I apologize, but I had to change a few minor details in order to make a coherent narrative or to avoid too many similar characters. However, people's bio's have not changed. I'm sorry if your character's were not in it! They will be shortly.
It was a September night, around 2am. Outside, the leaves on the university campus in a town, not too far from London, leaves were fading from green, to yellow, to orange, and finally red. They grew in the small allotment of tiles each tree was provided within the pavements. The tall, silver lamps shone brightly across the pathways outside the apartment complex on campus, yet it faded darker among the field and trees in the distance until the main body of the university was reached, which lacked any artificial light at all. It was locked during the night, from professors and students. It was mostly impossible to see. This deep, orange glow from, the street lamps, crawled through Callum’s small, cubed window, wonky blinds, across the freshly cleaned carpet and onto his very bed.
In a small, enclosed room, involved in the apartment complex, was a teenage boy called Callum who had just began his very first year at University. The room was small, bare, cubed and a single room for a single student. All that remained in his room from the presumably last student that stayed was an oak, cheap desk by the window, his unpacked suitcase and his laptop, still open on the desk, along with a swivel chair. It was his very first night into the new world. It was a stressful day, leaving behind family and friends. A stressful night also. Possibly the most stressful of his entire life. He lay in bed, still in his clothes from the previous day: a plain t-shirt and jeans. He was deep in dreams, yet so uncomfortable. His dreams morphed into flashes of terror over time, picturing horrifying colours of red and emotions of pain. His dreams made no sense. He could feel… butterflies and could sense pain without feeling it. Sensations unlike reality controlled his body in the night, moulding it like fire moulds metal, into a stiff position. His body was in state of perspiration, extreme sweat, leaking into every crevice of his mattress, cover and pillow. It layered him in a shiny gloss and swept back his hair into veins that stuck to the pillow underneath him. In a matter of seconds, his clothes were further than damp, they were soaked in sweat. His arms and legs jerked and twitched in fear at the flashes of images in his mind. That is when his mind woke, but his body didn’t. His eyes could dart around the room with curiosity, yet see nor comprehend nothing. He could only understand that he was getting hotter and tenser, and could smell something like that of smoke. But not normal smoke, like when his family cooked meat or even a house fire. It was an oily smell. As if a petrol tank had exploded with fire. As seconds passed by, and his limbs began to relax, he felt stronger, yet more afraid. He carefully raised his torso, and sweat literally ran down his soaked t-shirt, as if it was made of plastic, and heat the carpet. ‘What was that smell?’ he thought. It was becoming stronger. Yet, he rubbed his hands to his face first, brushing off the pool of sweat that latched to his hair and eyelids. He could feel how red his face was, how it burned in his hands and it was unbearable. It felt like his entire body were eyes that had just been smothered in shampoo or something irritating to the skin. It wasn’t an itch, but an unshakable irritation to his entire presence. He removed his hands, and watched the sweat drip from the tip of his nose, through the heated air, slowly, and finally hit the floor, where it burned black circles in the carpet and a feathers of smoke arose.
---Earlier that day---
Two young, pretty woman stand in the woods, one more awkwardly than the other. The uncomfortable woman, dressed incredibly casually, has taken a seat upon a dead tree trunk. Her posture was very strong, however her eyes where that of a wary person. A judgemental, powerful, yet truly scared person. Her name was Martha, and had served as a Master Sergeant in the military and was on leave. Courtney, the other girl, was her only family now. Martha had lost her family as a little girl. They were taken from her, from a strange group of people. Courtney, on the other hand, was Martha’s opposite. Together, they were complete. Alone, and they were broken people who had otherwise no place in society. Courtney held a playful look in her gaze. The world amazed her. Everything from biology to competition. She loved the human world, and wouldn’t trade a minute for it if it meant she could not smell the fresh scent of the bark, or the fresh earth, or hear the clicking and buzzing of wildlife, or feel the rays of sunshine push through the leaves and onto her fresh cheeks. Unlike her best friend, Martha, she dressed with a particular style: a black jacket, black tights with brown boots and tank top underneath. She uses her crossbow to spot her prey, resting it close to her eye, ready to fire with one eye squinted. With the release of her two fingers, an arrow is released and penetrates deep into the heart of a squirrel. It was jumping mid-air, and dropped dead many yards away, with a metal staked through its small heart.
“You’re still a good shot,” Marths grins, crossing her legs upon her tree stump, breaking the of the branches that tickle her cheeks from surrounding bushes.
“I don’t even know why,” Courtney smiles, jogging over to the squirrel and raising into a shout, “it just comes naturally, I guess.”
Courtney was not the most confident person who did not recognize her own skills as actual skills.
“It’s not a skill if it comes naturally,” Courtney adds, “come to think of it, I don’t have many built talents.”
Courtney re-joins Martha in their conversation together, to which Courtney is mostly the talker.
“You are telling me you shot like that on your first try?”
“I guess,” Courtney responds, quietly, “I don’t really remember. It was years ago since I started.”
“So you don’t think you’re good at chess either?” Martha asks, as if disappointed with Courtney.
Courtney loved to compete in chess tournaments. She had not lost a single time. Whenever asked why she was so skilled at chess, she always responded with:
“It just comes naturally.”
Martha knew these things do not just happen. Something was off about Courtney, that even Courtney was not aware of. Martha stuck close after this event, and has even suspected things about Courtney before this event. Martha had suspicions and theories she wanted to discover the truth about. But for now, Martha held a fake, passionate smile.
