I always used to tell my friends my life sucked, but now it really does. If I had the option of suicide I'd take it but it's only a luxury now. Now, I've got people that depend on me. People I'd give my life for if I knew it would give them a fighting chance. As of now, I'm standing on the roof of the two story brick building that I now call home. The sun is just beginning to rise as I look down at my hands and remember how they used to be. Small but not exactly delicate; they used to not be covered with scars and callouses, cuts and bruises, and I used to pride myself on the fact my fingers had the rough tips from playing so much guitar but now I have touched one in years. As I watch the sun rise I start to remember everything from before it began. I was fourteen when it started. I was at home watching the news before I went to school and I heard it say something about a new, strange disease sweeping the nation; primarily in the large cities of the North East. Living in a tiny village called Whitepine I really didn't worry. I went to school in a town called Newport, so I still had to go to school; which at that point was a huge bummer. I got there decked out in my usual black band shirt, black jeans, and black Converse. Before all this I was labeled as the Goth or Emo kid; it probably didn't help that I wrote poetry, listened to music that wasn't mainstream, and had cut myself in the past. The popular kids were always making fun of me and my motley crew of friends but I didn't care. I'd killed my heart long ago after being told to think with my head instead.
I stepped into the cesspit of a school they called Newport Grammar. I hated it. The feeling was mutual because most of the people there hated me. Ironically enough, I've saved some of those worthless beings but I've also killed a few. So, I sat down and stared reading my Complete Collection of Edgar Allen Poe stories until class started. It was about mid-way through the day when my history teacher pulled up the news which was saying that the disease had spread rapidly and the effects were seen near Knoxville. People panicked. Some prayed, others cried, some, like me, didn't know how to react. I just sat there with a dumb look on my face. We were dismissed early that day, so I went home and started playing guitar to get my mind off of it. Then I heard that the illness was turning people into cannibals and to not open your doors for anyone. That's when I heard the window burst.
I stopped playing immediately; the heavy metal flooding from my amp only moments before added to the eerie silence that blanketed the house. The only sound now was a muffled groan, followed my shuffling. Then suddenly something hit my door, hard. I stood. The only thing in my hands was a beautiful guitar, which I had named Sanguine due to its blood red coloring. Another bang almost tore the door off its hinges. I was suddenly consumed by fear; I could feel the blood drain from my extremities and my heart beating against the inside of my chest. I unplugged my guitar without thinking and geld it ready like an axe of all things. I stood there, I knew I was going to die but not without a fight; whatever was on the other side of that door wasn't walking away as easily as it came sauntering in. The door burst open showing me the zombified neighbor I'd never know and now never will. It lunged toward me, and without thinking I swung Sanguine. It cracked against the zombie's head knocking it to the ground. It tried to get up, so I hit it again. And again, and again, and again. My lovely Sanguine now really lived up to its name. I ran out of my room and ran into more. I swung in a wild fashion; just trying to get them away from me. Then I heard a sicken crack. Not like a skull or any other bone but like the breaking of wood. Sanguine, my whole existence at that time, was broken. I was infuriated! If it weren't for these disgusting beasts coming into MY house and attacking ME, I would have never had to use MY GUITAR for anything that wasn't musical! I fought harder with the remains of my guitar. I made to the door only to see more of the undead running toward the commotion.
So, I ran away. I always hated running but now it was important. I ran for what felt like forever but I only made it about halfway to Newport. I didn't want to necessarily want to go there but apparently that's where my feet were taking me. I finally got to the school which was where it seemed everyone was. I got to the doors of the gym and just started beating on them. One of my teachers saw me and let me in. it surprised me that they weren't checking for bites, seeing as how I was covered with blood. I stumbled in' looking around all I saw were preps who whit their immaculate clothes stared at me with a mixed look of shock and contempt. That is until one of them spoke, "I thought an emo kid like you would let the zombies kill you," said a tall girl whose name I never bothered to remember. I just stared at her and said, "I don't know if your brainwashed mind can comprehend what I'm about to say but this is serious. People are out there being eaten alive and I'm fairly certain NO ONE wants that." They stared on with their smug looks until I sighed and walked away. I could hear them chattering about how I came in alone and how I'm so emo nobody thought I was worth the trouble of driving me here. I walked onto the actual gym floor and headed to the vacant side of the bleachers when I heard my name screamed out. "Alyssa!" at that moment I was basically tackled by my friend Heidi and Coby was not far behind. "How did you get here?" Coby said with legit tears in his eyes. "I ran." I said with my voice surprisingly calm. "My house got attacked by those thing and…..and," at this point the weight of everything hit me and I started crying as I finally said, "And I broke Sanguine!"