Watch your back. They're going to get you!
I wish I could say my mind plays tricks on me, but it doesn't. This is the truth. They will get me. "They," as in...people. My own kind won't bat an eye when taking a small knife and stabbing me multiple times until I die. Cannibalism is my worst fear to this day. Not the dark, not monsters coming into my room at night to get me, but cannibalism. Planet Earth is gone. Gone. As in, no one else except for the starved people like me are alive. And how much longer until the crazed people like me live? A week-maybe two if we're lucky. But the thing is, I'm not lucky. Never have been, never will. The only reason I have survived is because of my intelligence. Instincts are the secret to survival, and trust them because they will come in handy. A gloomy life it is, a scary life it is, but I will do anything to survive, just because it is the largest instinct a human can have.
Clip! Clop! Clip! Clop!
My annoying leather boots clatter against the broken, grey pavement. I am walking up an old road with collapsed houses setting the scene for the side of the ratted road. Earthquake? Tornado? Hurricane? I like to figure out which type of natural disaster has occurred. The cracked creases in the road and the collapsed houses tell me it's an earthquake that has occurred, but the dampness in the air also tells me that a hurricane has been a possibility. Whatever it was, it must have happened at least a decade ago because the air is still, and green moss forms along the sides of most of the houses.
Nothing. Absolutely no one is out here. I figured this, considering most of the people tend to move towards the cities. Look up a history book people! Majority of the Earth's population lived in cites! There isn't going to be any food there! People are so stupid when it comes to food. Gosh, take a hint. I prefer small towns more because not many people lived here. This is my first time investigating this town.
I come across an old wooden sign that says "Welcome to Jeffersonville, where we put the e in peace!"
Pfft. Peace my butt. There's no one to be found because basically a zombie epoco happened. Like what the hec people-get a life and wake up in reality!
I continue to walk up the road. Everything is so miserable looking...everything. Form the grey clouds, to the thick, dark green moss shielding anything that holds a variation of dampness, to the defeated buildings and collapsed pavement. Everything is held a possibility for being miserable-no, not a possibility...more like reality...as in real. Even I am miserable, always have been, always will be. I never had a family-well if having one parent until the age of seven counts then sure...but besides that, I've been alone. No one has been there to help me up when I fall, to hold my hand when I cross a road, to braid back my hair when my brown locks have fallen in front of my innocent, green eyes. That's right, I said innocent...as in I never have meant to hurt someone, only to defend myself. Never have I had a family. The night I was born was the night the uprising happened. Why did every one decide to turn on each other on my birth day? That of which I may never know the answer to. All I know is my father took a stab in his heart just to get my mother and I to safety. I was a newborn, so I can't recall any possible information of my father-just that he died 4 hours after I was born.
My mother and I ran far. Extremely far. We had to of literally ran for 3 days straight. Well of coarse I didn't run, for I was only a newborn child, but my mother used her motorized leather boots to get us across Demesne. Demesne is our country. It means territory of wealthy beings. We are the wealthy beings. and supposedly anyone outside of Demesne is poor.
So my mother got me to safetiness within 3 days. We stayed in a warm, log cabin far away from people. She trained me to protect myself from cannibalism, how to fend for myself when food and water is scarce, and how to kill anyone in my path. In the 13 years I have lived, no one has tried to kill me, therefore I have not killed anyone. I have came across many people, and although they could have killed me easily, they didn't. This baffles me in so many different ways.
On my seventh birthday my mother kissed my forehead and quietly slid out the door. I can recall it all.
It was a chilly morning, and even though I was warm underneath my wool, plaid comforter, the crispy wind still found a way to creep through the cracks in the termite-infested wood. I heard rattling from a couple meters away. Footsteps neared my ears and immediately I knew it was my mother. She walked in in her usual outfit. Leather, motorized boots, quencher throw over, and wool pants. I was an exact replica of her when I had my usual outfit on. The same green eyes, and long, wavy brown hair. The only difference was that I had a strip of white in my hair. A strip of white that lead me to question mother of what it meant. "Nothing." she would say "Just a mere form of genetics, I'm sure your ancestors had the same thing, come to think of it, your great grandmother had a strip of blonde. So you see, it's just how you were born. Be glad, it's almost like a token." She would shoo away the thought and move onto a different subject. A token? This was not like a token to me...but a token I should take it as...