“Go on then,” Martha smiles, “catch me my dinner!”
---2AM---
After watching his own sweat devour his carpet and burn holes in his mattress, cover, and pillow, Callum decides to research. His entire room smells of burning hair and petrol, a very strange combinations. He had even attempted to have a shower, but his sweat brushed away the paint from the tiles and the floor of the shower, revealing only shiny metal behind that had even began to bubble. After the sweat and fluids had been removed, he felt cleansed, and re-dressed in clothes that were more appropriate for an awake state, including a hooded jumper and skinny jeans. He had to throw out his sweat-drenched clothes that smelt toxic to the extent of physical irritation. Luckily, his perspiration episode had ended.
He sat upon his swivel chair, at his desk, and his fingers typed with intent and malice in order to find answers. He kept his room lights off; he felt as if he was a secret that should not be shown in direct light. He typed, and typed, and typed, until the orange beam of dawn sliced through his dusty dorm window.
‘Serious sweat’, he researched, along with ‘uncontrollable sweaty nightmares’, ‘sweat burning holes’ but nothing arouse. Not a single answer. He was literally and mentally in the dark. What was happening to him? To his body? Would it ever happen again? Too many unanswered questions that left his mind in panic and an irritation of something left incomplete. But, as a final resort, he typed:
‘unexplainable body events’ and a website labelled ‘Are you special?’ advertised by an unknown individual named with the address HARUKA.com. He read, and specific details of the webpage caught his eye. ‘supernatural powers’, ‘scary body experiences’, ‘natural unexplainable talents’. ‘This is not a talent,’ Callum immediately thought. At the very end of the webpage was a real address, a physical one that Callum could visit, he noted it down in an instant. Honestly, he just wanted an escape from the university sight. There was too many people that would question his ‘ability’ or incident if they ever found out. He knew it couldn’t be controlled. It may have just been a one-time thing. He did not want to carry that risk on his shoulders.
It was still early morning, around 8am. But at this moment, the university was very much alive, with busy students making their way their very first classes of the day. For hundreds, it was their first year at university. Every student involved in this school attended ‘University of Murray’, east of London by some miles, in the country. Although the university was popular for many gifted students in humanities and the creative arts, it was also known for the support of underachieving students, like Callum, who had been caught cheating in examinations and threatening over students to hack into school systems and change his grades. It worked for a long time, but he eventually got caught. The University of Murray offered him a second chance.
A few apartment below Murray, were boyfriend and girlfriend, Jax and Moira, who each held boxes containing their clothes, close-to-home objects and school necessities. The hallways they tumbled down with their boxes were busy with rowdy students. They were both new to the university too.
Moira was studying to become a nurse, although this university was not her initial option. Jax ‘manipulated’ her through verbal abuse to attend this university. To follow him, not him follow her. She had suggested breaking up, but it only encouraged her anxiety attacks to return. She hadn’t had one for years.
“What was the name of our roommate again?” Moira asks, nervously.
“I told you already! You know what it is,” Jax snaps back, angrily. That is when Callum, barging down the hallways, knocks Jax’s and Moira’s boxes to the ground on accident. Jax’s property floods across the floor.
“What do you think you’re playing at?” Jax shouts, ready to grab Callum by the throat.
“Jax, it was an accident! Leave him!” Moira attempts to calm him down. But it was not working. Jax’s rage needed to be outlasted now. With his fingers inches away from Callum’s throat, who was still slightly most from sweat, he screamed.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” It was not an ordinary scream, like you would hear the childish students scream at lunch, or a heated argument in the hallways. It was the scream someone would shout in serious danger. Everybody in the hallways, despite their rush, stopped. Even Jax, who gently withdrew his hand in embarrassment. Moira’s face was red with blush too. Her first hour at Uni had already been spoiled by her obnoxious partner. Wide-eyed, Callum starred at the two of them, and back at their boxes that lay crumpled on the marble floors of the hallways. He had no time to feel apologetic. But he felt a strange feeling in their presence. Nothing like before, but not like his episode earlier either. It was a feeling of butterflies in his stomach, but more bearable. It was a strangely pleasant feeling he couldn’t understand. But he left anyway, leaving Jax and Moira to compose their property alone, without hope. Embarrassment was written across Moira’s face. Anger on Jax’s.
A middle aged man, with hair of silver, who wore a liberating, presentable suit. He takes his first steps in England; he emerges from the airport. His mysterious eyes are protected by a fine pair of sunglasses. He has an air about him, a one of confidence yet determination. He inhales in the art of London architecture and fashion. He is soon alienated due to his American accent and foreign dressing. His walk was with purpose and determination, wheeling his suitcase behind him. He had somewhere to be and something to do.
“Winny Jefferson” are the only two words he speaks to the man at the hotel desk. One of the finest in London. He is respectfully given a key, and Winny returns a smile meanwhile clutching the keys into his fist. After a lonely elevator ride, he reaches his hotel room that has a skyline view of London city: The Thames, the London Eye.
He spends the majority of the day alone, in his room, ordering service at necessary moments. On the roof of the inside of his luggage are photos of his father’s family, the Corolla’s: a mob family. There is a photo of his father, brother, sister and other photos of distanced family. Overall, there was seven. Two women, five men, all with a look of sorrow and hatred. Two men’s faces had a dark black cross signalling their arrest. But the rest of his family was on the loose in the world, out for his family. That is why he needed to find his children before they did.
