". . . . ." Relaxed and deep in slumber, nothing but pure innocence littered on her small, sleeping face. Not a twitch, not a spasm, barely any sign of disturbance painting her peaceful features as the rise and fall of her breath continued to main its steady beat. The distant sound of a soothing tune chimed through her ears, satisfying her. She subconsciously leaned further against something soft and sighed contentedly at the familiar touch of heat radiating through
that something soft, feeling nothing but complete and utter bliss. It was as though she was floating in cloud nine, her surroundings numbing her senses. Until a light shook nearly cause her to jerk abruptly out of her state of dreaming. "!" Because she had her little arms wrapped around the neck of her father, with the overwhelming feeling of shock coursing through her body, she unintentionally tightened her grip to the point of nearly chocking him. Once she came to full consciousness, however, she slowly loosened her hold. ". . . Morning." was the first and only thing she said as three unfamiliar figures shuffled toward their direction. The man spoke, and Anastasia watched him through strands of hair covering the brief flash of fear in her eyes. She nuzzled her head into the crook of her father's neck, hiding her face. "Were they bitten?"
.
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.
Marilyn couldn't think of a better way to celebrate a few weeks of survival outside the zombie infested world than to survive another night. Of course, seeing just how far she'd gotten to reach her current state it was safe to assume that there were many,
many close calls. Especially when she'd stupidly agree to 'team up' with another pitiful, desperate soul in the spur of the moment. Not that she
really regret having to work in a group once in a while, so long as it was only a temporary thing. Sure, she managed to explore beyond what was to be expected in the past week and thanks to the people she met, she became much more in control of herself. But the problem with people was not because as a huge group, the chances of attracting unwanted awareness was skyrocket high, but overtime, they tend to get attached.
Overly attached. Somewhat clingy and possessive. And that alone drove her away, fearing others depending on her on an
intense level.
'Never again.' She never asked for any of this, really. She never wanted to fight against the zombies for her life in the first place. If necessary (and I mean she's done it several times) she'd willingly throw herself into the fray and risk getting mauled. Life was too short, and she didn't care whether she died today or the next day or maybe even in a year. Yet, in spite her decisions Marilyn couldn't seem to let life go. She was still
trying to hold on to the future that may never surface.
She sat comfortably on the very top of an old tree, long slender legs dangling loosely under one eager walker scratching at the barks in mindless hopes to reach and devour her beating heart, and watched as a round of driven walkers raced after yet another poor girl. Marilyn debated to herself whether to step down and aid a fellow survivor, noting as an unknown man suddenly took hold of her arm, and disappeared inside the empty gun shop. She could almost see everything below; a girl standing alone and firing shots at a mob of walkers, and two men and children by their sides. Seemed suspicious enough?
". . . . ."
She glanced down, coming face-to-face with a decaying walker, still determined to grab hold of her leg and it could've, if she didn't draw a switchblade and aimed it directly into its hollow eyes. She grinned proudly, "Ah. Peace and quiet at last~"