The world around me is so quiet. My feet are nearly bare, with a couple of scraps of fabric left from my socks. They wore away faster than I had expected, I guess I shouldn't have crossed that stretch of gravel. I seem to do the dumbest things, and now I'm only disturbing what could be perfect silence. I think it's a warm day, I can see bright glints where the river mirrors the sun. There is a light and dry breeze that makes the overgrown grass and weeds rustle and sway. Something about it is hypnotic, even beautiful. I wish I could watch longer, but it doesn't seem like my eyes are inclined to stay there.

I'm coming to the lake, I suppose it's because there is a doe and her offspring drinking at the edge. They would have died soon anyway, right? No, please.

I wish with everything I have that I could control myself, if even for a moment! What could be any more innocent than a mother and her child, nothing more a pair of simple animals? These days, not one person nor animal deserves their fate, whether it manifests itself as ignorant happiness or painful death. Unfortunately, I have been the harbinger of the latter far too many times.

I'm approaching the fresh meat now. I can't believe that with all of my incessant groaning and snarling the two have not noticed me yet! Will they run away? The air suddenly feels dry and my warped, blood stained vision becomes momentarily clear. I notice that my body has taken on the challenge of breaking into a quick shamble, almost qualifying as a run. The head of the mother snaps around to see me approaching, and her muscles visibly tense. Widened eyes further expose her black sclera. In an instant, she is gone. No matter to me though. Her baby is not so swift. I am upon it in a moment. So that's the sound that deer make. You learn something new every day.

The baby is still crying out for its mother until I sink my rotting teeth into the flesh of its throat. It writhed in silence now.

'I am so, so sorry.'

The taste of bloodied raw meat is detestable. Why is it that I take every opportunity to gorge myself with it, until my stomach is distended and walking is near impossible? I don't pay attention while I feast. I can allow my hands and teeth to do it for me, but on the inside I am squeezing my eyes shut, blocking it out as best I can.

'It was only a baby.'

Soon, there is nothing left but flecks of cartilage and dried up nerves on the bones of the baby, so I rise up and move on. How it is physically possible to have fit that much meat into my now stretched and straining stomach is beyond me. I wonder where I'm going now. I think I can see a building up ahead. It's surrounded by fence with endless curls of barbed wire on top. My sense of hearing tends to come and go, what with the often-erratic beating of my heart, but I can still make out voices in the distance. I guess the frantic overtone was warranted by the fact that I am nearing a rather large hole in this facility's defenses. After all, something had knocked this fence clear out of the ground.

"Dad, a walker's getting in!" Someone shouts. It's a boy, I can tell by the remnants of a high-pitched youth in the voice. There isn't an answer to the cry. The kid's father must be occupied. There are gunshots sounding, but they are so far away. The hoard I saw yesterday must have found their way into the area as well.

I turn slightly to my left, and now I can see the boy. He looks about fourteen, and wears a silly looking sheriff's hat over long brown hair. He would have looked cute, if he were not currently pointing a pistol in the direction of my head. Rather than cute, he looked godly. 'Is this my savior?'

My elation suddenly turns to disappointment. He pulls the trigger to end my second life, but the gun just clicks. Guess he hadn't thought to check his ammo before coming out here. 'What an idiot.'

Though I can hold out a little more hope when he pulls a knife from his belt. Just one hit between the eyes and I could stop being such a nuisance to them.

He's running for me now. Yes, I am about to die for the final time now, which is a blessing in my cursed existence, but I'm upset that I was never able to gain control of myself. What the hell is so damn hard about stopping your fingernails from scratching or your jaw from biting down? I suppose now is as good a time as any, and I try with all my might. Just once, maybe I can stop. I cringe on the inside. I have never concentrated on something so futile in my life, but after a moment, I'm shocked beyond imagination. I'm not moving anymore. My feet are bound to the ground and my hands are rising to touch my own face, instead of ripping at another's. I hope he can understand my apology this way. I hope that with stillness and a hanging head and covered face that I can convey a tiny fraction of my guilt.

Here it comes. You're almost there.

All I have left for me was disappointment when I peek between my fingers at the boy. His knife is still pointed and ready, but his face seems to tell a different story.

What are you waiting for? Do it!

Right then, I can faintly hear shouts. They are telling the boy to kill me, but he still doesn't advance. He won't stop staring, so I guess I will have to wait now. Damn this all to hell.