I stared at the wooden door, scrutinizing the design quietly. A dark brown barrier divided me from loneliness and insanity. If I stayed on this side of the door, I'll never reach my destination...but if I go to the other side of the door...

I shudder. It's only a door! I'm staring at a rectangular piece of wood! So what if there are hundreds of human-eating freaks on the other side? I'll just tell them I taste like shit. ...but wait. What if they like shit? Then they'll be all over me! I shook my head. No I'm just being ridiculous again. Maybe Sis was right when she said I overanalyze things. ...but maybe that's why I'm still alive.

My mind made up, I took a step up to the door. I grip the doorknob, look down at my hand, coated in grime and dust, and take a deep breath. I open the door slowly, inch by inch, relieved that it doesn't creak. Peering out at the eerie street before me, I see the place riddled with run down cars and debris. Bodies, steaming with decay, are scattered all across the sidewalk and asphalt, making it difficult to cross without running into one.

I stepped outside and listened.

Wind carried a soft tune through the air and paper flew by to rest at a stop sign down to my left. The sky was gray, whether from smog or decay, I can't tell. A sense of foreboding and misery seem to stream out of my surroundings, urging me to go back the way I came. But that was impossible. What if there was a horde of zombies waiting back at the apartment? Or one of those other creatures Sis told me about, lounging around in the hallways?

No. Too risky. I'll have to take my chances.

And just like that my thoughts were taken back to my dearest loving sister. Pffft. Dearest? More like suicidal. I swear she had a death wish. Always going out, getting herself hurt and banged up.

And killed.

She always had a good reason though. She wanted to help everyone, all the time, sometimes all at once. That led to me getting food poisoning once. I was puking all over the place for three days after that. She had tried to bake cookies for me and my brother and carve raw chicken for the food shelf. At the same time and place. Right on the kitchen counter. Somehow while adding sprinkles to the cookies, some raw meat had made its way onto my sugary circles of joy.

That's what she always called them. She was way too optimistic. She used to say I was too negative.

But she never understood! You never know when danger will strike! You could be walking down the street and then BAM! You're killed in a car accident. You're dead and not even aware of it.

I miss her. Violet. She was four years older than me when she died. That was a week ago…