Two people sit under a main highway, washed out with grey colours. Dust unsettles their lungs and clouds the air, while it rains in the fields that are metres from the shelter of the road. The fields blow in the storm, like the waves of the ocean. The wind fires the rain under the tunnel, hitting against their poor, unwashed faces. All they have for protection is fur coats that they had stolen. They had nowhere to go. Their foster family had neglected them, then suddenly became afraid. One day, the children came home, and the family had moved, leaving them behind. Unluckily for them, they understood why everyone feared them.
While sitting in the puddles that lay on the gravel and mud below, Gabriella and Ian, brother and sister, remain silent. This was ordinary for them, or at least has been for a while. Being abandoned by everyone who is supposed to love you takes its toll. Gabriella is older, in her early adult years. But Ian is younger, in his mid teens.
Ian is asleep, leaning against the tunnel wall, his body propped against a dumpster. Gabriella, who is very much awake, leans against the opposite side of the wet tunnel, who is using her talents to prevent the rain. She swirls her fingers, and a few, small, colourful and circular balls form in the air, attracting the rain towards it. The gravitational force is strong enough to attract the rain, but too weak to affect larger objects. The puddles gradually evaporate into the purple balls too, as well as the occasional pebble. The water and stone just levitate within the purple glow, compacting together. The sudden stop of the rain wakes Ian. His eyes glide to Gabriella, without moving anything other than his eyes.
“Thanks,” he says.
Gabriella does not respond. Her skills are great, and is able to look away, yet her powers remain present, preventing the rain from hitting them. It is lucky that they are not in a public place, and that no one ever walks under this tunnel. It is too small for public walking.
“Do you ever think about Mom? Dad?” Ian asks.
“No,” She responds. Her gravity spores become stronger. The rain directs towards it more vigorously.
“What I mean is if Dad ever had a reason to leave? What if it was to protect us?”
“He failed,” she responds, “Mom died because he wasn’t there. Mom wasn’t like us and had no reason to die. He wasn’t there when we needed him.”
“It’s not Dad’s fault that his father hunts mutants,” Ian explains, “humanity is the problem.”
Gabriella’s gravity strength becomes out of control, causing cracks to form in the tunnel from pressure. Ian notices himself resisting their force, so he bangs his fist on the mud, and the gravity spores freeze into perfectly circular balls with stones inside them, and crack when they fall to the ground.
Questions:
Only 3 characters so far are known to be mutants of some type. What do you think of their powers so far? What else do you think they can do with this type of power? What do you think the limits are of their powers?
Who else do you think may be a mutant and why?
Give me your thoughts!!! :P :P Your welcome to discuss anything else.
Kara Allard, F, 24 ( Osiris)
Sky Lavenza, F, 8 ( consigliere8886)
Justyn Morin, M, 13 ( scooby0000)
Charlene Lester, F, 25 (Lee’s best friend) ( Icarus_Mark)
Lee Carter, M, 25 (Charlene’s best friend) ( Icarus_Mark)
Stanley Quentin, M, 43 (Payton and Adrian’s father) ( TheStan)
Julia Quentin, F, 42 ( Payton and Adrian mother) ( TheStan)
Payton Quentin, F, 17 (Daughter) ( TheStan)
Adrian Quentin, M, 13 (Son) ( TheStan)
Jesse Ferguson, M, 19 (Son) ( survivorken23)
Peter Grey, M, 16 (Ikaris’ partner) ( tkoj555)
Ikaris Love, M, 16 (Peter’s partner) ( tkoj555)
Quinton Love, M, 15 (Ikaris’ brother) ( tkoj555)
Felix Kull, M, 23 ( MickyBoomy9)
Missy Hughes, F, 34 ( Alex’s mother) ( RyanAndrews)
Colby Hughes, M, 36 ( Alex’s father) ( RyanAndrews)
Alex Hughes, F, 16 (Daughter) ( RyanAndrews)
Josh Hunt, M, 29 (Missy’s brother) ( RyanAndrews)
Aria Luna, F, 21 ( Icarus_Mark)
Mac Anderson, M, 19 (Kate’s brother) ( Macda27)
Kate Anderson, F, 16 (Mac’s sister) ( Macda27)
Molly Smith, F, 19 (Mac’s best friend) ( Macda27)
Sharon Anderson, F, 40 (Mac and Kate’s mother) ( Macda27)
Natalie Smith, F, 18 (Olivia’s sister) ( Coolkat)
Olivia Smith, F, 16 (Natalie’s sister) ( Coolkat)
Kale Kashton, M, 20 (Charity’s brother) ( blatastic1234)
Charity Kashton, F, 14 (Kale’s sister) ( blatastic1234)
Kol Finnton, M, 16 ( ThePug)
NaOnka Mixen, F, 24 ( ThePug)
Full Name: Charlotte Ferguson
Age: 44
Gender: Female
Relationships: Jesse was her son
Occupation: Unemployed
Biography offered by user: She is very closed minded and self-centred. She dislikes her son, Jesse, for his sexuality (a homosexual). However, she has an internal struggle revolving her son and her relationship.
