Perfect.

That wasn't sarcastic by the way, I am genuinely ecstatic. Like to the point where my eyes lit up like a freaking Christmas tree—speaking of, I wonder what the date is— It's sad that its gotten so bad to the point that a box filled with tuna tins is the highlight of my day.

But hey, beggar's can't be choosers right? Neither can scavengers apparently.

I thank my lucky stars that I found an entire box and not just one can, it would actually end up having a wrestle with Luna over it. That bitch has a mean, claws-to-the- face fetish.

I am being literal.

The repetitive thud of a hard surface against a set of filing cabinets grabbed my attention. I shot a glare at the eager Labrador that stood beside my crouching form, her tongue dangling and heavy breathy pants leaving her wide open jaw.

"Keep it down...bitch." Luna raised her soulful eyes to me in a way that made me immediately remorseful.

I told you I was being literal, Luna is my canine companion.

I suppose I should be a little easier on the dog, some bodily reactions are unstoppable. I was a little curious to why my stomach wasn't growling in a way that seemed to mock Luna for her lack of a growl. I suppose it's gotten to the point where my organs had given up on expecting a proper maintenance from me.

Taking a cautious glance over my shoulder for any sign of the undead, I brought my back pack past my side and situated it between my legs. Quickly I began shoving the cans into the sack, being thorough not to leave any behind.

It would be nice to leave something behind for another lone survivor to find, but screw them, I need sustenance.

Warning: In the occurrence of a Zombie Apocalypse you will most likely become a selfish, heartless bitch.

Unless you are mother Theresa, then you can do no wrong.

But then again, I was heartless way before the world went to shit—according to my mother that is.

Ah dear mother. She was constantly in my thoughts. Which is funny because I tried so hard not to let her plague my daily habits, though some might say—who am I kidding? All say I gained my "commendable" qualities from her.

She was poised, graceful, and polite when needed be—to your face that is. But I've seen the ugliness inside her too many times to state an exact number.

I used to think my biggest fear in life was to grow up to be like my mother but now... seeing those ugly, disgusting, moth ridden, eyeball less creatures walking about in their lazy lifeless strut—turning into them has become my biggest fear.

It's too easy to picture myself as one of them- it doesn't take that much of an effort. One jump from a high roof to a huddle of Walkers. A little Walker crowd surfing that will most definitely result with a limbless ole me.

Pushing the mental gif image, I shrugged on the strap of the bag and stood up. Luna twisted her long body around to follow me out of the kitchen of the appliance store and back the way we entered.

The space was silent and crowded with knocked over office chairs, a few shelves and empty cardboard boxes—courtesy of yours truly. I glanced around the area, deciding that I've pretty much milked everything I could out of the office space, I turned away.

We made our way out the back exit and onto the lone streets of the small abandoned town we had found. It's been a week since we discovered the town on the outskirts of Georgia. We rifled through each corner store, empty house and pharmacy we could find.

I forgot to mention the pet stores. Luna likes her doggy treats.

Speaking of, I can hear her claws clicking against the tiles. That reminds me, I need to pick up one of those claws trimming whatcha-ma-call it apparatus.

I bet a proper dog lover would know what it's called. I never really had much of an opinion about animals; my adoration for pets is pretty recent. I avoided animals like the plague before the world went to hell.

Luna abruptly froze beside me, ears perking up and a snarl curled up at her mouth. I looked ahead to find a Walker lugging in my direction. I tense up, it's instinctual with me and I wonder if the feeling would ever pass. Considering it my billionth time facing one, the reaction isn't as intense as it was the first time, when I was with people.

"Can you believe what they are saying?"

"About what?"

"The dead walking, biting people. It's crazy Vivian." I had trouble empathizing with the apprehension written across Cecilia's pretty, oval face. All I could think about was how much I hated it when she used my full name, she sounded like my mother.

