8 DAYS AFTER
Dead. There all dead. My mother, brother, everyone; I don't know what to do, I'm just so lost. Our neighborhood was over run just 2 days ago, but it doesn't feel like it's been days, it feels like it's been months. It started out as a few crazy stories on the news, I think it started somewhere in Mexico; no maybe it was Maine, at least all I can remember was It began with an M; the constant panic and isolation has left my mind like a puzzle with disappearing pieces. You know the ones that you find a piece under the couch every now and again but always end up losing it again at some point? That's why I'm writing this, to replace what my mind can no longer hold. Anyway when the world first heard about this, no one believed it. Most thought it was a hoax, others thought it was a mistake. But then the stories continued, and soon cases began popping up all over the world. By day 3 half of the world's population had been wiped out and the disease had reached every corner of the globe. By day 4 the hospitals became morgues and became too full of the dead to sustain the living. The world was in full panic, every safe haven the government promised became overrun with the dead; the undead as well. The Walkers, that's what we called them. But whether you called them corpses, Deadies, biters, or flesh eating bastards the thought was always the same. By day 5 the power went out, the government crumbled, the radio went out, and cities were destroyed beyond the recognizable. At night I could hear the sound of screams as rapid gun fire ripped through the night air, people's homes were raided and torched for supplies, but as the fires burned on, not one siren was heard. That was the night my brother didn't come home… by day 6 my neighborhood was completely overrun. In a mad sprint to get out of the house and far away my mother was bitten. Her terror filled screams is what attracted the rest of our dead neighbors. It was Mrs. Lovell who bit her, the nice lady across the street who would make us a pie every Christmas. But Mrs. Lovell, the real Mrs. Lovell was gone. As her teeth sunk into my mother's neck I saw her eyes, they were no longer the warm hazelnut color they once were; they were black, lusterless, dead eyes. They were the eyes of someone who was no longer human. I tried to save my mother, but they tore her apart. So I ran, ran to the nearest house. The dead must have been too busy eating the last of my family to notice that I had ran into another house. Over the past few days only one or two walkers had wandered up too close to the house, but they soon left. I have played it cautious; I put up thick blankets to cover the windows and stayed desperately quiet, only moving when absolutely necessary. My food and water supply has run short, I plan to leave here in about a day or so. I haven't yet checked the garage but I think there might be a car still in there, if there is I plan to take it and drive as far away from here as I can.