November 1st, 2017
It is another crisp, clear dawn at my folk’s lake home at the river. I strike a match and light an intimate fire. As I quietly fish for breakfast separate from all others and sleep deprived I am keenly aware of my surroundings. Funny, I do not sleep much, but it does not matter. Survival mode has been upon me for quite some time. As I stare at the water hoping for a bite I cannot help but think it’s been one whole year already. How can that be? The word, surreal, comes to mind.
I still have my sister’s locket, I hold it close daily. That and a picture of my family is all I have left of a world that I used to know. Well, those and a cold, steel Glock. Nothing matters anymore but survival. Is that really true? I often ask myself, why is survival so important. Why not step into the darkness to gain vision of the light? Because there is still more that I want. So much more… At nineteen years of age my life is not over and I’ll be damned, if I allow the undead to take that away from me. I have stayed clear, free and trapped, in my hiding place nestled in the natural beauty and resources of the lake. I have been supplied with fresh mountain water, fruitful trees, the sweet mountain air and the morning chimes of the song birds.
Look, I got a bite!