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A Thin Line
(© Michelle Grieger)

Page 1

I rubbed my tired eyes with my fist, wishing I could sleep but knowing I couldn't. My thoughts drifted, but my eyes remained watchful, as I stepped back into the recent past.

Everyone knows by now that the dead are walking; they have heard the conflict-ing theories and seen the results. I won't bother going into details. I will, however, tell you what happened to me.

Just 3 months ago I had a mom, a twin brother, a dad. After the dead rose, my dad's two brother's joined us in our house in the country, as it seemed to be the safest place. The four men worked to fortify the house and the nearby surroundings in case any of the "things" wandered in, while mom stayed with me. At 17, I should have been strong and full of life like my brother, but I wasn't, due to a childhood illness which left me with weak lungs and a stroke which had partially paralyzed my left leg. So while my brother was helping keep us alive, all I could do is watch. And think.

I had always been interested in human nature-why people act the way they do. When the dead began to rise up it seemed ironic to me that once trusted loved ones, if they weren't destroyed properly, would without hesitation kill those they'd held close to their hearts. It was a chilling thought, but made me think. How different were the living really, from the walking dead? Some people are so greedy to climb that corporate ladder that they will step on anyone to get the golden ring; people kill "loved" ones for insurance money; thieves kill for pocket change. To me, it was a thin line separating us from them.

My dad and brother were killed just over a month ago, in the orchard. They had been picking apples when they were ambushed. How, I don't know. We heard screams and my uncles ran outside with guns but it was too late. Mom tried to shield my view with her body but I saw. It was like watching a movie which is so terrible that it shocks you yet at the same time, intrigues you. My uncles came in quickly and secured the door, then went around checking the rest of the house, knowing it was secure but needing the activity to redirect their thoughts.

We had food enough until we could figure something else out, and mom wasn't worried, having the two men around to plan things. I just sat and watched, as those things began invading our land. There weren't many, even after a month, but still, just knowing they were there, made your heart do funny things.

The first time I saw my brother my mouth went dry and I couldn't move. I watched him lumber up toward the house, his movements jerky and hesitant. He had been mutilated horribly, and the only way I could be certain it was him was by the baseball jersey he had on, his favorite one. He couldn't have, but I almost could have sworn he looked at me. His murky eyes had slid across the house, but I was watching from between the slats in the living room blinds, too small for him to see me. They had stopped near my position but then moved on, but I realized my heart had skipped a beat in the process. At that point one of my uncles, who had just snuck a peek through another window, saw him too and picked up his gun, taking the stairs two at a time. Moments later, I heard the shot and watched as my brother fell to the ground, a hole in his head. That was when I knew for sure that the world as I knew it was over.

Food began getting scarce soon after that, not being able to go out safely anymore. Our stomach's rumbled all the time, but after a while, it got to the point where it didn't hurt anymore if you didn't think about it. Mom kept trying to give me some of her ration but I refused it. My uncles were becoming erratic in their behavior, and increasingly irritable and at times paranoid. We tried to avoid getting in their way, which wasn't really hard in such a big house. It just seemed to make the days more bearable to have as much peace as possible.

They got my mom last night. I was awakened by a scream and her voice telling me to get away. As fast as my leg would let me, I made it to the hall where the ladder to the attic could be pulled down, climbed up, and pulled the ladder up after me. I then proceed-ed to pile all I could manage on top of the trapdoor, but it was pretty flimsy. My lungs heaving, I wiped the sweat out of my eyes and moved back into the farthest corner, my eyes trained on the pile for any movement. I knew it was too soon, but I wasn't going to be caught by surprise.

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Genre:Living Dead
Type:Short story
Rating:6.75 / 10
Rated By:158 users
Comments: 8 users
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