Authors Note: Hi, I'm Moxie. I've traversed this site for about 3 and ½ years now, but this is my first-ever fanfiction published on here. I really hope you like it, and please feel free to review.

By the way, I don't say what year it is; just know that Norman is indeed 11 in this story.

The world is gone, and so is civilization. I have to face that fact. It's been taken over by these…things. These crazy, undead things that used to be people but will eat you alive without a second thought or a first thought for that matter.

No one was ready when it happened, and I've yet to meet someone who wasn't scattered when the outbreak shook the world a few weeks ago. As for me, yeah, I'm scared out of my wits. I was with my family visiting relatives in Georgia when it happened. We managed to do OK in my cousins house for the first week, but then his neighborhood got overrun with Walkers (the name of the undead monsters) and we got separated from each other. I managed to evade them somehow and hopped a ride on one of the many cars speeding out that were taking any and all people they could. When it comes to my family…..I have no idea if they got out or no. Whether they're safe or…..I don't want to think about that.

I never got along with them, but to think that they went through such a horrible fate makes me break and try to piece together my heart, as well as my sanity. This is why I've started to write things down in this journal; to attempt to keep myself sane, even when things get bad, or when they get inevitably worse.

Trying to keep myself off of…that I started observing that there are a lot more ghosts since it happened; many of them victims of Walkers, or the ghosts of former Walkers. From what I can tell, when you turn you can't become a ghost until someone kills your undead form. Once they do, you either pass on or become of the many spirits I've seen lately. Some select few retain their appearance from when they were alive, but most stay in their walker form, except now they have the ability to speak. I have actually talked to more than a few of them and it's very fascinating to hear about what it's like being a Walker. Evidently you can still move and hear, but all of your memories, interests, and the all of the things that make you human are gone. You don't have any thoughts at all, you're just stumbling along until your instincts tell you to kill and eat any living thing you come across.

Oh, and I found out early on that I can actually understand Walkers. To a normal person, they will only hear one growl, moan, or hiss. But to me, I hear one single word: hungry. That word is more than enough to keep me petrified basically 24/7, since I hear it all the time, in every place I go, in the most bone chilling fashion imaginable. As if being thrown into this new, dangerous world wasn't bad enough.

I've been on my own for about 2 weeks now. At least I think so. It's getting harder to keep track of the days. At first, when I got out of that neighborhood with the other people, I was so shook up that I barely registered that the driver was telling all of us he was planning on heading towards Atlanta. When I asked why, he said he had heard rumors about it being a safe zone.

Normally, I would've raised my eyebrow at such a statement. Why would such a large city, packed to the brim with people, be safe during an outbreak? However, I was so mentally drained and scared that I ignored my suspicions and kept my mouth shut. It had to get better, right? After all that craziness getting out of the neighborhood? It seemed that way….for about 5 minutes.

I have no idea what happened with the driver, either he saw something scary, was too invested in his thoughts, or was still riled up from the events taken place (or all three). Because the next thing I knew, the car smashed sideways into several trees. I'm not sure exactly what happened. First I heard a scream, and then I remember getting jerked around. I think I blacked out for a bit because I remember opening my eyes to see that I was strewn about the forest floor, the car smashed and slightly on fire beside me. I seemed to be fine, nothing more than some scrapes and bruises (with some slight head trauma dashed in), but as for the people I was with…what I saw made my blood turn to ice. All I needed to see were the ghosts hovering above the corpses to make me grab my backpack and run as fast as I could.

I ran for God knows how long before stopping to catch my breath. By then it was getting close to nighttime and I realized I needed shelter. I saw a sign up ahead that advertised a gas station several miles down the road. I walked until my legs felt like they were about to fall off to the small store. The place was thankfully abandoned and I even managed to find some provisions to last me at least a few days.

When I finally settled down into the break room of the shop, I let the true gravity of the situation settle in, and did something I rarely ever do: I cried. I cried for my family, I cried for those innocent neighbors, I cried for the people who let me ride with them, I cried for every ghost forced to be a Walker, I cried for myself. I cried because the world was gone, and so was everyone I knew. For the first time I wished I wasn't alone.

My tears ran out after an hour. I sniffed and looked out at the decrepit gas station, the sounds of ever-present Walkers lacing the air. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and closed my eyes tightly, hoping for a dreamless sleep.

That was several weeks ago. Right now, I'm walking my way towards Atlanta, praying I find that supposed safe zone. I've been trying to reach it since the day after the incident. Every day I usually stop for a few hours to sleep and find new supplies, maybe with a few ghosts, but for the most part all I do is walk till I can't feel my legs. The only thing that breaks these up is Walker encounters, which I've thankfully managed to avoid. But there have been a few close calls with several of them very nearly biting me or ripping out my throat. I was smart enough to grab a weapon early one; a crowbar I found abandoned in the street. I'm not good with it, but it's enough to keep me alive (so far).

I haven't met many other survivors. I see a sign of them, with car's driving down the road and occasionally one or two might happen to be in the same place I am scrounging for supplies. That's about it honestly.

I don't know if I can handle being in a group right now, I still have my reservations about the living. There is a voice in the back of my head saying I'll only survive so long without other people watching my back. Annoying as it is, the voice is probably right. Still, I figure getting to Atlanta is more important right now.

Even if I know the city being safe is most likely not true, I still have to focus on something. Something to strive for, something to live for.

Hope I make it there in one piece, signing off-

Norman