Surviving the Dead: Amy's Story

Posted on Sat Jul 27th, 2024 @ 3:58am by Amythyst
Edited on on Sat Jul 27th, 2024 @ 4:32pm

735 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: The Road Ahead
Location: NYC
Timeline: September 6th-7th

Amythyst, or Amy as she prefers, crouched behind a dumpster in an alleyway, the heavy scent of rotting garbage mingling with the pungent odor of the undead. The streets of New York, once bustling with life, were now overrun with the shambling horrors that had turned the city into a death trap. Amy gripped the machete she had found weeks ago, its weight a comforting reminder of her will to survive.

Her long brown hair, streaked with purple, clung to her face as she peered out cautiously. She wore her signature oversized army green jacket, a relic from her past, over a simple T-shirt and jeans. The jacket, once belonging to someone she had known as a child, now served as a reminder of who she once was in a world that no longer existed.

Amy was alone. She had always been a loner, growing up in East Harlem with her mother, Miranda Morrison. Life had been tough, but she had found solace in her sketching, often making money in Central Park by drawing tourists. Now, her sketchbook was one of the few items in her backpack, along with a sleeping bag, a couple changes of clothes, toiletries, boots, and a small first aid kit.

The sound of shuffling feet and low moans grew louder. Amy knew she had to move. She was fast—years of being a track athlete had honed her skills. She could outrun the walkers, but she had to stay vigilant. Her brown eyes, sharp and observant, scanned the alleyway for any signs of danger.

Moving swiftly and silently, Amy darted from her hiding spot. She stuck to the shadows, navigating the labyrinthine alleys of New York. The city was a maze of danger. She avoided the main streets where the hordes roamed, preferring the less travelled routes.

Her thoughts drifted to her mother, who had died in a tragic accident just before the world went to hell. Amy had lied to the authorities, claiming she had an older brother to avoid being placed in foster care. Now, that lie seemed insignificant in the face of the apocalypse. Survival was all that mattered.

As she approached the edge of Central Park, Amy hesitated. The park, once a sanctuary, was now a battleground. She had hoped it would be safe, but the undead had overrun it. She could see the remnants of makeshift camps, evidence of others who had sought refuge there and failed. She couldn't stay in one place for too long.

Her machete at the ready, Amy moved through the park with caution. She was wary of others—trust was a luxury she couldn't afford. Her encounters with other survivors had taught her that desperation could make people dangerous. She kept to herself, relying on her speed and cunning to stay alive.

Amy's journey was a constant struggle. Every day was a fight for survival, a test of her resilience. She found solace in her sketches, capturing the bleak beauty of the world around her. Her charcoal drawings were a reminder of her humanity, a way to hold onto a piece of herself in a world that had lost its soul.

As night fell, Amy found a secluded spot to rest. She unrolled her sleeping bag and settled in, her machete within arm's reach. The sounds of the undead echoed in the distance, a constant reminder of the danger that lurked. She closed her eyes, clutching her sketchbook to her chest, and allowed herself a moment of rest.

In the darkness, Amy dreamed of a world before the fall, of Central Park filled with laughter and life, of a future where she could draw without fear.

But as dawn broke and the harsh reality of the apocalypse set in, she knew those dreams were far from reach. For now, survival was her only goal, and she would continue to fight, one day at a time. Amy stood up, steeling herself for another day in the city of the dead. She adjusted her jacket, tightened her grip on her machete, and stepped out into the desolate streets of New York. In a world gone mad, Amythyst, the girl who loved to draw, would continue to run, fight, and survive. She hoped. Moving from her hiding space, she began another day of running and hiding, maybe she would find food this time.. there were a few bodegas around that might have something...

 

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