User: survivorken23
Introduction episode: Season 1, Episode 1
Final episode: Season 1, Episode 7
Episodes lasted: 7
Time survived: 48 hours
Character’s she has killed: No one directly. Although, her re-animation has caused uprising within the Hughes household which could result in lethal effects.
Cause of death: Bite from an unknown walker. Was killed by the bite/fever. Her re-animated self was murdered by Josh Hughes with a screwdriver.
Best quotes: “I didn’t mean it,”-S01E01. She spoke this line after rejecting her son’s phone call and breaking her phone in the process. It reflect her internal battle with her son, and how she did want to change. This was sentimentally reinforced by her saying, “I love you no matter what,”-S01E03.
Best moment: Her death scene(s), as seen below.
Death scene: Blood unexpectedly squirts from her shoulder as a strange man rips the flesh from it. Charlotte’s drunk personality instantly shakes off and a single tear rolls down her eyes as she scream her heart out in the utmost pain.
----
Charlotte’s fingers twitch in Jesse hand, gently. Her other hand also moves swiftly in discomfort. Jesse’s anger fades and his tears holt for a single moment. Everyone in the room stares at Charlotte. Her eyes burst open and her body is vigorously thrown by some force unnatural force onto her son, Jesse. Her limbs have minds of their own, grasping at clamping at Jesse face.
----
All of a sudden, a screwdriver drops into her skull from above, piercing her eyeball. Her aggression stops immediately. Charlotte’s limbs relax onto the carpet. Colby rolls off onto his back, pulling his hands to his face in stress, flooding his face with steamy blood. Josh stand above him, the one who murdered Charlotte.
Perception by audience:
• “I'm not counting Charlotte because she was already bitten.”
• “She was pretty forgettable.”
• “I am not sad about her dying. I never cared much for Charlotte, so her dying does not in any way affect me.”
• “How is she still not a walker yet?”
• “she did have her moments but its very early on and I wasn't really as attached as some were.”
It is safe to say she was not an audience favourite, most likely due to her short scenes and early death. There was not enough room for attachment. Also, because of her anger issues towards her son, this created a negative first impression.
Author's reason for killing her: Simply because the user who submitted this character was not active and wanted to make room for active users' characters.
Please add anything in the comments you would like to contribute to the first death in the walking dead, but DEFINETLY not the last!
She hugs her knees fearfully, praying for the falling to stop as the elevator continues plummeting to the ground floor. . If she wear to stick her handout of the ajar door, it would rip him limb clean off. Kate can feel the violent vibrations of the drop shiver through her bones. Slowly, she sense the elevator grinding to a halt, ultimately stopped by the elevator colliding with the bottom once it had no more space to fall. Her eyes, after a while of concussion, open to into to dimly light darkness and smoke of the wreckage. Her nose is flood with smells of burning metal, and can see no way out. Sharp shards of metal panels surround her, one gently cutting her knee. This only adds to the cut under her eye given to her by her abusive mother. Despite what should be a terrifying fall, she is more hurt by her mother, emotionally. She gently rocks in the same spot, quietly, on her own. The small fire that she could smell has fizzled out. She hears voices in the distance.
“Hello!” She tries to call, but her voice fades into a croaky whisper which she cannot control. She merely cries in the same position, holding her knees. She has no way out. She may be there for hours, waiting for the rescue that will never come. Hoping that her brother will come save the day. Then she sees an open ventilation system, large enough to crawl through.
Ikaris and Charlene sit tightly and securely (for now) on the room upon which she found him. She has just explained what she thinks is going on.
“T-There’s more?” He stutters.
“Yeah. A lot more,” she sighs, “I-uh, just walked past the children’s ward to get here…” This grabs his attention. It is always worse when children are involved. She simply looks away. Her body language is enough to know that there wasn’t much left of the children’s ward.
“Do you know where my family is?”
“I don’t know where anyone is.” She touches her bandages cracked skull gently, only to wince.
“Sorry again,” he says, “why are you here, anyway?”
“I work here,” she replies, “I was a supernatural detective.”
“What, like ghosts and stuff?”
“No,” she laughs, “that’s a rookies mistake. My job is to put reasoning to seemingly unexplainable events.”
“Too bad you didn’t see this one coming. Dead rising.”
“Actually, I did,” she says quietly, knowing he wouldn’t approved, “I knew about a day ago, before it got out of control. I wasn’t able to publish without further investigation.”
“Too bad,” he sighs. He is still in his hospital gown, being careful that she does not see up into his ‘private parts’.
“But, I usually work in the basement of the hospital. The science labs. I’m here because I wanted to get to the roof. I thought it’d be the best place. Rescue from helicopter, no tight edges to be get caught off guard.”
“What are we waiting for?” He asks.
“For us both to at least recover for a few hours. You’ve been majorly injured and I have concussion. We are safe here if we are quiet. They hunt by noise, I think,” Charlene ponders though. The only first-hand experience she has had with a walker is tumbling down the stairs and killing the occasional one while already attacking people.
“PUT YOUR HANDS UP!” The military order, who have just burst into the room. They comply immediately, therefore not having to be forced to the ground. After they have been cleared by the protocol of lights flashed in their eyes, they are protected by the military.
“What is your name?” An officer asks.
“Ikaris Love, hey, have you found a Quinton Love yet-“
“and yours, lady?” the man turns, not involving himself in civilian dilemmas.
“Charlene Lester. I work in the paranormal department. Connected to the police.”
