Never in my life have I seen the world like this. Never thought I would. I never thought that I would have even survived – to be one of the only survivors left. There may be more out there, the real people. People who haven't yet turned. And that's not a massive number. From what I know, three-quarters of the county's population has already either died, or been turned into one of them.

I've seen them, their bodies splattered with human blood, their skin ripped and pale, their eyes white and emotionless. Like the person that once lived in that same body, was long gone, their body and mind now controlled by that monstrous creature inside.

I can't even begin to explain how it feels to see people you know who have become like them. Or what it feels like when all they want to do is kill you. That's their first instinct. No other thoughts. Just kill.

I was at school the day this happened. The day people started to die. Police alarms were blaring, ambulances and military vehicles armed with soldiers were arriving outside. Police officers were screaming and yelling at us to evacuate the building. By the time the students were outside, the creatures has already started to enter the school gates, and by the time I had figured out what was going on – people were already dead. Friends, teachers, people I knew were getting eaten alive in front of our eyes.

People started to run, but I saw a girl from my year trying to run from a blood-thirsty zombie. She looked at me, her arms outstretched, her cries begging me for help. She was screaming at me, pulling herself along the pavement, by her arms. I ran over to her and grabbed her hands, but as I did, the zombie tore her body apart. It bit into her like a hungry animal, groping at her intestines and inner flesh. I couldn't find the will to run; I just stood there, watching the monster with one last pull, rip out her heart.

I saw the blood splatter on the pavement. I saw the heart of the girl being torn and eaten by the creature. I saw the girl, lying on the pavement, dead.

When I think about it now, I wonder if there was any chance that I could have saved her. People tell me that I couldn't have. They tell me that many innocent people died that day, that it was just unfortunate that one of the victims was her, and that I tried to help. That it wasn't my fault.

After watching the girl die, I ran home to my parents. Hoping that it wasn't too late. I remember running up to the front door and opening it to an empty house. I called for them, but they didn't answer. As I walked along the hallway, I stepped in a puddle. I looked down and realised that it was a puddle of blood.

I saw that the windows were shattered, shards of glass on the floor. I walked into the kitchen; there was a large knife on the table. I took it, for self defence. I heard a noise from upstairs, and ran upstairs to my parents' bedroom. I opened the door to find two monsters inside.

Mum and Dad.

Killing someone that you knew was one thing. Killing your parents is unbearable. They turned to look at me, with their wide, white eyes. Their skin was pale, their clothes stained with blood. Their mouths were ajar, smeared with blood. They began to lumber towards me, to kill me.

I shook my head, knowing what I had to do. I took out the knife, watching my parents as they walked across the room to me, moaning. My parents, these were my parents, and I had to kill them. I had to rid them of this pain. Kill the monster inside of them. My hand was shaking, my heart was beating fast. As they got closer to me, I raised my knife at both of them, and I whispered;

"I'm sorry."

I remember this so clearly, and still now, it pains me to even forget it. It has, and will forever be the most unforgivable thing I ever did. I killed my own parents. For their own good. To kill what was inside of them. They were already dead. I think about it every day. How if I had just run to them from the start, if I had left that girl, then there could have been a chance that I may have been able to save them somehow.

Some people think that I'm too hard on myself. They tell me that I wasn't responsible for everyone's deaths that day. To me, it feels like it. Like I let them die. I sometimes even consider killing myself just to take away the pain and the suffering that I experience every day.

From that day on, I've been surviving. Out here. In the city. It's been weeks since that day. My home is an old, deserted video game store in the street. I'm not alone here, although it sometimes feels like it. There are five of us struggling out here. Only two of my friends from school survived. The others.. I don't want to even think about it. There's enough going through my head without having to worry about anything else.

The two friends are Jessica and Scarlett. I met them whilst running from my house the day it all happened. We decided to stick together, as we couldn't find anyone else beside the zombies out in the streets. The other three are survivors that we managed to help during these first few weeks. Their names are Harry, Will and Joe.

Joe managed to find us in the store in the first week. He was short of provisions, and we had enough food for all three of us to keep us going. The video store is situated in the middle of the high street, which means it is near the grocery store and the pharmacy if either one of the group falls ill or gets injured.

Harry and Will were in trouble outside in the street, and had only a small knife and a shard of glass as weapons. Our group of three had previously located a weapons store not far down the road, and looted enough of the weapons and ammo for at least ten people. We managed to save both the boys and decided to trust them, letting them stay with us.

There were two other boys, Logan and Dylan. We met them later after Harry and Will had joined the group. We let them both into the group, unaware that Logan was hiding a zombie bite. The next day, he turned, and killed Dylan. We had no other choice but to shoot them both in order to save ourselves.

I'm Martha by the way. I'm sixteen, as are Scarlett and Jessica. Joe is seventeen, as is Harry, and Will is eighteen, the oldest.

At this current point in time, there are only five of us. It's a big enough group to defend and protect ourselves. Once the grocery store runs out of edible food, we'll have to move on to another city, in hope that there may be other survivors that have supplies or that the food hasn't gone bad.

Being in the street in an old, run-down game store has its advantages and disadvantages from time to time. We have an easy access to food, weapons and medicine, with a good view to see any remaining survivors or hungry dead creatures.

We're strongly supported by our surroundings but the placement in the city is too dangerous. Zombies could easily smash the glass store front window, if we were seen. It hasn't happened yet, but if we stay here for too long, we might just get ourselves killed. Every month we plan to move to a different part of the city, scavenging out any supplies or people we can.

At the moment, we're still in our home-town, which means you see a lot of people that you once knew. People from the town, the village, your family, as the walking dead.

Joe saw his granddad the other day outside the shop as he went to go and get provisions from the store. He had to shoot him in the head, and he hasn't been the same since. Things like this change you.

Especially if you're in the middle of a war with the walking dead.