I vaguely remember crying when you ran through that door, Olivia. I remember the blinding flashes of visions and my skin feeling as though it was being torn away by acid. You looked back, tears in your eyes and for a moment I didn't understand.
Despite the word beginning to puzzle me, I felt the feeling of love before a tranquil, dead state.
Today I met more of my kind, Olivia. They paid no heed as I joined their slowly shuffling group, out another day for more of the hot, sticky nectar in which we desire. Their cloudy eyes slowly swept over me; evaluating me but I don't feel the emotions to react. What did we once call it? Fear? I didn't feel fear, baby, and I think I am happy with the thought of you being fearless. Happy is the correct word, right? I don't even know what that means. What does that feel like? I only feel hunger; it's the only word I know anymore.
It's been a while since the outbreak, but I met one of the old people today, the ones with still fresh skin and sweet smelling blood. There was a rather foul man who hurt some of my own, pinning them down with arrows. A man in a sheriff's outfit found me in a ditch, and despite this nagging feeling in the back of my mind, I snapped at him, my tongue desperately reaching for his fingers.
He's pointing a gun at my head, baby. This rush of confusing emotions flood my vacant mind and the two that overwhelmed me the most is what you would call happiness and safety. Baby girl, I feel. I feel love.
Tell me your thoughts and theories; I am excited to hear them. If anyone is interested in a story about the OC daughter, let me know. It's not guaranteed, but it's an interesting survivor story.