Consumed
04-23-2005, 01:46 PM
Where did everything go wrong?
I remember waking up in the middle of the night some time ago, feeling the presence of someone near by. I sat up on the couch and rubbed my eyes; it was quiet, save the sound of the nonstop moaning from the dead outside and their persistent pounding on the front door. I looked around the room, my eyes still adjusting to the shadows when I saw Sarah, my little sister, sitting in my father’s recliner…she was just staring at the television, not bothering to surf through the channels and look for anything that might be broadcasting at that moment. Instead, her eyes just stared blankly into the fuzzy black and white repeating patterns of a lost signal and I realized how hopeless things must seem for her. She had grown up her entire life with the television, a computer, and the phone…now none of those things were of any use as civilization came to a grinding halt. All ties of communication with the outside world were severed, and although we were safe inside our house we knew it was no longer our home; rather it seemed this once vibrant and loving household that my grandfather had built with his hands was straying from the original plans of raising a family, and was becoming a tomb in which two siblings were being buried alive. And that’s when I began to feel the ache of despair sapping my strength and I wondered how long I could keep going.
”You alright, Sarah?” I asked her groggily, my mouth stretching wide with a yawn that told of nights spent watching over my sleeping sibling, making sure the bad things from her nightmares didn’t harm her.
“I miss mom and dad.” She replied solemnly, and I could hear her beginning to whimper. She was only nine after all, and a kid that young needs parents to look up to; to have someone to guide her in life, and ultimately that responsibility fell upon me the day the dead woke.
When the **** hit the fan, my father, who was a police officer, left us to go fight against the monsters and to help maintain order. He never came home. I still wonder if he may yet be alive, though I was the kind of person who never had much hope for anything.
My mother was a nurse at the local hospital. I remember her last words to me…”Tonight, after my shift, I’m coming home and we’re going to meet your father at the train station and we’re going to Aunt B’s. …watch over your sister until I get home. I love you.” She came home that night, but it wasn’t my mother who walked through the door. I remember the blood stained clothing, the frilly hair…the look in her eyes. I remember the sound of my father’s .45 echoing throughout the house, and how when I squeezed the trigger it kicked back hard and the hammer nearly missed my face. I hit my mark… I’m just glad Sarah didn’t see her die. It was hard enough for me.
We buried her at dawn, and then it was just her and I.
“Me too.” I said.
”Think they’ll get in tonight?” She asked uneasily.
”Not while I’m here, kid. They don’t stand a chance while I’m here.”
There was a lull in the pounding, and the moaning became less audible, yet it did not melt away. I stood up from the couch and grabbed the quilt my mother had made before I was born. I draped it over Sarah and turned off the television. Her eyes began to droop and she yawned and before I knew it she had fallen into a deep sleep. I picked her up and brought her to her room. I watched her sleeping peacefully, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of the sister I used to know; the young, energetic little girl with no worries or fears other than taking showers and boys.
I left her with her childhood memories in the form of stuffed animals and dolls and closed the door gently.
I didn’t sleep much that night. The tumult from outside got me to the point where I was ready to snap, ready to put the gun to my head. The ear plugs fixed that. Yet sleep didn’t come as easily as I had hoped. My mind was racing about Sarah. She was an innocent little girl who needed my protection and guidance, and I doubted that I could provide either one for much longer. One day I’m a no good, punk kid with few responsibilities. The next day I’m raising my little sister in a world ruled by the dead. It’s amazing how quickly people can change in certain situations.
I decided that we would have to leave soon. This house, the isolation…those…things outside were going to drive us insane. I began to make my plans.
I remember waking up in the middle of the night some time ago, feeling the presence of someone near by. I sat up on the couch and rubbed my eyes; it was quiet, save the sound of the nonstop moaning from the dead outside and their persistent pounding on the front door. I looked around the room, my eyes still adjusting to the shadows when I saw Sarah, my little sister, sitting in my father’s recliner…she was just staring at the television, not bothering to surf through the channels and look for anything that might be broadcasting at that moment. Instead, her eyes just stared blankly into the fuzzy black and white repeating patterns of a lost signal and I realized how hopeless things must seem for her. She had grown up her entire life with the television, a computer, and the phone…now none of those things were of any use as civilization came to a grinding halt. All ties of communication with the outside world were severed, and although we were safe inside our house we knew it was no longer our home; rather it seemed this once vibrant and loving household that my grandfather had built with his hands was straying from the original plans of raising a family, and was becoming a tomb in which two siblings were being buried alive. And that’s when I began to feel the ache of despair sapping my strength and I wondered how long I could keep going.
”You alright, Sarah?” I asked her groggily, my mouth stretching wide with a yawn that told of nights spent watching over my sleeping sibling, making sure the bad things from her nightmares didn’t harm her.
“I miss mom and dad.” She replied solemnly, and I could hear her beginning to whimper. She was only nine after all, and a kid that young needs parents to look up to; to have someone to guide her in life, and ultimately that responsibility fell upon me the day the dead woke.
When the **** hit the fan, my father, who was a police officer, left us to go fight against the monsters and to help maintain order. He never came home. I still wonder if he may yet be alive, though I was the kind of person who never had much hope for anything.
My mother was a nurse at the local hospital. I remember her last words to me…”Tonight, after my shift, I’m coming home and we’re going to meet your father at the train station and we’re going to Aunt B’s. …watch over your sister until I get home. I love you.” She came home that night, but it wasn’t my mother who walked through the door. I remember the blood stained clothing, the frilly hair…the look in her eyes. I remember the sound of my father’s .45 echoing throughout the house, and how when I squeezed the trigger it kicked back hard and the hammer nearly missed my face. I hit my mark… I’m just glad Sarah didn’t see her die. It was hard enough for me.
We buried her at dawn, and then it was just her and I.
“Me too.” I said.
”Think they’ll get in tonight?” She asked uneasily.
”Not while I’m here, kid. They don’t stand a chance while I’m here.”
There was a lull in the pounding, and the moaning became less audible, yet it did not melt away. I stood up from the couch and grabbed the quilt my mother had made before I was born. I draped it over Sarah and turned off the television. Her eyes began to droop and she yawned and before I knew it she had fallen into a deep sleep. I picked her up and brought her to her room. I watched her sleeping peacefully, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of the sister I used to know; the young, energetic little girl with no worries or fears other than taking showers and boys.
I left her with her childhood memories in the form of stuffed animals and dolls and closed the door gently.
I didn’t sleep much that night. The tumult from outside got me to the point where I was ready to snap, ready to put the gun to my head. The ear plugs fixed that. Yet sleep didn’t come as easily as I had hoped. My mind was racing about Sarah. She was an innocent little girl who needed my protection and guidance, and I doubted that I could provide either one for much longer. One day I’m a no good, punk kid with few responsibilities. The next day I’m raising my little sister in a world ruled by the dead. It’s amazing how quickly people can change in certain situations.
I decided that we would have to leave soon. This house, the isolation…those…things outside were going to drive us insane. I began to make my plans.