"You don't know what you've got until it's gone."
When I heard that statement for the first time from some guy one day - back when I was a teenager in high school - I actually laughed at it, debunked it as useless words from some stranger t whom I had never met. At the time, it had no meaning to me at all, but that was because I did not fully understand the meaning behind the words. What do you mean by that? I asked him when I stopped laughing. The man told me that I should cherish the things I have before it was too late. Those words only made me laugh even more than before. When I came to my senses and calmed down a bit, I told him with confidence and pride that I did cherish the things I had, loved everything and never took it for granted like the "other materialistic people outside the island." I had a perfect life that I could say I was proud to have: a family, friends, a roof over my head, food on my plate, you name it. That was what I said to him, and I told him without hesitation and with a pride that said to him "She appreciates what she's got in her life." It was not exactly word for word what I said to him, but I am hoping you get the gist of what I am talking about.
Unfortunately, despite saying that so confidently to his face - and with my chest childishly puffed out as if I was trying to prove a point - over time, it changed completely. When I look back at everything that has happened thus far, I did not really think that my words were true anymore. Every word that I had spoken became false.
The realization of this unfortunate truth brought me to tears, tears that were hidden by the rains of the monsoon that finally struck the island of Banoi, the island I had called my one true home for so long. They flowed faster than the blood that seeped out of my wound on my shoulder, one I held onto with my free hand in a futile attempt to stop it. My body was shaking both from the seeping blood and with the revelation closing in on my already broken and shattered mind. Thunder cracked loudly against the darkened skies, as if it was right next to my ears, yet I did not flinch at all as I stared out at what was once my beautiful island, my beautiful home, with wide hazel eyes. The time for leaving the island forever was upon me.
In a way, one could say that I was leaving the island for bigger and better things in my future. That I was leaving everything behind for a better life or to seek out a career in the "big city," but I would disagree immediately with those ridiculous accusations. I was not going to leave for a better future. Hell, I was never going to leave the island at all! My future, from what I saw when I was just a little girl, was here; it was on Banoi Island. For twenty-five years of my life, Banoi had been the place I refused to leave for some other life in the outside world. I hated that place and wanted to stay here forever. Everything I could ever want was on the island, and there was no reason to leave to see the world. Granted, I was asked to leave the island once, telling me that the life outside the island was not as bad as I had made out to be. (I thought about it, but never got around to giving a straightforward response to him.) At least, that was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life; live out my life on Banoi. If you asked me why I was leaving such a wonderful place, then I would tell you one thing in response something that you would never expect:
"To save my ass from the fucking zombies that littered the island."
As selfish as it sounds to some, it is the truth. I would say it with the most serious face anyone could ever put on, as it was no joking matter when I could die at any point in time. I was leaving the island so I could live and get away from the creatures that now bombarded my home like vultures to a rotting carcass...literally. I had nothing else here to call my own anymore; it was gone now. Everything that I had grown up living with was gone, and it was thanks to those damned demons. The monsters that screeched and moaned restlessly for days at a time, searching for something – or someone – to feast on were the ones to blame. You would understand if you were placed in the same situation I was in. If you were living in a place for your entire life only for it to get struck full force by a zombie outbreak, you would want to get the fuck out of there as fast as you can. Whether it is an island or a big city like New York or Chicago, you would want to get the fuck out. Unfortunately, even though I say that, even I am still having some trouble deciding whether or not I want to leave and ditch the life I had grown so used to in order to survive. In other words, it is easier saying that everyone will leave their home of so many years than doing it. And I was stuck in a rut when it came to that damned saying.
It is no easy thing to do, leaving the place where all of my friends lived (since there was no one else – or just one, I guess – outside the island to call friend). Besides, there were so many memories that I remember so vividly in my mind, memories that would make me stay here despite the shithole Banoi turned into in just a short few weeks. They were memories I wanted to go back to, days I wanted to relive again in order to avoid the place I was in now and be happy again. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I wished, no matter how much I begged to whatever being was kind enough to hear me, there was no possible way that something like that could ever happen. At the moment, the being that predicted this shit was here, fucking with everyone and everything in sight with not so much as a care in the world. I could not go back to the life I had, I could not go back to the past; I could only go forward.
But will forward be better than this?
By now, you are probably wondering who I am and how I came to be in the middle of this outbreak. Well, I am not some celebrity coming to visit the resort, as you may have noticed. I am not some producer taking a day off, but an inhabitant. I lived here for twenty-five years and never wanted to leave. I had everything and I lost it all. I suppose that old saying "You don't know what you've got until it's gone" is more true than any other saying I have ever heard, and it will forever haunt me until the day I die.
My name is Abigail Mason, and this is my story. This is the story of how I just barely survived the outbreak on Banoi Island: my home, my life, and eventually, my downfall.