Hmm.. So I've had this idea brewing in my head and had to get it on paper. It's an OC story but they meet up with the group eventually... and there's a bit of a romance. xD

Haven't decided who with, yet, so bear with me xD

I got the idea from a friend of mine who's 15 and having a custody battle with her 18 year old ex boyfriend over their 2 year old daughter. You can tell this girl would tear hell apart to keep her kid. So that's where you get my main characters. There's only 2 OCs, so don't freak out xD and they WILL meet up with the rest of the WD characters we know and love.

Just be patient!

Review Please!

"I hate nature."

There, I said it. You happy now, God? You done with your little sadistic games? Pine needles in my hair, huh? Nettle stings from my feet to my head, right? Stepping in mud, too? Really? You just had to throw that in there?

Gah. I was getting really ticked off. My shoes were non-salvageable and would forever be covered in mud and grass and leaves and I-don't-want-to-know what else. My once adorable white and lace shirt was now looking somewhere more along the lines of 'corpse bride', and my necklace had caught on a branch and exploded into a billion microscopic beads that decided to embed themselves in every crevice they could find - seriously, I took off my bra to wash it yesterday and a few dozen poured out. Ain't that a charmer?

And my nearly brand-new designer faded jeans?

Forget it. I'm becoming Amish.

Ever since the world decided to go tits-up and flip out on everyone, I've been in the forest, reacquainting myself with nature. Me, my tent, my cave, my make-shift tree house, my secret waterfall, my -er- bush... anywhere I could find somewhere safe to crash for a night. Yes, I know, call me stupid for sleeping in a tent or cave or whatever, but before the zombies, I was a damn unemployed lazy-ass 28 year old living at home and trying to will words onto my laptop for that book I've been planning to write for 10 years, and unending stacks of pizza boxes to atone for my lack of cooking skills. I had no survival instinct whatsoever. Never even been camping.

"So do I." Muttered a small voice beside me. I looked over at the short blonde girl crouched on the ground and picking blackberries from a bush, wincing every time her fingers brushed over the thorny leaves.

Oh yeah. Me and my pizza boxes also lived with my 13 year old daughter, Alaina.

"I miss my concrete jungle..." She rolled her crystal blue eyes at my sing-song voice and turned back to collecting berries.

"Loganville is hardly a 'concrete jungle', mom." She muttered.

"Did we live in a tree?" I asked. "Did we eat berries for lunch and bathe in a river?" She sighed. "Well then. Concrete jungle it is."

She stood up and her eyes pleaded the same question she'd been begging me for weeks. "Maybe we should-"

"We are not going back there, Lainie." I said flatly. "End of discussion."

She scrunched up her face, "But mom-"

"Alaina." She narrowed her eyes and huffed at me.

"Fine."

That snippet of a conversation had been our only words to each other for the past few weeks. Every time I'd go to tell a story, or she'd reminisce about school or friends or family or whatnot, the conversation would always lead us home, and she'd always ask to go back, and I'd always shut her down. I knew in my heart we could never go back. And not just because of the dead- walking the streets I grew up on- but because we'd just lost so much. Imagine a 13 year old girl, going back home, after all this? She'd be crushed. She'd have to walk the streets and pass by her dead neighbors and friends and teachers, have to cover her eyes when I saw someone she knew too well. She'd cry when I'd have to shoot them. She'd have nightmares for weeks on end and her already bad sleep-walking would get even worse. She keeps telling me she'd be fine, that she's strong enough to do it. But honestly, I had this one burning concern that snaked its way to the front of my mind and controls my strong disapproval of her plan.

What if we went back there, and she saw her father?

She'd never recover from something like that. I'm keeping her safe by keeping her with me. As long as she's in my sight I won't let anything touch her. Not ever. She's my baby. My little girl. She's been my little girl since 13 years ago when I was 15 and my loser boyfriend slipped drugs into my soda at a party. I never believed in abortion and I'd never forgive myself if I gave her away, so I'd accepted the responsibility of taking care of her myself. My parents were never really parents to me, either, so we really were on our own. But after a while, I realised she wasn't a

'responsibility' to me. She wasn't just a mistake. She was my baby girl. She was my daughter, and I'd do anything humanly possible to keep her safe. Nothing is going to get in the way of my and Alaina's survival now. Nothing.

But how long can we really keep this up? Living in the forest, living off berries and canned food stolen from random houses. Running everyday and looking over our shoulders just in case we're being followed by the dead. Scared every night that when we lay our heads down and close our eyes to sleep, we'll never wake up. What kind of a life is that for a teenager to live? With no one to talk to but her mother and a dense collection of trees after trees after more damn trees?

What kind of life is that for anyone?