"My hands are trembling; my mouth dry, the knot in my stomach is so tight it threatens to encase my whole body. I’ve been sitting, frozen in a state of shock for God knows how long. I’m gripping onto the knife so hard its blade is cutting through the top layer of my skin, causing a thin trickle of blood to trail down my fingers.
What the fuck just happened?
My little sister lies dead at my feet, murdered by the kitchen knife in my hands. Killed by me. I can’t even begin to get my head around what I’ve done, she is—was only eight years old. And such a petite, pretty thing. Blonde hair, bright turquoise eyes, chubby cheeks, a sweet smile, the whole works. I glance down at her frail, lifeless body. Bile rises up into my throat as my pulse races at an uncontrollable pace.
What a stupid bitch.
How could she have been so God damn incredibly thick? I told her over and over again that if she went outside, she would die. That there was no other outcome. She’d sit there all meek, tears dripping from the corners of her eyes, listening to my instructions, nodding shyly, appearing to soak up my every word.
But no, she just had to go and do it, didn’t she? She had to find out for herself. Well, she’s learnt her lesson the hard way now. When I caught her, out in the garden, just standing there, I knew. I knew right then in that moment that we were over. That she was as dead as our parents. She turned around and dared to look me in the eyes, with an expression so defiant it actually took me back for a second. Then she stormed past me into the house, refusing to talk to me for days, however much I screamed and yelled. She knew I was frightened, she knew I was worried about losing her, and she just left me to stew. Even crying only resulted in silence, and I never cry. She’s always known how to rile me up, that girl, but I’ve always loved her nonetheless. She’s my sister, which only makes me more pissed off with the bad turn this took.
She eventually stumbled out of her room, pale, almost grey, and barely breathing. My blood ran cold as I automatically gripped onto the knife next to me, just waiting. Her eyes flicked up at me, the familiar colourless irises filled my heart with an overwhelming sadness, which I immediately forced myself to replace with a burning rage. How dare she let this happen to her? I spent all that effort trying to look after her, teaching her the best way to survive and for what? For her to take both our lives into her own hands? For her to allow her stupid decisions to affect my life as well as her own?
When this new version of my sister lunged for me, I sprang into action almost instantly. It didn’t matter to me what or who she’d been, I’ve seen enough zombie films and read enough books to know that her past had gone, her personality was no more.That all she wanted to do now was to eat every scrap of flesh off my bones. Sentiment has no place in the apocalypse, everyone knows that.
I can still see the knife piercing her flesh. The blood…so much blood everywhere. I really had to force the blade to make it go into her brain deep enough to stop her. It isn’t as easy as I’d assumed it would be. When an aggressive cannibal is close to scraping its teeth against your arm and you’re pushing the weapon with all your might, just trying to break through the barrier, there’s a second when you think you have no chance of making it. I was lucky really; I managed to keep my cool to get the job done. That’s the first rule of survival, don’t lose your head. Well, that and always be prepared."