Okay, so, this is the first thing I have ever written and I can't promise you that it's good. I just wanted to put it on here to see get some feedback. This is only the beginning. Sort of like an introduction to the story to get a feel of it. Let me know if you like it or if I should never write anything again in my life.

*The characters all belong to Stephenie Meyer. The rest belongs to me.*

Enjoy!

I smelt him before anything else. The smell of them always hits me with such force that I often find myself dry heaving at even the slightest whiff. Their missing limbs, rotting faces and straggling moans are nothing compared to the stench they omit. At least it gives me fair warning when one is near.

Now, as I regretfully put out my cigarette and grab my dad's old axe, I press myself up against the familiar bricks and into the shadows. There are two of them, one following slowly behind the other, dragging whatever is left of their bodies to some unknown destination. Well, I guess they always had a destination.

Food.

Meat.

Blood.

Preferably of the human variety, but animals will also do.

The tall male was dragging one leg as though it had been broken, and was missing a chunk out of both his right arm and his torso. His face was ripped apart, leaving only one eye and a rotting nose in place. On his head, patches of hair were missing, and his business suit, dirtied with blood, was torn. In these moments, when they're not attacking my face, I feel only sympathy. This disgusting monster used to be a man. A man with a family and friends and a job. The kind of man who is supposed to live a long, happy life and then, surrounded by family, die in a peaceful sleep. Unfortunately, what was walking only a few feet in front of me was a man, brutally murdered, and then turned into one of the very things that had ended him. His death did not look pretty, and I felt sorry for him.

But it happened to everyone.

Every single person I've ever known died in the exact same way.

This was proven as the second undead literally dragging herself down the street turned out to be Ms. Cope, the single mother a few houses down the road.

Ms. Cope was a very busy woman; when she wasn't in Toronto running her successful clothing store, she was at home, thinking about her successful clothing store. Too often, she would dump her twin boys at my house while she ran errands. When I would open the door, she'd offer up her boys and a generous lump of cash, nod stiffly and walk away. She got straight to the point, that's what I liked about her.

It was one day, about two months ago, where Ms. Cope came to the door, graying hair up in a disheveled bun; however, she didn't have her boys with her, and she didn't nod stiffly. She walked right passed me into the house.

"Uh, Ms. Cope, Is something wrong?" I asked as I closed the door and walked into the family room where she sat. Her elbows were on her knees with her head in her hands.

"My clothing store is shutting down," she said to the floor.

"What?" I asked, wondering why on earth this warranted a visit to my house. "Why?"

She reached for the remote without answering and turned on the television that was placed across from the sofa. She flipped the channel to the news station and immediately a news reporter was seen, standing in front of the Toronto Hospital.

"…where a new virus is said to have originated early this morning. A man in his late 20's seems to have contracted a foreign disease over-seas that resulted in cannibalistic behavior. Witnesses say the man walked out onto the street, into different stores, and began taking bites out of peoples' skin. They immediately called the police, but the man had already spread the virus to his entire family and random store customers. As of now, there is reason to believe the disease is not air-born, but the Ontario Centre of Disease Control and the police department are taking necessary precautions and shutting down any facilities and stores in the area until more is known abou-"

What the fuck? Cannibalistic? What kind of disease makes someone eat other people?

She turned off the TV and continued looking forward, "I have worked all my life to get my company where it is. All my life. Then, one day, one man decides to develop an appetite for customers in my store. Now my life's work is down the drain."

There was a long silence and I realized she was waiting for me to say something. It was kind of awkward, having a forty year old business woman tell me her problems, so I tried to think of something that might make her leave.

"Well, they're just closing it for a little while, right? Until this disease is under control? Then everything will be fine," I reassured her.

"Don't you understand?" she asked incredulously. "It will never be fine! No one's going to want to go into a store where they might get eaten! Where there's disease! I'm ruined!"

She threw her arms up in the air, breathing heavily. She cared more about her store, than a man dying in the hospital that had eaten other people. I suddenly didn't like her so much anymore.

"Um, Ms. Cope, do you want me to call my mom? Maybe you could talk to her," I said.

"Hmm? …No, no. That's quite alright." She sighed while standing up and flattening out her ruffled shirt, "I better get going now anyway. I just came by to give you your last payment since the boys won't need babysitting anymore."

She handed me the money in which I quickly thanked her and shuffled her out the door. What I didn't know was that that would be the last time I ever saw Ms. Cope alive.

###

I grew up in a small town just outside of Toronto, where it was normal for everyone to know your name and probably your entire family history. Thank God I lived in a small town, or I would have never survived this zombie shit.

I lived with just my mom for as long as I could remember, and I never knew who my dad was. To be honest, it never bothered me that my father left. I wasn't one of those kids who were bitter about their daddy issues. If he didn't want to be in my life, then so be it. His loss, not mine.

My mother always told me that I was just like him; how, I will never know.

I would tell her that I would never leave my family, so no, I couldn't possibly be like him.

After Ms. Cope left, I called my mom. She was a nurse at the hospital in Toronto, so she could give me details the reporters might not know.

She didn't answer on the first call, so I figured she was busy.

I lay down on the sofa, and while still thinking about what Ms. Cope had said, I fell asleep.

###

Looking at the disgusting remains of the woman I used to know, made my whole life seem like a dream. It was as if I could only ever remember the constant state of fear and disgust that accompanied the zombie apocalypse, as opposed to the life I had lived before it.

Not wanting to walk out into the middle of the street where more zombies had the potential to see me, I snapped my fingers as hard as I could to get undead Ms. Cope's attention. When she heard the noise, she turned what was left of her face towards me. That was the thing about the undead, anything attracted them. Noise, sight, smell, what have you, they would move towards its source seeking food.

Upon seeing me she immediately turned and began to drag her body in my direction. Fortunately, the male zombie was too far away and didn't even glance backward.

If it had been any other person, I would have let them keep on wandering down the street. But this was and the one thing she would have hated most in the world, would have been to become one of the things that had ruined her life.

She made her way up the driveway, not able to sense danger at the sight of my axe—or to even care. Her dead mind had only one thought, one goal.

I was doing her a favor.

She reached the porch steps.

I was doing her a favor.

At least that's what I told myself as I lifted the axe over my head and brought it down onto hers. Four times.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "But I couldn't just let you drag yourself around looking like that. Your hair's a mess."

It was a terrible joke, but I laughed anyway just to try and make myself feel better.

It made me feel worse when I realized I was talking to a dead and distorted neighbor on my front porch. I guess three months of complete solitude will do that to someone.

After dragging Ms. Cope to the side of the house so she wasn't staring at me whenever I wanted to get fresh air, I wiped the sweat off of my forehead and went back inside.

I had stored up enough non-perishable food items from both my house and a couple of my neighbors' houses to last a while; especially considering I was only one person. But, I would run out eventually and when that happened I didn't know what I was going to do.

A/N:
I wanted to clear some things up. Well, maybe just two things.

1. This is from Bella's perspective and I may not have made that clear at all. I did this purposely because, after all, it is a zombie apocalypse and one would most likely not care too much about one's appearance, or even that one has a name. However, it will become clear as more characters are introduced, who Bella is and what she looks like (even though we all already know).

2. The setting is in the Greater Toronto Area. I thought about doing it in Forks, WA, but seeing as I do not know the area very well due to the fact that I'm Canadian, I thought that I would stick with what I know in order to make the story make sense geographically.

I hope you enjoyed the very short (maybe prologue?) chapter, and even if you didn't, welp, I tried?

- h0pelessRomantic