“Charlene?” A voice calls. From behind the crowd of military and civilians (that include Mac, Molly and Sharon), Lee steps out and approaches Charlene, hugging her.
“I’m so glad you stayed!” He says, his voice muffled by her hair.
“Of course. I knew you’d rescue me.” But he sees the knife in her hand, walker blood on her clothes and cracked skull.
“You don’t need my help. You never did,” he smiles. She smiles back, with Sky poking around the back of Lee’s legs.
“Hey, babe,” Mark smiles, rubbing his hand through her hair, taking his eyes of the road for a few moments. She sits up, rubbing her eyes.
“No…” Alex panics in the car seat, “You’re dead!” She looks out the car window to her right. She searches outside the window and is in a place she doesn’t recognize. All she can see is a creepy woodland with a low level of mist engulfing it and the road. It is a very clear night with a huge moon.
“We have only just left the state. We’ll get to New York soon,” Mark laughs.
“Stop…” Alex cries mournfully, holding her ears tightly to block out the simulation of her boyfriend’s death. She muffles his speech, rejects his actions, and waits for the crash to occur until she ultimately jumps from under her covers, releasing a scream of sympathetic distress that wakes Justyn who sleeps on the other side of her double bed, or at least was. He should have been in the spare bedroom, but in the middle of the night, requested to spend it with her as he was afraid to be isolated. His eyes are wide as he breathes deeply, starring at her deeply with uncertainty of her behaviour. He does not say a word as he grips the sheets tightly.
“Sorry,” Alex pants. A pool of sweat gathers on her chest and embodies the sheets below her. As she rises, the sweat rolls down her body until dripping from the tips of her fingers and rolling down her legs.
Glints of the early morning sunshine blind her eyes, so she walks to the mostly closed windows. Her bedroom was fairly large, with enough room to walk and squeeze past others. Enough to fit a desk, double bed, rather large wardrobe and girly posters of one direction. She had offered it to Josh multiple times to help his condition, who naturally rejected with politeness. One photo of Mark that holds special priority in her heart. Upon looking at it, even Justyn could tell the man in the photo was special. He did not know he was dead. Justyn builds the courage to ask a question, defying his shy nature.
“Who is Mark?” Alex stops walking to the window and stops.
“What did you say?”
“I said,” Justyn repeats, “who is…”
“I know what you said!” She contradicts herself. Alex raises her voice, sharply jerking her face towards him. The sweat boiled on her skin in anger, “you don’t mention him ever again!” After saying this, Alex recollects her calm thoughts and continues to the ray of sunshine peeking through the curtains that withdrawals the room from light, “you don’t know what it is like to lose someone.”
This comment does anger Justyn slightly, who was in fact an orphan. He had already lost everyone. Alex fiddled the curtain slightly, before pulling them open enough to look out of. On the street, there are a few strange people staggering in the early light of the morning. She knows exactly what they are, and closes the curtains entirely, leaving the room in darkness.
In short time, both Justyn and Alex are downstairs for breakfast. Josh was already at the dining table. Justyn and Alex both take a seat, Justyn’s at the far end of the table. Although still in bad condition, Josh seems much healthier than last night. The pills that Missy forced down his throat appeared to recover him. For now.
“Tomato soup for breakfast!” Missy speaks ecstatically, placing a bowl in front of all 3 of them. Missy gives Josh a loving look, remembering that it is his favourite soup. Not oxtail.
“Justyn, if you do not like it, I have some cereal!” Missy smiles, getting back to the kitchen work. Justyn’s mind is bazzled by this family’s denial. He watched television, he had watched outside the windows. He knows that there is some infection spreading around people that… changes them. In his own thoughts, the best solution seems to be to board the windows, and the doors, and only leave when they need to get supplies. Justyn thought that Josh was detriment to the group. He rejects eye contact with Alex, who feels regret for her outbreak at him earlier.
“Where’s dad?” Alex asks, swirling the soup with her spoon.
“He didn’t get much sleep and is taking a nap. Don’t worry thought, pumpkin,” Missy smiles. She is completely denying the situation.
“MOM!” A voice screams from the living room.
“WHO IS THAT?” Alex shouts. She seems very angry today. Maybe the effects of her nightmare are continuing through the day. Josh, already aware of their new company, remains at the table, eating his favourite soup with the occasional cough.
Alex and Missy enter through the archway and into the living room. Jesse is now wearing one of Colby’s spare tops, as his other had blood on it. Jesse holds his mother’s hand in his own. Her skin is dead white. Her horrific bite mark was pathetically stitched up by Missy in desperation to save her life last night, using the last of their first-aid. Jesse streams tears, shaking his mother’s arm who lies lifeless on the couch in their home. Her eyes have faded completely shut. Missy does not know what to do.
“Who are they?” Alex asks her mother.
“They needed help last night. Your father brought them in.”
“Wake up!” Jesse faintly whimpers, and then looks at Missy, “DO SOMETHING!” Jesse appears engulfed with unbeatable rage, violently shaking his mother. She never had accepted him for who he was. Never appreciated his talent in writing, never accepted his sexuality. The list goes on. But this only made him try harder for her love, and now to lose it all infuriates him. They would call an ambulance, but everyone, even Jesse, understands no help is coming. For now, anyway. After Colby races down the stairs at the sound of distress, he watches, from afar, across the room. He looks over at Missy.
