Chapter 1: Abandoned

Being alone in this world for so long has left me devoid of all emotion. I feel nothing. My name is Aria Daniels and this is my story.

Outlast

Chapter 1: Abandoned 

My feet slapped against the cracked cement as I sprinted down the abandoned street. I could hear them behind me, gaining on me. I ran for my life but my legs were too short to escape them. My only salvation was a tiny gap between a chain link fence and a brick building a few yards ahead. I dove for the gap and made it through just as I felt cold fingers brush against my bare shoulder. I was safe, for now, but that fence wouldn't hold them for long. Glancing back one final time, I would have never guessed that those thin, hallow looking monsters on the other side of the fence were once people. The woman had only a few strands of mousy blonde hair left upon her decaying scalp. Her left eye drooped and half of her jaw was gone. The man was no Miss America either. I turned to leave the flesh-eaters behind, swearing a vow to never get attached to another human being again. 

My eyes flew open at the sound of a loud, repeating thumping noise on the front door. I remember that day so well. It was the first time I was alone in the city after my parents abandoned me. I suppose I should thank them for what they did. They sent me away at the age of 7. They were 24, one year before the deadly virus claims its victims. They taught me things about the world and what it used to be like. They taught me how to speak and think for myself. They told me it was better this way. They told me they loved me. And yet, they left me alone to die. Eleven years later not much has changed.

I left the city around age ten seeking a quieter place less infected with mouth breathers, the term I use for those who the virus has claimed. I call them this simply because they are always making unnecessary noise, much like someone who breathes through their mouth. I like quiet. However, I more fondly refer to them as mindless f*****g idiots, but that's a bit of a mouth full. I was born into this horrible decaying world you see, this is all I've ever known. It's made me hard, but it's made me a survivor. I couldn't tell you exactly how this world turned to complete crap but my parents told me that it wasn't always this way. But what do they know, they were 17 when they had me. They were born into this world and so were their parents and their grandparents and probably even their great great grandparents. So how much does anyone really know anymore.

There is no government, at least as far as I know. There is no structure. People are lucky if they live long enough for the virus to claim them. If I had to guess I’d say survival rate is somewhere around negative 10 percent. My parents told me that there once was a world where everything was green and living. People formed communities and went to something called school together. People died of natural causes. People didn't eat other people. They told me that there used to be this disease called cancer and that many men spent their entire lives trying to find a cure. Well, in the year 2040 I guess someone finally did. Oh it got rid of the cancer alright, but it also kind of turned everyone into flesh eating zombies once they turned 25. The year if now 2145, I think, and it's been over 100 years since that happened. Things have only gotten worse.

The government lost hope in finding a cure, or they simply gave up and stopped looking. Ever since then this world has been on a slow decent into Hell. There are those who speak of the Rapture. I don't believe in any of that religious mumbo jumbo but some of the younger survivors claim that the rapture has come, that this all mighty being has taken the believers and left the rest of us here to die. On the rare occasion that I run into one of these people, and by rare I mean once every five years, I tend to stay as far away from them as possible. If there is someone up there, a higher power, an unearthly being, he definitely isn't on my side.

I never bothered to hole up with any other survivors that I’ve met along my journey. I prefer to be alone. No attachments. No heartache. I've heard of a thing called love. I don't remember what it feels like but I know I felt it once eleven years ago for my parents. I wonder if I’ll ever feel it again, or if I even want to.

Now I’m living in an old, broken down farm house in the middle of nowhere. It's quiet here. There are no cities to attract the mouth breathers and the air almost smells fresh. I've been living here for a little over a year now and things are going pretty well. If I still had the ability to feel or express any sort of emotion I might have been happy here. But my mind and body are too numb for such feelings.

I remember the thumping on the door and quickly grab my knife belt from the floor and strap it tightly to my bony hips. Over the years I’ve gathered a whole arsenal of knives for my collection. I fashioned a holster of sorts out of several long pieces of rope and some wire that I found in an abandoned alley. I've got everything from short, dull edged blades that my mother used to keep to long sharp knives with jagged edges that could slice a human head clean off. I have 13 in total, if you count the knives I hide in my old patched up leather boots or the ones I wrap in cloth and hide under my clothes. Knives are my friends. They are my favorite killing tool against the mouth breathers. Clean and quiet. I really love quiet. As I sprint out the door of the tiny room I was sleeping in I grab my bow and arrow that was leaning against the door frame and slip it over my shoulder. This is weird. I was not expecting company at this hour, I think sarcastically to myself. Or at all for that matter.