She came into my room as I was lying on my side faced towards her way. I could only see her silhouette as she neared the bed. The only light that gave visibility was the bright yellowness that escaped through the slightly opened door. There was a dim lamp that mother had lit in the small kitchen.
She neared the bed and I shuffled to lean upwards but she pushed me down.
"Rest my darling," she cooed "For you will need it."
I lied back down as mother had said. What had she meant that I would need it?
She bowed down and gave me a faint kiss on my forehead. Then, ever so casually, headed towards the door.
I sat up as I had tried previously.
"Mother?" I questioned "To where are you going?"
She stopped by the wooden door and looked me deadeye.
"To somewhere I should have escaped to long ago." a silent tear slid down her pale face as she opened the door and left.
The door slammed shut behind her and left me still sitting upright in my bed, confused. This was my seventh birthday...and she had left me...and for what? She couldn't leave a little girl alone in a log cabin! But she did...
The day went by slowly...too slow, almost. The air was so cold and dry...I was so cold and dry. I finally managed to pull myself out of my bed about 3 hours after mother's departing. Never did I cry, nor did a bulge of uneasy sadness arise in my throat...no feelings came whatsoever, just the hushed wind and loneliness.
'tis it. 'tis the day that I was trained for, the day I must leave and find my own path to survival. Mother has done enough, now this is the day I must leave our bungalow and migrate further west-way until I can find someone, or anyone in this case.
I pulled myself out of bed and moved ever-so-steadily to the door. My collased palms caressed the doorknob firmly and fought to open it.
"Open!" I commanded myself, but my hands would not move.
Why could I not simply open the door...
Was it because I was scared? Yes! I was scared, for I haven't been outside since the day we entered the cabin. Mother did all the hunting, I just stayed back in the cabin and hoped that she would come back.
"Move!" I told my hands "Turn! Come on-the past is behind us!"
My nimble fingers caressed the handle harder and gently turned it clockwise. The door opened with a creak. Then it opened more, and more...until it was all the way opened and I was standing there peering out into...what? What was all of this white stuff?
I took my leathered, motorized boot and tapped the white fluffiness that blanketed the earth.
My quencher-throw over rang.
"Warning! Cold. Do not step in the white grass unless covered with many layers of thick clothing. Can cause...hypothermia, cold, swelling of the nose, wind chap, frost bite, and other diseases depending on how long you stay in; white grass." the programmed lady rang out on my quencher throw over.
White grass? This stuff was no where near white grass. It was smooth..
I bent down to grab some of the white grass. My quencher throw over rang out three beeps to warn me that it was dangerous, but I shooed off the warning and picked up the white grass.
The white grass was cold...and it melted in my hand. It was a closer form of water then grass.
"QTO, analyze this; white grass; and draw a sample of it so I can do further research." I told my quencher throw over; QTO
"Command operating." QTO said
A long metal arm appeared from the shoulder of my QTO and it unfolded into a full arm with a hand. The arm reached down and grasped the white grass. Then, the arm folded back into my QTO.
"Onward. QTO, please adapt motorized boots for a long journey across this "white grass."
A trembling occurred in my feet and then my leather, motorized boots grew taller. Stilts were put on the bottom of them to keep them up while the adaptation occurred underneath of my feet. I heard a lot of metal clinging together and then long wooden ovals circled around my feet. They clamped to the ground and a fixture of grippy wires connected them to my boots and filled in the area between the wood and the leather. My boot rose down and left me to normal height. These wooden ovals still circled my feet with the nets in between my feet and the wood.
"White grass shoes: invented about 7,060 years ago." the programmed QTO lady said
"Oh...they're quite indifferent." I responded
I continued to march foreword. The white grass shoes made it a little harder to walk, but helped me to not sink into the white grass.
And that is where my journey began...