“Is this what it does?” Colby asks, referring to the bite.
“I don’t know,” Missy sheds a tear also, “I don’t know what it does.”
“DON’T TALK ABOU HER LIKE SHE’S NOT HERE!” Jesse screams, now pumping his mother’s chest desperately. Justyn peaks from around the corner of the archway that connects the kitchen and living room, watching.
“SHHH! Keep your voice down!” Colby disciplines, not wanting to draw attention to their house.
Charlotte’s fingers twitch in Jesse hand, gently. Her other hand also moves swiftly in discomfort. Jesse’s anger fades and his tears holt for a single moment. Everyone in the room stares at Charlotte.
Her eyes burst open and her body is vigorously thrown by some force unnatural force onto her son, Jesse. Her limbs have minds of their own, grasping at clamping at Jesse face. The nails scratch at his cheeks and they draw fresh blood. Panic breaks lose in the house. Colby drags Charlotte off his body. Missy commands Alex and Justyn to run away as quickly as possible. Josh wants to help, but barely has the strength to stand from his chair in the other room.
Jesse screams from underneath his mother. He does not recognize her eyes anymore. In fact, many people in the house scream in fear, including Missy, after Colby swings his foot into the side of her gut. Jesse takes this opportunity to flee upstairs in hysterics, cowering.
Alex grabs Justyn’s hand, taking initiative, and does as her mother had told her. They ran. Outside. Their mouths drop. Sunlight reflects of the blood that stains civilians’ tops that wander the street. Alex sees her neighbours. Friends. Their still ‘healthy’ and fresh looking faces slowly tilt towards the direction Justyn and Alex, who had just burst through the front door. There must have been at least six or seven infected.
Justyn cries in fear. Alex’s mouth only drops, her eyes glistening over as their jaws gnash at them from the other side of the street, only yards away. Their feet retreat slowly across the freshly cut front lawn.
*Click*
They turn around, and the front door had closed. And locked.
Payton pants, leaning against the metal gating that protects the shop from the outside war. After a few seconds, she bends round.
“Who the fuck are you?” A 14 year old girl asks, holding her brother’s pistol, angling it up, towards Payton’s chin and causing a scene. Payton cannot take any more steps back, and can feel the breath of walkers against the back of her neck as they claw at her through the very small holes in the metal plating.
“Back off,” another woman demands. There are a few shadows in the darkness of the shop. No light, except from the light of dawn shining through the metal covers, enters the shop. Some of the shadows cry, or pace. One of them approaches, most likely the voice of that last comment. She wears high heels, and a ripped dress. She looked like she had been through hell.
The girl, named Charity, who held the knife, with resistance, stormed off in a tantrum. She paused beside the woman saying, “They’re weak. They’re injured. If we die because of them, it’s on you, Kara.”
While in the shop, the riots can still be heard heavily. Gunshots, screams, and the crackling of fire. Even the smell of gasoline leaking from cars outside, waiting the burst into flames and kill a group of rebels. Kara looks down upon Adrian, who is beside Payton. Adrian had carefully rolled his jeans up, to reveal a bone intruding through his flesh. It needed medical attention immediately. A few tears winced from his eyes at the sight of his injury. The blood and fat underneath his skin mad him gag, as well as Payton. Down one of the isles, Natalie gently leans down, easing Olivia onto the tiled floor of the grocery shop. There is plenty of bottled water, and Natalie pours an entire bottle over Olivia’s crushed leg. This is the first time Natalie is able to view it with accuracy. It wasn’t even recognizable. Her flesh, muscle, arteries and bone had been crushed into a human paste that remains attached to her upper thigh. The subway crash had cauterized the leg, so the leg did not bleed. But blood had be burnt black, sticking to her leg. The water does not hurt, but provides Olivia some relief. Natalie knows her leg will have to go.
“Am I going to die?” Olivia shakes, dropping in and out of pain convulsions.
“Don’t say that. We will find our uncle. We will find a hospital. You’ll be fine.”
“I wish mom and dad were here,” Olivia says, with her familiar Russian accent.
“Me too.”
“When this is over, we are going home,” Adrian says.
“I’m not going home.”
“You’re being so fucking stupid!” Adrian screams, “look what you got me into!” Adrian uses a guilt trip, holding his broken shin, “I’ve broke my leg, Payton. Whatever shit you have with mom and dad, you can sort it out. I just want to go home.”
“There might not be a home to go back to.”
“Don’t say that. They are just riots.”
“You saw what that man did to me. He tried to rape me,” Payton sinks down beside him, “mom and dad both blamed me for those drugs. They weren’t mine. Dad killed a man. He killed Reg.”
“YOU KNEW THE MAN HE KILLED? SO IT’S TRUE?” Adrian raises his voice, but still whispering. He was trying to keep their family life private, “why didn’t you say anything!”
“Reg was a drug dealer. My drug dealer. When I was hooked on it. When I came out that room, and saw him dead, I was almost happy. When I found that Dad had been accused, we both knew that the other knew. I knew what he had done. I knew he had followed me to that apartment. I knew dad killed that man to save me. But, he saved my life. It would have done no good to start an argument with the man who rescued me. So I just stayed quiet, and thankful,” Payton says, while starring ahead of her. She reconsiders, “maybe I should go back home. Mac didn’t know I was coming anyway. It isn’t like anyone is probably waiting there anymore anyway.”
