Maple Street

Today marks two years and six months since the world went to shit. I've been living off empty houses slowly making way across town avoiding going outside as much as possible. I stared out of the window on the second floor of the last room I had checked. The sun was setting, covering the town in a cool grey tone. The abnormal masses made of flesh glowed as the few rays of the sun struck it. I had found myself in this nice neighborhood called Maple Street, according to the beat-up sign that had fallen at the end of the block. This house was the nicest thought, it seemed to have been hardly touched at all, some windows were broken but the door was in perfect condition. It was normal. I walked downstairs and took the opportunity to remove my shoes and relax. I had locked all the doors deciding that I could stay here for the night. The sun had finished setting and the house was now dark. I threw myself onto the black leather sofa, looking at a family photo to my right before placing it face down. Feeling an empty pit in my stomach, I snuggled up against my bag and closed my eyes.