I think that was the whole point in her using my entire name, she was a closet dominatrix. Loved being in control or using sentences and phrases that made her feel like she was in control, though the worst part is I allowed it. I was submissive, physically—mentally I was repertoire of sarcasm, angst, envy and repulsion.

Repulsed by most things that didn't meet my standards of cleanliness, which was pretty much, everything.

Now it's just the occasional dose of sarcasm.

It took me a month of surviving in a dead infested area to admit to myself that I do in fact have a problem—I was saved by an entire winter of rehabilitation.

Luna and I made our way up our usual hill through the forest. My feet ached from all the walking I had done that day; it was more than the usual trek through the empty lands. But the pain dulled slightly when our shelter fell into my eye level.

It was a steel tower, resembling a life guards post but a little wider, enough room to stretch my legs and sleep. I never understood the purpose of it in the middle of the forest, maybe it was god send but it was the best form of shelter I had found all year.

At least, I think it's been a year.

When I first found the tower I was ecstatic, mainly because I hadn't noticed until I bumped face first into it. I cringed from the recollection of having to self adjust my dislocated nose that suffered from the impact of bone to steel.

Thank god the walker that witnessed my fall hadn't laughed, though my blushing reaction filled me with a delusion of having shared a moment with the undead...before I staked him in the head of course.

Luna stood beside me in front of the tower, I glanced down at her, and she stared back expectantly with her tongue dangling. My attention fell to the several straps that hugged her wide form; the metal clasps glinted in the setting sun light. The straps had a few modifications done over the year. Leather add-ons for a knife and a pocket to store smaller items, aspirin, Tic-Tacs—if I was fortunate to find any— light items that didn't cause much of a burden on the mutt.

My fingers reached for a rope that hung by the side of the towers. I grabbed it, looped it through two strong clasps located at the length of her spine and gave it a swift tug, to test its strength.

Satisfied I adjusted the slipping back-pack on my shoulders and began to climb the steel ladder of the towers. Once I reached the top, I grabbed the other end of the rope curved around the metal railing of the tower and pulled. I was tired and sweat beads ran down my tan, lean arms, mixing with the dirt and grime.

Luna silently allowed herself to be hoisted into the air and to the leveled surface of the tower. She was accustomed to the routine by now and when I pushed at her chest her like a child on a swing. She swung back and then came flying forward, I relaxed my hold on the rope and she jumped of her own accord on to the hard surface.

Her claws clicked against the metal, her coat trembling from the landing. I smiled and released her of the rope as settled down. My rear met the cool plane; I leaned back into the metal bars. They were uncomfortable in the beginning but now, I've gotten pretty used to their jabbing against my shoulder blades.

The lab did a few quick strides in a circular motion before reclining beside me. I watched her get comfortable, resting the base of her jaw on my lap, curling her damp slightly muddied tail around my knee. My hand instinctually fell to her head, patting gently as I allowed myself a moment of peace by closing my eyes.

It was strange, me cuddling up to an animal...a dog for crying out loud. I laughed at the thought of my mother's furious expression if she witnessed this sentimental moment. Too bad she is dead; I would actually find pleasure in her disdain. A disdain for me that I worked to the bone to make sure she never revealed to me.

I have the usual complex most women my age had dealt with their whole lives, pleasing a parent. If a passing person—the none dead that is—saw me, surviving on my own, in the company of a dog no less. Would dub me a nature lover? Because nothing says you belong outdoors when you are covered in mud, your hair is slick with sweat and the jeans you wore were discolored and shredded at the knees.

Trust me when I say, I am not outdoorsy. If you came up to me a year ago and ask me to join you in a hike, I would politely recommend my friend Cecilia to you.

Although mentally I would have maimed, impaled and burned you at least a dozen times for even suggesting something so tedious.

The pain in my ass since our families first met on that fateful day I had my first ballet class.

Fateful for two reasons.

One being that was one decision my mom had ever regretted in her entire life—of course she didn't realize this till I was eighteen.

Two, it was when I discovered my passion in life, dance.