104I am dead, but it's not so bad...
-o-
The insatiable hunger overtakes every cell in my body. I scurry around airport looking for M with an air of certainty in my strides.
I find him near the departure lounge staring at a wall; I join him.
"Hungry." I groan, studying the decaying yellowish-white walls covered with blood and grime.
M turns and stares at me.
"Just... ate." he breathes and turns to the wall again.
"City." I spit out, spraying the wall with the black liquid.
M groans and turns to me again.
"Such... fussy... child," he croaks.
I growl and turn away.
I guess I'll have to get it myself then.
-o-
Grey soulless eyes stare, mouth dripping with death.
"Dad?"
The monster lurches forward, sinking its teeth into my jugular vein.
-o-
Sanity Diary – Entry 001 – July
Dear Diary, my name is Matthew Bradley and I am alone.
That is the main reason as to why I am writing this. If I try to at least imitate communication, I may be able to stay sane for a little longer. It will also be a record of life during the "End of the World", just in case the world changes its mind and the human race pulls through.
I am 17 years old, but I'll be 18 at the end of this month. I don't know what today's date is, but I think it's mid-July.
It's currently night – I'd say around 1 a.m. – and I'm barricaded in the back of an abandoned 7-Eleven.
I also stink.
Not because I haven't washed in a few weeks (well, that has something to do with it), but because I'm covered in Death.
Death is the name I have given to what runs through the veins of the Dead; it drips from their mouths. It also has an interesting property. It hides the Living.
Smearing it over different parts of the body will completely hide your scent from them; it's a trick that my Dad taught me.
I will write more about my Dad another time, but not right now, I don't think I am ready.
I will write more soon.
I am Matthew Bradley and I am alone.
-o-
Sanity Diary – Entry 002 – July 28th
Well Diary, I am 18 today.
I discovered a house with electricity. It is on for about an hour at a time but cuts out regularly.
I found an old laptop which was useless as there was no internet connection, but on the plus side it told me the date. It is my birthday.
After a few hours of staying there, I noticed an old analogue television. I assumed all transmissions had ceased but I tried it anyway.
I tried all different frequencies until I found something. A voice.
It explained of a haven for survivors, an abandoned Stadium. It gave GPS coordinates which I noted down.
I cried, Diary, I'm not ashamed to say.
And here I am, sitting in the car writing this. I have entered the coordinates into the GPS and it says the Stadium is a 15 hour drive away.
Assuming I can find more petrol when it gets low and I don't run into any trouble, I should be there in about 3 days.
I'm so happy Diary. I just wish my Dad was here to come with me.
Now Diary, I promised I would tell you about my Father so I will.
Maxwell Bradley was his name. He was around my age when he became my Father. My Mother died when I was born so I don't know a lot about her, I only know that her name was Melissa which I always thought was a beautiful name.
But anyway, my Dad had always wanted to go into the Army like his own Father but never did because of me. This is probably why we both survived so long.
I was about 7 or 8 when the world ended, so I don't remember a lot about it. I just remember my Father teaching me things over the years; teaching me how to survive.
And we both did.
Well, until about a year ago.
He and I were hiding out in an abandoned bar after driving for around 4 hours. We had been pursued by a horde of the Dead; there were some pretty close scrapes, too close.
We were in the bar and I sat down at one of the tables, taking a protein bar from my backpack.
Dad went up to the bar and poured himself a whiskey. This was odd as he never drank because he said he didn't like his mind to be fuzzy.
He sipped it slowly and looked at me.
He walked over to table – it was then that I noticed his limp.
He sat down on the opposite chair to me and put down his drink. He took his backpack off and the rifle from his back and put them on the table.
I could see that he was sweating a lot.
He told me that it was time and I was so confused. Deep down I knew what he meant but I didn't want to know.
"I love you, son."
He grabbed his stomach, convulsing in pain.
I just stared, knowing what was happening.
His body stilled and he slumped in the chair.
Dead.
All that I could hear were my shallow breathes and the gentle breeze going by the window.
I put my hand on the cold metal of the rifle and picked it up. I had my own hand gun in my holster but I knew what he meant.
Death began to drip from his mouth onto his shirt.
Its head lifted slowly, grey eyes staring at me.
I stood up quickly and aimed the rifle with deadly precision; Dad always said I was a natural.
"Dad..." I whispered.
It began to stand up.
"Dad, please, please don't do this." I whimpered as I cocked the gun.
It continued to move towards me.
The trigger was waiting to be squeezed, just as he taught me.
"I love you too, Dad."
The millisecond before I pulled the trigger, the figure stopped, like it recognised the words.
But before I had time to process it, the body was splayed on the floor with a hole through its head.
I still didn't have time to think about it, the Dead would have most certainly heard the gunshot; I had minutes to get to the car. I grabbed the backpacks and a couple of other stuff from the bar and ran out to the car.
So that's the story of my Father.
I want to record this story on paper because it is the main evidence I have for the crazy theory that I have:
They can think. Or at least recognise things from their past selves.
I only kill them if absolutely necessary, which is probably strange to hear from someone in my position.
But enough about that; before I go, I'll just update you on my current situation.
Food levels – Okay. Got enough for about a week.
Water levels – Good as the house had a huge pack of bottled water.
Petrol – Good. Most the cars in the area had petrol in them to scavenge.
Sanity – Okay, I think.
Happiness – Exceptional.
I'm about to go and find the Stadium.
I am Matthew Bradley, I am 18, and I may not be alone for much longer.
A/N
Welp, I've finally plucked up the courage to write a Warm Bodies fic.
It's been over a year since I first read it and I've always wanted to rewrite the situation so R fell in love with a guy because:
a) it may be more accessible to some gay readers
or
b) it'd just be interesting
So since the movie is currently out in America and comes out in the U.K. on the 8th, I thought I should start writing.
There will be more of R in the next chapter.
I hope you enjoy it.
Reviews are appreciated. :D