A bloody smile cut across Abigail’s face as she leaned against the chain link fence. On her arm was a pulsing imprint of teeth, sentencing her to a miserable existence as a zombie. All around her, her, dare she say it, friends solemnly sat in silence. 

And it was frustrating. They all lived through so many life-or-death situations together, even surviving that time they rescued Ben from the cannibalistic survivor camp. But this single bite was the reason their group would lose a member. 

The blackening edges of her vision reminded her of her limited time, and she quickly reached into her back pocket for a worn pack of cards. 

“Remember to have fun without me, yeah?” Bitterly quirking her lips, she tossed it at Ben, before handcuffing herself to the fence. 

She closed her eyes, seemingly at peace with her fate. 

“Keep your damn cards. I’m not letting you die alone,” Ben grumbled.

He opened his mouth to say more, but -- 

It was time. 

And when he shakily pointed a gun at her convulsing form, he didn’t hesitate to look her in her -- wait, why did she seem to be lucid -- eyes and shoot. 

A modern plague had originated in Hunwa, Sinolia. Merica Zeno was in the city for a connecting flight when she learned of it. She curled her lip when she heard. 

All passengers were released without much problems after arrival.

At home, upon seeing the extent of the plague situation, she suddenly felt a wave of emotion, hatred even towards… them. It pushed her to type: “To Sinolians: this is karma for being so bratty. It’s deserved.”

She got a lot of likes for that post.

Merica carried on with her daily life, going to work on the subway every morning. She was far away from Sinolia, so there was nothing to fear, she figured. One morning, she felt slightly ill. 

...

“Breaking news: A woman by the name of Merica Zeno is the first confirmed case of death due to the plague in the country. She visited Hunwa before, but unfortunately didn’t take caution, and it is confirmed there are 20 more infections due to her.”

One of the comments below that: “She deserves to die, she put so many others in danger, it’s karma.”

“Comrade!” I called out to the man, but still, he did not call back. 

“Maybe he’s deaf,” Dmitri muttered. 

This was not uncommon among soldiers over the last few months; exploding shells had ruptured thousands of eardrums.

“Is he partisan?” I asked Dmitri. 

“Niet, regular army,” he responded. 

We kept slowly approaching the man, hoping he wouldn’t shoot us if we snuck up on him. I wondered if we had taken Berezovka back, because that was the only way a Russian soldier would be all the way out here. We both called out again, but still no response. He was far too still. No living man could pose like a statue in a cold this bitter. We walked up to the sentry. He must have been a brute in his prime, with his bulging brow and his wrists as thick as a Tokarev rifle. A neat little bullet hole, crusted with frozen blood, pierced through his cheek just below his right eye. The man had been dead for days, rooted to the ground in the freezing cold.

Waking up in the morning and looking upon it, I see my friend and my soul.  She runs with me, she sings with me, and she stays with me. What’s funny is that it grows. Both mentally and physically, unlike the imps running around in my class who make me feel as if I stand out like a clown. I’m the coward who requires her to stay beside me. Sometimes she laughs with me but most of the times she laughs at me. She’s scared, but scared of herself. She’s scared of her deep soul and lurks behind me with the purpose of providing me comfort. She’s patient, since she’s had to wait for everything in her life. Life’s plan hasn’t been great, but she managed to stay strong. She manages to be my forever friend. My dear, sweet shadow. 

We moved in two, her steps graceful as her dress flows. She holds herself to the standard of perfection, she is perfection. When her eyes would meet mine I used to feel her love, now they are cold. I moved closer offering my hand, she didn't notice. She only noticed my mistakes. I don't know why I tried to save you... since I can't save you from myself. Why do you deal with this? 

Memories swirl, oh how I wish I wouldn't get so mad. ¨Remember the line that you crossed,¨ now there's no way to fix it. I'm supposed to be making up for what I've done, trying my best to change, but there's no turning back now.

I look at her again, her fear moves around me, strangling me. All she does is sit there and cries, she won't even talk to me. Do I really trust her silence, i'm not just one of her plays, Does she even hear me at all...

¨Anastasia... this might sting a bit.¨

What have I done, why do I always kick her when she's down, now her tears are rolling down.