As a slink down the stairs I peek at my reflection in the old, cracked hanging mirror. I can barely recognize the person staring back at me. My face is pale and thin and my dark auburn hair is dry and bleached from the sun. I no longer see the young seven year old girl with bright blue, innocent eyes. My mother told me i was pretty, too pretty for a world like this. But looking at myself now, i'm not so convinced. Each step results in a loud, hideous creaking. The thumping at the front door quiets for a moment and I stop. All is silent for  a brief second before the thumping returns, more furious this time. And that's when I realize that this is not sweet uncle Joe at the door, here to sell me some cheese and crackers, but none other than a mouth breather. They've finally found me. I knew this place was too good to be true. I think of all the sunny mornings. The warm sunshine caressing my skin, the brisk wind sweetly stinging my face. I remember sitting on the porch and looking out at miles of empty fields filled with tall grass that swayed in the wind. I should have known that something this beautiful could never last in a world this ugly.

I free a blade from my belt, the one with long, fine teeth which I refer to as Lola, and quietly exit through the back door. I creep along the side of the house until I come to the corner. I peek my head around slowly to survey the area. It's a mouth breather alright. I can smell him from ten yards away. And this one's bloated, which means he must have eaten recently. But where could he have found food up here? How could I have not known that there were people around? Living people? Before I have a chance to get lost in my thoughts I snap back to reality and set my mind on my task. Suddenly the wind changes and the mouth breather stops pounding and sniffs the air. Oh crap. I think he can smell me. I should have shot him with an arrow. Why didn't I do that? I'm smarter than this. Living out here in the peaceful quiet for a year has made me rusty. I continue to watch as the mouth breather turns in my direction. He begins to drag himself on one leg towards my corner. I quickly fall back to the side of the house, out of site, and wait. My knuckles are turning white from the excruciatingly tight grip I have on Lola. I steady my breathing and listen. I hear the loud scraping of body parts against loose pebbles in the dirt. He's about five yards away. Now three. Now one. As quick as I can I jump out from behind the corner and come face to face with the most hideous mouth breather I have ever seen. Standing at about 6 ft 7 and roughly 200 lbs this guy could swallow me whole. Most of the skin on his face has rotted off and there appears to be fresh blood all over what's left of his jaw and stomach. Before he has a chance to lunge at me a thrust my knife forward, aiming for his head, and hit him square in the eye. I push down hard and twist until his giant mass slumps to the ground. I carelessly wipe the splattered blood from my eyes and mouth and retreat inside to pack my few belongings. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome in this oddly beautiful place. After cleaning the blood from Lola and my tattered clothes I head out the front door and into the great unknown.

Reviews

[GrandDystopia]

First off, great premise, in this kind of genre it's hard to be original but you got it. Liked the pacing of your writing style, the narrator has a very clear voice and seems very natural to me. On that note when you are writing a first person narrated story be very careful with info dumps, I noticed a few instances where I just felt too much info was being thrown at me. Just a personal peeve but try and drip feed world and plot details, it may create a better air of mystery. Overall though, I really liked this, I will definitely be reading further chapters.

[bekahf2014]

Thank you!(: I really need the constructive criticism, it helps a lot!

[Victoria]

I really like your style. Very clear and you don't get bogged down with adjectives or overly amounts of flashbacks. Great job!

[bekahf2014]

thank you so much(:

[SweetNutmeg]

I am very impressed. The quality of your writing is far above the norm here. You've kept away from the biggest mistake of overusing adjectives. Instead you use verbs very well. I always look for "show, don't tell" details and you've got tons. Your character is three dimensional and consistent.

For plausibility, I noted one thing: would she know what Miss America was?

I am curious about a number of things... where do normal people get normal food? Is she singular in being a loner, or is that the common state in this new world? My curiosity has me hooked and I look forward to reading more.

Aside from a few typos, this is an excellent work so far.

[bekahf2014]

haha I didn't even think about the Miss America thing! Thanks for pointing that out, i just thought it'd be funny. As for the rest of you inquiries you'll just have to keep reading to find out. Thanks so much for the review, it helps a lot. And i get what you mean about the whole "show don't tell" thing. I try really hard to make my writing interesting and not unnecessarily lengthy haha

[Jason van Dongen]

Your style is enchanting, and you have a flair for enhancing the drama through description. I am no expert, but I would say you show real promise as a writer. My only criticism is that it was a little hard to follow what tense you were writing in. I think the first paragraph is a flashback, but I can't be sure. Also, it wasn't clear that the thump your character heard as if 'inside [her] head' was actually a thump on the door. They are just quibbles, though. All in all, a good piece of writing.

[bekahf2014]

Thank you so much for the review it helps a lot! Yeah it is kind of hard to follow. I didn't plan on any of that it just kind of happened so I need to think of a clearer way to incorporate it into the story. Thank you so much though(: