The Undead Journals

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just some short stories i have been working on.

Submitted: July 10, 2012

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Submitted: July 10, 2012

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I found a tree house in someone’s yard today. I thought that might be a good place to sleep tonight. It was nicely levitated off the ground. I fell asleep okay, minus the sounds of the undead. But I woke this morning to a shot gun pointed to my face. It was a man, burly, ripped clothing and he wore a red beanie on his head. Not the best way to wake up but I guess it’s better than your ex-wife screaming and throwing you off the bed. The man ordered me to get up and come into the house. I was a bit hesitant, but I came anyway. In his house I saw a little boy and a woman, also wearing tattered clothing. The boy looked at me like I was a monster. The man still had his gun pointed at me. He asked if I was bit or infected. I told him I wasn’t, showing him my arms, legs and chest. His eyes drooped and he lowered his gun and sat in a chair nearby. He let out a sigh of relief and looked at me then at my pack that I was carrying. He asked me if I was carrying any food. Knowing that I was, I told him no. I know it was a bad thing to do but I can’t just give it away. I would need my strength. But the look on their faces, sorrow, disappointment and hunger got to me. I myself let out a sigh and opened my pack; I had a loaf of bread that I could spare. I held it in both hands and gave it to the man. He looked up at me with glistening eyes and took the bread. He went over to the others and gave it to them. He walked back over to me and hugged me, thanking me for the hospitality. I sat down with him and asked him how he and his family (I guessed) were doing. He looked at me in the eye and told me that they had been starving for weeks. All they had were some canned mushrooms and a little water in their tub. I felt terrible for them. It was horrible how people were living in this time, if they were living at all. I offered them to come with me back to my safe house; it was but a few miles west, but he said no. I just looked at him. His family was in grave danger of starving or being over ran by the undead. I got up and started to leave. But he little boy ran over to me and pulled on my arm. I leaned down and he gave me a yoyo. It had a little scorpion molded into the top of it. He said thank you and ran back to the lady. It brought tears to my eyes, knowing what would happen in short time. I left, leaving them behind. I had to push those thoughts of sadness into the back of my head. Stuff like that was what made people weak at important times. About a month passed and I walked back up their street. I wanted to check on them. I usually didn’t do things like this but my mind got the best of me. The house had looked abandoned. The tree house had been destroyed, in pieces all over the lawn, and the front door to their house smashed in. I knew better than to go into the house. I just turned around and walked away. Fate, it seemed, was always around the corner.


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