Walking Dead:
TOC edition

Author's note:
The apocalypse occurred on a Friday night. The night that the Mayans predicted the end will come. That was 3 years ago, and the world has changed dramatically. This is the story of a few teenagers, (plus a couple girls and a pedophilic man) that have various adventures and strange journeys. This story will try to avoid Daniel's signature hit series, I will try to stray far from the core of his stories. I will attempt to strictly enforce the aspect of survival into the passage. Thank you for giving it a read.
-Bro

Part I

Ian was stumbling across the muddy plains, chasing after Donovan as fast as he could. He had tripped into the mud earlier, in the process he encased his entire foot with dusty and watery mud, along with the bottom half of his waist. There was a wooden fence in front of Donovan.

"Ian come the fuck on!" Donovan demanded.

Ian jerked his head back to see there was no sign of the walkers that were in pursuit of them. Ian looked back to see that Donovan was waiting for him over the fence.

"It's not that tall, c'mon" He explained.

Ian tossed his backpack over and threw himself over the fence. It reminded him of recess at school, he would always climb and jump around. He was never the athletic type, he was slender and scrony. He made up for it in intelligence.
Donovan was a bit thicker than him, he was also stronger. He was a great fighter when it came to a walker showdown, even without a weapon.

The two picked up their luggage and proceeded to venture along the plains. In the horizon lied a farmstead with multiple buildings bordering the premise.

"Ian, get your axe ready this time, I don't feel like sprinting all over the place" Donovan warned Ian.

"Oh shut the hell up, you got their attention, I had nothing to do with it" Ian explained.

They silently walked across the hilly plain. The sun had began setting. They both looked at each other to acknowledge the fact that it would be dark soon. Ian could be heard muttering "...hope this place has stuff...". They both hoped that the farmstead would obtain some kind of supply.
"Hang on" Ian said.

They both remained at a halt, Ian twisted his backpack around and maneuvered it in front of him. He opened it to check the supply status.

"We're down to 3 cans of ravioli, a pack of bandages, a box of matches..."

Ian was rearranging his inventory to reveal hidden items.

"...a hammer, and 2 bottles of sprite."

Ian zipped up his bag and saw Donovan doing the same thing. Donovan's bag was larger, therefore his abundance of supplies should be greater.

" I have a 6-pack of water bottles, 8 of those protein bar things, and 2 packs of ramen. Shit, I guess it's okay for now. I have a feeling there's more..."

Donovan glanced up at the nearby wooden structures.

"Alright, let's go"

The two grew uneasy and nervous approaching the first shack. It showed great age, with peeled paint and a musty texture. There were two busted windows on each side. They began moving for the nearest entrance, which was the back door. They walked cautiously and ready. Donovan quietly opened the door to reveal a dark, run down room with a broken couch and other furniture of no importance. The light from the windows and the open door only revealed small sections of the tiny shack. Donovan walked in, Ian followed. Ian reached for the door, and a walker went for him. He must of been on the ground before they entered, and when the two arrived, the walker must have noticed.

Ian let out a blood curdling cry. His hand was soaked and torn. His index and middle finger had been ripped away from his hand, leaving a bloody, flesh scaring mess of tissue and bone. Ian fell back outside, grabbed his hand, and in shock, stared at it mindlessly. In the meantime, Donovan was beating the walker to death with a wood board that was conveniently placed beside the door. Ian was still lying down in pain. He was in a daze of old memories of kindergarten, his family, social events...

"Ian. Ian..."

Donovan looked at his friend. He was overwhelmed with immense pain and agony.

"Fuck the bullshit Ian, I'm gonna do it. I have to do it. Lay out your arm."

Ian began crying. It seemed to attract nearby walkers. Donovan took notice, and predicted that he had enough time to hurry and chop Ian's hand clean off, then fight the walkers. Donovan grabbed Ian's axe from the ground and yelled "GIVE ME YOUR FUCKIN' ARM, IAN!"

Donovan grew teary eyed and nervous. Ian wanted to give up. He was still crying on the floor, shaking his swelled up, blood-soaked arm. The walkers approached slowly but surely. Donovan looked at Ian's sweaty and teary face.

"I just want... I wanna go home..." Ian uttered, still soaked in tears and depression.

"Ian, if you don't put your fucking arm out, I'm locking myself in the shack, you can deal with the walkers" Donovan bluffed.

At that second, Ian lost his trust in Donovan. He was at the point to where he hated him, but he also wanted to live. He threw his arm on the ground and screamed. The area in which this took place was barren. Ian's screams ran about the forest, echoing in burrows, awaking the resting and lurking beasts away from there habitat. Donovan pulled the axe high above his body. Seconds were minutes, and if a minute went by, Ian was in a totally different state. He was still in tears, screaming. He was only 14, and nobody should ever feel the pain he is in. Ian's sanity state was very curvy. For extremely brief periods of time, he had lost it, but his inner-sanity and citizenship kept reviving him. This was similar to Ian's outside life. At this moment, Ian didn't know what to think, so he thought about what he was thinking about the entire time. Life, and how cruel and twisted it can be, with little satisfying occurrences. There was a stopwatch following the events of this exact moment, and the end would be the loss of Ian's hand. There was no time left, and Ian was at a breaking point.

*CHOP*