The conversation falls quiet, and can occasionally hear Natalie and Olivia crying amongst themselves at the other end of the store. Men and women bang against the metal plating of the shop in the meantime.
“Now I know why Kasey wasn’t at school yesterday.”
Charity, the teenage girl, sits at the very back of the small grocery store, in the shadows. She sits upon the swivel chair that the cashier, her brother, would normally occupy during his working hours. She holds the knife in her palms, looking at her dull reflection through the little light the room holds. Like a child waiting for their parents to come home, she keeps looking at the back entrance, waiting for her brother to come back in any minute.
“He’ll be back,” Kara states.
“I know he will,” Charity responds quietly, not looking up. Kara had, within those short minutes, taken some appropriate clothing and changed out of her ripped dress and had substituted some trainers. She thought she might have to run at some point. She wore a cheap, but fashionable woollen jumper, with a vest underneath to not irritate her skin, and black leggings. “You changed quickly.”
“I didn’t like the dress anyway,” Kara laughs, or attempts to at least, “how long did he say he will be?”
“I dunno,” Charity says. It is clear she is containing some emotion behind her voice but not expressing it. Her eyes seem wider and glisten in the light. She looked as if she was about to cry. She needed her big brother, whether she liked it or not.
Felix and Aria. They walk side by side in the forest engulfing Louisville. They do not follow the mud tracks that Felix usually drives down to get to his house. Aria said it was ‘too obvious’ and that ‘walkers would most likely be in more civilized areas’. Instead, they trample upon the brush and foliage that grows among the dirt in luxury, collecting water droplets from last night’s weather. The droplets dampen their ankles as their feet swipe past with every stroke of the leg. The sun’s rays penetrate their eyes frequently, which becomes irksome as their eyes become irritated. They cannot see the city through the trees and bushes, but are guided by the sound of faint conflict. The birds in the forest sing gentle tunes. How mocking of them. On their journey, there is not much conversation. Most of the mud has dried and cracked from their skin. But their hair is still dirty.
“Can I patch up your shoulder?” Aria asks, wanting permission to get closer to him, “I have first-aid in my backpack.” Felix stares at her, and simply nods, sitting upon a rock. She inspects it, pouring some water over the wound to clear it of dirt and other riddance.
“It doesn’t look infected yet. The bullet went straight through,” Aria confirms, “it just needs bandaging.”
“Get it over with,” Felix spits out. Aria can’t tell if Felix is angry at her, the situation, or the wound. Without talking, Aria bandages the wound.
“I need more bullets,” Aria states, attempting to start a conversation.
“Well then, we’ll find some.” Felix is desperately trying to shut down any conversation with Aria. Aria kneels in silence, on the grass, wrapping the bandage around and around his shoulder. She finishes.
“Let’s go,” Felix barks, rising as quickly as lightning, and walking towards the city again. This time, with Aria behind him, leaving her to collect and gather all her things back into her backpack. She would never show it, but this action hurt her feelings, mostly because it is a result of her anger and violation. She was keeping him from his family. Once he was far in the distance, she was finally ready to walk to, while she held the tears behind her eyelids.
*BANG* As the wall ventilation door smashing to the tiled marble floor.
Dust is stirred out of the vent exit and swirled into the open, dark waiting room. It was a small waiting room, with a few tipped over chairs. There were no emergency lights in this section of the hospital, and the room contained no colour, but tones of black and white. Death felt most present as Quinton was the first to poke his head, like a Meer cat, and examine the room.
“It seems clear.”
Quinton, after hearing no noise or presence of danger, slides out of the vent into the lifeless room, dropping onto a few chairs that overpower the silence with metal clanging, arising particles into the air once again, only to settle. This room looked as if it had been empty for years.
“What was this room?” Quinton asks, as it is Julia’s turn to exit the vent. They were all disorientated. They had been travelling the vents for hours, in hope of finding a safe room to exit through.
“It looks… like the waiting room for operating lab 4h.”
Quinton did not understand where he was. There was no point in asking.
The walls were wallpapered with posters promoting healthy teeth and bones with enthusiastic cartoons or actors to support their messages. Half of these posters hanged by a ripped thread, dangling, waiting to fall to the ground from abuse and violence. Just like everybody else in the hospital. Neither: Julia, Peter or Quinton could hear anyone. Anyone at all, dead or alive. They wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
“Where is everyone?” Peter asks, nervously, wanting to be surrounded by more human beings. Whenever Peter talked, Quinton zoned away from the moment. He did not care what Peter had to say anymore. Not after abandoning him like that, back in the operating lab. His loyalties lied with Julia more, a woman he had just met the previous night.
“This section of the hospital was closed for maintenance a few weeks back. Not many staff members had authority to enter,” Julia responds. Julia still had blood stains on her staff clothing from the walker who attacked her in the night.
Julia sat down on one of the grey, cushioned chairs, and put her hands to her face for comfort. Peter sat too, but leaning against the wall instead. The room was dead silent. Other than Quinton’s nervous pacing footsteps that echoed down the adjacent empty hall.
“Can we stop moping? We need to find Ikaris.”
“He’s two floors down. We won’t make it. There’s an attack,” Julia states with patronisation. As if Quinton was not aware of the current situation.
“I know there is an attack! But what is it? An infection?” Quinton asks, but is only returned with silent speech. Julia sits and thinks, while Peter whimpers behind his palms.
