through the country, but most dismissed them without interest. Some drove
themselves demented; covering up their homes and providing a hideout if the WD
should come; installing alarms and not letting their children go anywhere
without a responsible adult supervising them.

And then group of WD dragged themselves into Southampton and feasted
upon a thousand unfortunate people; women, children, and men alike. I can
recall the grotesque images projected on the television; children’s legs lying
mangled beside smashed-in houses; a motionless head, eyes still eerily open,
staring straight into death with dry blood caked on the wall it was seated upon;
wounded survivors moaning, clutching lost limbs as they were sped away on
stretchers supplied by ambulances; grieving families weeping while they stood
by the remnants of their deceased loved ones.

 

The WD aren’t exactly zombies, but quite similar. They aren’t people who
have been dead for many years and then suddenly rise from their graves. They
get infected because they have either been bitten, and disease injected into
their bloodstream; or they eat something with some WD stuff in them; or they
are coughed on by a WD or someone who is suffering from WDI (walking dead
infection). No-one quite knows what happened to the first WDs to make them come
about, though.

If they have been found, they are put into quarantine to await a cure. If
they aren’t found, they lay alone in misery until the transformation is
complete, and then search for blood; their whole un-dead life consumed by the
lust for it. During the week period, the infected fall very sick. Symptoms
include general illness, frothing at the mouth, intense coughing and hacking,
and then thirsting for the red bodily fluid that flows in us.

It’s horrible.

It’s what my parents are going through.

Dad? Are you managing to survive, cooped up in your solitary little cell?
Or are you already dreaming of blood?

Mum? How’re you feeling? Wanting to see Rich? You and he always had a
special connection. You always wanted a little boy.

Mum? Dad? Can you hear me? Can you hear me weeping and begging for your
well-being and comfort?

i think it's time to pick up the action XD 

ps i have no idea how to get rid of these huge spaces