Survival

She was out on a strike, bearing an axe, to kill not only me, but everyone. A day of murder was scheduled without the need of time.

The night was normal, vivid. People weren't running, law enforcers were nonexistent, until she started it, everybody going down. The grin on the face permanently plastered. There was blood and blood. I ran, hoping to get away from the target proximity, but I was axed on the back, but I ran and entered into a building where it stinks of life. I felt my meat disappear.

I stepped into a school's fire exit, a secret passage, to be seen with a few survivors. I was fatally wounded, my veins gushing out my dryness, blood, and thinness; my skeleton was showing. I went in first and decided to go back down to search for her, decided to keep quiet. There was security, face was damped with apathy, and we entered this enormous storage room. I heard noises. There were rooms screened and covered with newspapers. Peeping, I saw people devouring food. They were alive, but sanity was taken away. He smiled and nodded. I did not want to see it. I saw a small man eating something oriental and he insisted an interpretation I did not hear. I left and wandered.

I changed and walked to the morning ahead of what's about to happen. The people remained calm, but crypt was a forming tone. I felt no pain, I was running, waiting for anyone to give me a ride. The jeepney stopped and took me to the passenger's seat. The driver called the police if I could sit beside as there was someone already beside me. I recognized the faces when I turned. It was normal, but the entirety was pensive.

I didn't have a direction; all I want was to leave and live.

It was the first time fear entered my veins and immediately left like a dying fox; that morning was the very first time I've felt hunger.