It happened again. From this road, I saw it. I saw, I saw, I saw. All of a sudden, it was quiet. Why today? Why? A big painful siren came with an ambulance. Right behind, followed the fire engine and the police. It was a major car crash. As I pass by that same intersection on the same day of the week, it happens again just like last year. The painful memory cuts through my brain. I was the lucky one. Lucky, lucky, lucky. Hours and hours passed by. Finally, the news came up. Ten people injured, two died, three escaped safely. I still think about the girl at the hospital with a broken leg. I know she lived since I passed by slowly, barely hearing the small whimper, “My LEG!” Still, I thought she was lucky, just like I am. I wanted to tell her that her injury wasn’t as bad as the woman behind her. I could have told the detectives, but my stupid car wouldn’t stop, and I was scared.

She pulled at the tie in her hair, a ribbon the color of a red tomato. The same color as her dress. The same color as her shoes. The same color as the floor and the windows and the wallpaper speckled with red spots that offset the blue flowers that covered the walls. The same color as the knife she held in her trembling hand, fingers curling around the wooden handle as she stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen. She couldn’t believe that she was so stupid, that she trusted what he said after he had lied to her over and over again. And now she had this mess on her hands. She will never again ask him for advice on how to preserve raspberries and maybe the jar wouldn’t explode next time.

It’s lonely, here. In the ward.  

I sit here in my wheelchair, watching hopeful sunlight reach through my window in shafts, kindly fingers extending for a handshake. Through the dirt and the grime of the glass, I can see a wall of brick, weathered by Time, the subtle thief of youth. I cannot see myself, in the glass. I am content not to.  

I can hear the screams. I can hear the screams, you know that? I can hear them. . .  

Pardon me. According to the balding doctors and the weary nurses that enter my room, my psychological state sometimes allows me to continue with... disillusioned thoughts. You must forgive me.  

I don’t why I am here. They won’t tell me. I like to imagine the mental breakdown that brought me to this sterile prison was one of comedy and tragedy, of steely detectives and fair ladies, of crimson murder and blue-back madness... but I don’t think so. Life is not perfect enough for that.  

There’s a pretty nurse that comes to my room a lot. I’m thinking about curling my hands around her throat and letting her life escape from her body.  

It’s lonely, here. In the ward.  

Snow fell at an incredulous rate as the wind carried it violently all over. This isn’t surprising: New York has always had freezing winters, which is why Daniel couldn’t believe his eyes when the temperature the next morning was in the low 90s. 

“Wow, I can’t remember the last time this happened,” he said to himself in absolute shock. He opened the closet and got out his favorite pair of short-shorts. He proceeded to put them on, adding a tee shirt on top, and called an Uber to meet his friends for brunch. 

Daniel took the elevator down, and once he left the building, he instantly grimaced, as if a million blades had entered his body all at once. With the Uber waiting, he reluctantly wrapped his arms as best as he could around himself and walked over in delicate steps. 

“Why are you wearing shorts,” his friends blurted once they saw him. 

“We literally had a snowstorm yesterday,” another said. His name is Stanley.

“Well,” Daniel started to explain. “I thought it was going to be hot out.”

“Why would you think that?” Stan said.

“I mixed up my apple watch’s battery percentage with the temperature.” 

They all laughed.

     Hailey tasted blood in her mouth when she bit down on her tongue. The pain in her shoulders was shooting lightning bolts of pain down her spine. Her legs collapsed. She felt her face form a bruise around where they had punched her. Then, as quickly as it had started, it was over. 

     When her eyes stopped being fuzzy, she could make out a figure in front of her. The nurse, Loretta, was typing away at her computer. The nurse’s white hair was pulled into a bun that looked a little too tight. She was wearing teal scrubs and her fingernails were painted pink. She had a picture of her grandchildren in her desk and every once in awhile glanced at the picture. She was a small woman, but could be very feisty and everyone knew not to cross her. The laugh lines across her forehead danced whenever she smiled.  The nurse turned around and smiled at seeing her awake. 

     The nurse helped her sit up and told her to drink a sip of water. She held out an ice pack for her to put on her cheek.