I'm unaware as to how long we've been out here, or as to when this all started. I don't know what day it is, or what time it is. I could hazard a guess to the year, maybe 2014/2015, although none of us know for sure. In brutal honesty, I'm not sure any of us want to know.
As a child I always believed that time was a notion created to force individuals into decision making and adulthood, it compelled us to ripen and cultivate. I wanted to be like Peter Pan himself, be the girl who never grew up. In my mind, time was never something palpable or justified, and now at the tender age of seventeen I believe that more than ever. Time was nothing but a man made abstraction, and who better to destroy that abstraction than man himself.
A sharp chill saturates the air. The bitter kind that causes the creases of your skin to jade and split, that causes your bones to throb in burning agony. And still we push on. What began as a quest for refuge and security has slowly morphed into a faction of mournful beings. No objectives, no destination. We just amble aimlessly, waiting for it to end.
Exhausted from the unbroken moving and drained by the glaciation of the world around us, our feet drag along the floor. Underfoot, the crisp sound of snowy leaves crunching echoes around us. We're immediately aware of this and conscious not to be making too much noise, we slow our pace, not wanting to draw attention. The cold slows the walkers down but it doesn't stop them and glancing around the sullen group, it's painfully obvious to see that none of us are up to the challenge of an attack from a herd. Slowing down is our only viable option for survival. That is the only thing we know how to do anymore.
This is the new world now. We don't live, we survive.