(Author's Note)

For those who reviewed, thanks. Hope you like this. I own nothing.

September 15th, 2009 –Approx. 2 Months Post-ZD (1)

Dearborn, Michigan

7:35 AM

The first thing that registers with me is the sun burning my eyelids. Have you ever had that? Ya know, the sensation that the sun is up, so by default you have to be up, too? Yeah, I know; I hate it, too.

Ya see, I'm not exactly what you'd call a "morning person". No, I'm more like a "set-the-coffee-down-and-back-away-slowly" kind of girl. Meaning, if you even so much as attempt a conversation with me before nine in the AM, you had better have either caffeine, or a life-or-death situation for me to deal with. Because, if not, I will slice off your leg (just the one) and leave you on the side of the road. Don't think I'm serious?

Try me. I triple-dog dare ya…

And yes, I totally just stole that from A Christmas Story. Like you've never done it.

Anyway, we're getting off the subject; where was I? Oh yeah, the sun. It's shining through the windshield of this really rusted-out old Bronco that me and Spencer –that's my brother, by the way –found the other day. It feels like I only just fell asleep, even though according to the dash clock, I managed to get a good five hours in last night…or rather, this morning, I guess. Yeah, another thing you ought to know about me: I'm a totally insomniac; hell, I'm practically nocturnal! Which, now that I think about it, might have something to do with my not being a morning person.

Note the sarcasm here, ladies and gents, note the sarcasm…

So yeah, I was up till around two last night, reading, as per usual. Now, I know what you're thinking: Seriously? The whole world's going completely to pot and you're sitting up READING?

Well, yeah, and I'll tell you why: (1. I couldn't sleep, and figured I might as well do something productive and (2. It was a pretty good book. Very informative, in fact. What was it called, you may wonder?

Max Brooks' The Zombie Survival Guide.

You may want to stop and think over everything I've told you so far, because if you do, then you'll probably have a few questions. If they are the following questions, then pay attention to my answers very carefully, because I'm only going over this with you once.

Question One: Why were you sleeping in a Bronco?

Good question. The reason for that is that at the moment, Spencer and I are homeless, and are what you would call nomads; we constantly move from place to place, gathering food and supplies whenever, wherever, and however possible. Methods include: Raiding, robbery, breaking-and-entering, and grand theft auto; hence, the car. But don't worry, the owner was dead –at least, I think he was dead… He might've been… Probably.

Moving on…

Question Two: Is it just you and your brother?

Yep, it's just us. Not that we're always happy about it; we bicker a lot. And over the stupidest shit sometimes, too. But for the most part, it's cool. Spence is old enough now to where he can take care of himself, and we've both always been pretty mature for our age –most of the time, anyway.

Question Three: How do you get away with breaking the law all the time?

Simple –there are no laws anymore. Which brings us to question four…

How is the world going completely to pot?

Again, the answer is simple.

Zombies.

Yes, my friends, you heard right. You're not crazy, and neither am I –at least, no more than anyone else. This isn't just some sick, twisted nightmare, because trust me on this, if it were, I would have woken up by now. Plus, I never could remember my dreams.

That's how I know that this is really happening.

That's why I'm homeless, living in someone else's beat-up truck with my 17 year-old brother, eating someone else's food, and wearing clothes with pockets deep enough to hide a puppy.

Because you need deep pockets to carry the essentials –food, water, and ammo –with you at all times. You need to take advantage of the things people leave lying around, like food, and cars with half-full tanks. You need to keep whatever family you have left close with you, for as long as you can. And when zombies take over your home from the inside?

You need to haul ass.

So that's what we do. We carry on our person what we know can't be replaced. We drive when we can, and walk (and run) when we can't. We always sleep close together, though usually, I don't sleep. That way they can't sneak up on us. Whenever we find a grocery store or a gas station that hasn't been overrun or totally cleaned out, we restock on whatever's there that we need, and anything else we might want. We try to only go for necessaries, but now and again we indulge our fancies, within reason. And we keep our weapons with us at all times –because, seriously, have you noticed that in the movies? People always kill zombies in, like, this really badass slow-mo shot, and then they just ditch the gun or bat or crossbow or what-have-you, and walk away unarmed! Stupid! You don't just throw your fucking weapon away! Keep that shit, man!

Sorry, I'm rambling again –I have A.D.D., what can I say? I kinda had to go off my meds for like, ya know, ever. My attention span is pretty much shot at this point.

Anyway…

So like I was saying, that's how we roll here, now that we're sorta living in a George A. Romero flick for realsies.

No guilt.

No law.

No code of conduct.

No profanity filter.

Just a lot of fucking zombies.

My name is Diana Powell. You can call me Pockets.

And this is my story.

(1) ZD= Z-Day, or Zombie Day; the day the virus struck. Since, in the beginning of the film, Colombus had said it was two months after the outbreak, this would be around the same time that he was getting chased through a gas-station parking lot by dead-heads in Garland, Texas.

Just so you know.

Reviews=Love.