Molly's POV
.::.
My stomach growled angrily as I sat still, curled up on the floor of my dark bedroom closet. I had been cramped in here for weeks because it was the only safe place to hide.
I was surrounded by a few bottles of water, a pillow, a blanket, and a medium-size kitchen knife-my only weapon. I had consumed my last meal-a can of peaches-the night before last and the hunger pains were beginning to make me dizzy and miserable.
Honestly, I wasn't sure how much longer I could last. Or if I even wanted to at this point. Before long, I found myself thinking about running into the street and getting it over with. The last time I had peeked my head out of the window I immediately saw that my road was crawling with those...things. Walkers.
I had fought like hell to keep my mind off of the man who had left me here to die. Daryl Dixon. I could hardly even think his name before I felt my stomach turning with nausea and anger. If I could get my fucking hands on you...
.::.
I must have dozed off because I was startled awake by a very loud thump coming from the living room. I clutched my knife tightly to my side and threw the blanket over my body as fast as possible, shielding myself out of sight.
I listened to several pairs of footsteps quickly approaching my bedroom door.
I prayed. For the millionth time I prayed that I would be safe.
The footsteps were much closer now.
Please, god. Please, god. I clasped a hand tightly around my own mouth as my body began to tremble with fear.
They were right outside the closet door now.
I closed my eyes-preparing myself for the end as the door flung open.