Running Away From My Love, My Death
By PHfan21
The seriousness of my dire situation is now apparent to me. This is seriously LIFE or DEATH. And now that the moment is here, what will I choose? Would it be so bad to end it all? Would is be so fucking horrible to just give up? Do I REALLY want to live the rest of my pathetic life petrified of these monsters? And my answer to that is yes. I want to live. Simple as that. The will to live is hardwired into every creature on earth. I am no exception. Every fiber in my being is screaming out for me to RUN. To just leave her. If I stay, I will most certainly die. And I DO NOT want that. But can I really, honestly, leave her? Yes, and I will. Before I turn my back to the person who has loved me most, I want to give one last glance back. My grandmother, always, ALWAYS there for me, is giving her life for my chances of survival.
Beyond her is a mass of zombies (I know, crazy right?), a HORDE of zombies, if you will. They're coming straight toward us, for us. Our blood is what they crave. Dirty, decaying mouths crave our very much alive flesh. They are coming down from the top of one of the many hills here. The hill is carpeted with luscious green grass. Sickening dead bodies that have come back to life mar this beautiful scenery. One of them in the front takes a tumble. The others don't even notice as they trample on the fallen body until you can be positive that there will be little more than scraps left of it. As they draw nearer and nearer I felt that realization again. Everything comes back to me. The air is bountiful with the screams of the dead, and of my grandmother. She is telling me to go, go save myself. To leave her.
Her face is an alarming shade of red with the effort of her yelling. Veins stand out clearly on her forehead. Dark colored and very prominent, pulsing to the beat of her heart. Eyes filled with fear, oh but not fear for herself, fear for me, pierce into my gaze, urging me on. Spittle flies from her dried and cracking lips, only to collect on my face. Liver spots and broken capillaries blemish her aging features. It makes me sad, seeing her. Her time is up. Hands with surprising strength shove into my chest, propelling me in the opposite direction of the zombies. I stumble before I catch myself. They are zeroing in, so close now I can smell the sickeningly sweet scent of death. It hangs in the air like a cloud, thick.
My grandma looks back at me now gently. Her face is losing the alarming red color, and going back to normal, a little paler if that. I see her mouth move, but no sound comes forth. But no need, for I can easily read them. They are saying Run. Her lips barely slip close after the simple word, before they are on her. Even as she is pulled to the ground by their filthy hands and teeth she never loses my gaze.
And that's when I turn and run. That last image of her, being eaten alive but not caring, actually sort of HAPPY because her death will help me live, will be burned into my eyes forever. When I close my eyes, I will see HER. Even when I die I know that this moment will be replayed over and over, for all eternity, for all of ever. I turn and I run. Run away from the person who has loved me the most, so completely and unconditionally. I leave her to her death.
Only a few of the zombies follow me. Most are feeding on her. But I'll be damned to hell if I let my grandmothers death be in vain. No FUCKING way would I let her die for my life, and then just die anyway, without a proper fight. NO. I'll live, and I'll put every one of these mother fuckers in their grave for the last goddamn time.