I examined my arms in the mirror. They were bruised and a blackish or purplish color in most places. I tied my hair into a ponytail and pinned my bangs back. I laid down onto my bed, curling my body into a ball.

I tried to drown out the noise of his pounding fists and drunken yells, while reminding myself over and over that the door was locked and I was safe.

I closed my eyes and waited for my mom to get home for work, praying that he wouldn't hurt her too.

-3 and a half years later-

I sighed pulling out my knife. I was almost out of food and fresh water, plus it seemed like there were more and more walkers everywhere I went. I had been traveling for about 3 weeks. I had left the safety of my makeshift safe house and set out.I didn't know where I was or what I was looking for. A group? No, I live alone.

Let's face it if someone was coming to rescue us they would've done it already. I walked up to the walker and examined it. It was a female she had a pale face with a rotting mouth. Her teeth were bloody, she had just fed. She had a few pieces of blonde hair stuck to her bloody scalp. I drove my knife into her forehead and quickly removed it. She fell to the ground in a heap and I put my knife back into my boot. That's when I heard a voice.

I whipped my gun out and moved silently, stepping over the dead walker. Up ahead crawling across the road was a boy. He looked about my age, 15, maybe a little older. Two walkers were slowly following him. I ran forward leaping over the occasional walker here and there. I live alone, but I wasn't about to let someone die.

By the time I got there the boy was struggling to keep the two walkers off him. With 2 quick shots the walkers fell to the ground. I knelt down beside him and he looked up at me. He had jet black hair and brown eyes. I caught my breath. He looked so much like…I shook the image from my head.

I examined him for bite-marks. His arms and legs were clear, but then I found it. A bite mark the size of my palm near his collar bone. I reached forward as if to touch it but he grabbed my hand. He gently placed my hand over my gun and gave a short reassuring nod. He knew what I had to do. I looked at him and he smiled. He was happy, he looked almost peaceful.

"What's your name?" I asked sadly.

"Toby."

"Well Toby just close your eyes, it'll all be over soon." I picked up my gun as Toby closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," I whispered as I placed the barrel of my gun to his forehead. Neither Toby nor I flinched when I pulled the trigger.

This is why I travel alone. People die and I do not want to get too attached to someone, so one die I can shoot them in the head. I know I sound harsh but that's what the world has become. What I've become.