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FEAR WHAt I'LL BECOME AFtER DEAtH

I got used to death before, after my grandmother, my uncle Peter, and a few of my parents' high school friends. I thought I'd be able to get used to it out here too, but I guess things are different when you're the one causing the death and when you have no one to help you get over it. I wish I could do things right. For myself, for the people around me, the people I love. It never works out that way though. I do stupid shit and it has consequences, I know it does but I keep doing it. It's like my body will do anything to survive but my mind wants the exact opposite. This is not a story about love. It is not a story about heartbreak but my life revolves around that. After what I did to him it's all it can revolve around. I deserve death. He deserved to take me with him, but he didn't. Unfortunately I'm still here. ---A spin-off to the After Death series. This story focuses on a new group of survivors, including an apocalypse-orphaned 17 year old boy from Ohio named Valentine Evans, as they struggle to make a life for themselves. Warning: This story contains adult content and is intended only for mature audiences

RudyGasparrini · Terror

Classificações insuficientes

49 Chs

Chapter 4 (Lightweight)

Chapter 4: Lightweight

Valentine Evans

September 2022

About 4 months after outbreak

Ohio

Season 1

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After Robert died, I turned to alcohol, nicotine patches, and pretty much anything else I could find to numb the pain. I don't think I missed him. I didn't know him well enough to miss him. He loved to talk about himself, but I never cared enough to listen. I tried to be happy when I was with him, but I knew I was just pretending to be because I didn't want him to ask questions. But now that he's gone, I can't help but feel a sense of guilt for not appreciating him more. Maybe if I had taken the time to truly get to know him, things would have been different.

I walked with the dead; I hadn't slept in days; and I probably smelled horrible. Maybe that's why they didn't tear me apart limb by limb until I was nothing more than a seventeen-year-old white trash orphan boy who was obviously falling apart at the seams. I didn't mind it, though; it kind of felt like armor. Like my own personal bodyguards that left me without a second thought to chase a plastic bag the wind carried along the street. I thought about dying more than I thought about what I had to do to stay alive. How easy it might be and how it would probably be worth it too.

I don't know what street I was on. I don't even remember if I was in the same state. Everything was a blur, and I felt like my entire well-being was being sucked out of my body with all the vomit and bacteria that came back up every couple of hours. I wanted a break, but I couldn't let myself collapse onto the pavement, probably because I was still subconsciously afraid of what the dead might do to me if I did.

I heard yelling and a faint whisper of my name, but I thought I was hallucinating it. I turned around to see who it was; I could have sworn my eyes deceived me. I felt weightless as I realized I couldn't take this anymore.

I collapsed onto the pavement, caught a glimpse of my childhood friend, and ignored it. It's probably a hallucination anyway.

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