I'm screwed up

– damn where I am *hit* ahhh shit it hurts – searching clumsily in the darkness he places his hand on a doorknob pushing Asia out so that the rays of light blind him for a few seconds

– Why the hell was he in a closet? Or rather, where the hell am I? – After his eyes had become accustomed to the light, with his hand rubbing the pain in his head, he noticed that he had left a closet to find himself in a messy and dirty room.

– *observe* this place needs a little cleaning – looking around the room to notice a window near the bed, taking a few steps, he arrives to look at the street

– I have a bad feeling, the street is desolate *look* damn I don't see anyone *look* *look* ohh finally a per – before finishing the word look carefully that the "person" was missing half of his left arm His face had been torn off, exposing some of the white bone, his clothes were a mess with large stains of dried blood, and he walked clumsily, dragging his feet on the floor.

– no.... it can't be.... what the fuck? – he steps back while his eyes show fear, a cold sweat runs down his back, his heart begins to beat strongly, his brain works as quickly as possible to organize and understand what he saw.

– *inhale, exhale* calm down.... calm down *inhale, exhale* well, there are three things for sure, the first is that it is a zombie, the second *look* *touch* this is not me, well it is not my body, with which leaves me with the third.....this is not my world.....shit I'm screwed...but wait how did I get here? *thinking* *thinking*..... the last thing I remember is going to sleep after finishing my university homework *thinking* nope nothing occurs to me - standing for a few minutes while he reorganized his memories - impossible I don't remember anything more, well leaving that aside if what I saw is real that means I'm in an apocalypse *sigh* first I'll look for a weapon, I don't want to find one of those while I'm unarmed -

Leaving the room and going down the stairs without making the slightest noise possible, to enter the kitchen *open* *search* *grab* (it's not much but it will do) after searching in one of the cabinets, I had found a knife kitchen, continuing his search he finds a 500 ml bottle of Coca-Cola lying in a corner next to the refrigerator (I can fill this with water) with that thought he goes back up the stairs to enter the bathroom that he previously saw After going down, upon entering he removes the lid of the well and finds it is full (some people are very idiotic in zombie movies leaving this hidden treasure) filling the bottle to start drinking it, quenching his thirst *gluc* *gluc* *gluc* afterwards drinking, he fills the bottle for the last time to finally leave, but something stops him

– amazing *touch* touch* is this me? – staring at himself in the mirror revealing his new appearance, a height of 1.80, around 17 to 18 years old, his hair was black, his face was well formed without any imperfection except a small scar on his right eyebrow, although having A somewhat loose long-sleeved shirt you could see his muscles trained and toned by exercise but what caught your attention the most were his eyes, they were a light electronic blue.

- shit! I am beautiful, it is a pity that this does not serve me in this world *sigh* - with a strong pain in his heart he resumes his path, going down the stairs to finally leave the house (well for now let's walk to the opposite side of where he went zombie) cautiously starts walking

Some time later

– How long have I been walking? I haven't seen anyone who isn't a fucking zombie *sigh* - complaining about their bad luck in not finding anyone alive - I don't even know where in the world I am *sigh* I really have bad luck [hey] [ here] - upon hearing that call his body tensed, looking in the direction of the sound he could see a man between 27 and 32 years old, his face was pale with small symptoms of malnutrition, he was wearing a light blue hospital gown, his abdomen He had some bandages with blood on them, he was sitting on some stone stairs looking in my direction while he used his hand to make some cellales

– Why does it look so familiar to me? – I close my eyes a little to be able to distinguish it but without warning a child between 8 and 12 years old hits the guy with a shovel in the face.

?: dad! dad! I hit the damn one, I'll kill him

?: Carl...

*Shooting*

¿?: It bit you?

¿?: No, he didn't but my name is Carl

¿?: I speak to you? You know they don't talk, tell me what is that wound? Did they bite you? Did they scratch you?... speak damn if you don't want me to shoot you

– Damn, I know where I am! –

END OF CHAPTER