“That’s why everyone was hurt. That’s why they called me in,” Julia realises, whispering to herself, “I needed my career back. What was I to do?” Julia thinks about whether her children are safe. Had the infection left the hospital? Were her children dead? Was Stanley dead? Too many questions can be harmful to a drug-addicted mind.
“HELP!” Alex and Justyn belch, panicking, drumming on the front door to be let back in. Some walkers trample in their direction, making short progress. Some are still just noticing that their dinner has been served.
“LET US IN!” They scream again.
Josh, who is desperately trying to stand in the dining room, is pinned down by Missy. Burst of adrenaline attack Missy and Colby. Colby, who is still in the living room with Charlotte, or what was Charlotte, wrestles her to the ground. Charlotte’s eyes are a glossy white, and her breath smells like literal death. With every second, her strength grows stronger and her might grip clasps onto Colby’s biceps, who sits upon her, pinning her to the ground. Colby, although dismissive at first, remembers what he saw on television last night, before the power cut out. Colby attempted to punch her in the face, to knock her out, but every attempt to weaken her proved her to become more offensive.
Missy hears the children out front, banging on the front door, screaming, as if pleading for life.
“ALEX!” Missy cries in terror, releasing weak Josh and sprinting to the front entrance. Although fixed to the living room floor, Charlotte reaches out with one hand, clutching Missy’s ankle. Missy collapses into the door, whacking her head directly against the handle, falls, and lies peacefully on the floor. Colby’s rage engulfs him. This woman might have just killed his wife, the woman he loves with all his heart. He begins to shake in anger, squeezing Charlotte tighter and tighter, his fingers cutting into the still warm flesh of Charlotte.
All of a sudden, a screwdriver drops into her skull from above, piercing her eyeball. Her aggression stops immediately. Charlotte’s limbs relax onto the carpet. Colby rolls off onto his back, pulling his hands to his face in stress, flooding his face with steamy blood. Josh stand above him, the one who murdered Charlotte. Did Josh have the right to take away this life, considering who knows what it is like to be dying?
The walkers grow very close outdoors, and have reached the lawn of the family home. Alex and Justyn are pressed up right against the front door, begging for life. Alex didn’t know what to expect yet, but Justyn did. Justyn hadn’t forgotten what happened to his boss at the animal shelter. What helped remind him was her presence. His boss was one of the walkers heading towards them. They had stopped screaming for help, but instead screamed in terror as the closest walker reached out their hand. Just as it touched Alex’s arm, its head exploded into smithereens. This soaked Alex and Justyn with literal chunks of brain and old blood that had already began to curdle in the walkers’ body. It mostly soaked their head and chest, with splatter against their legs and Missy’s front door. As the dead walker’s body collapsed, onto the knees first, and then on its front, there was a strange boy standing, still, also covered in blood. Alex recognized him. He was a neighbour, around the same age as her. He was always a strange boy, with a strange name: ‘Kol’. He was holding a shotgun.
Alex and Justyn watched as the walkers bumped past Kol, heading their direction. Why were the ‘infected not attacking him?’ they fathomed. Was it the blood? They soon discovered it was the walker’s blood, because when approached again by another walker, it simply starred into their eyes, jerked its head and changed direction across their front lawn. But Justyn and Alex were silent, speechless even! God only knows what would have happened if they were still screaming. That’s when they are both pulled backwards, by the collar, back into the home. Kol is gestured in too, before the infected enter their home. They lock the door.
Stanley is caught in traffic that enters the main chunk of the city. In the distance, over the hills and through the tall buildings, he can see the riots of the city. The orange glow, complimented by the glowing sun, of the fire roars and engulfs the base of buildings. Stanley beeps his horn repeatedly, wanting to shout at the cars perched in front of his. There are families, romantic couples, loners. All waiting to enter the city, but have been separated by a barricade positioned by the army. The army is not allowing any more members into the city. Stanley, when he jumps on top of his fancy red car (which, at the moment, he does not care if gets damaged), can see this barricade, with marines positioned on top, holding rather large and terrifying guns. Lethal guns. The barricade is formed of military trucks positioned in a line, covered with military camouflaging as a bonus signal to civilians. They have already attempted to pest the queue away, but they, including Stanley, did not listen. Gunshots can be heard in the distance. With every gunshot, Stanley’s conscious breaks down in fright at the thought of his children and family. Where are his children? All he knows is his wife is at Norton Hospital, in the city centre. Or at least she should be. What else was he to do?
In the strong heat of late spring, May, the tarmac of the road released toxic odours. Almost as toxic as Stanley’s worrying thoughts. Stanley spectates from inside his car, from his windows, families crying, and many injured people. The car next to his, is a black lady, who looks rather mysterious. Her car template spells out ‘Na0nka’, with a zero. Her hair was bright pink. Bad ink stained her skin with roses and family members. She appeared as if she had literally crawled from the ghetto. Her countenance was serious and almost determined. ‘But for what exactly?’ Stanley thought. Stanley, so unaware, so oblivious to the situation at hand, and what was about to come. Every now and then, the two share a glance. The glance made him uneasy. She stepped out of her classy car, reflecting sunlight of the mirrors into Stanley’s eyes, and walked, slowly, with pace, out of sight and down the motorway jammed packed with cars. She kept eye contact with the barricade behind her. Stanley figured the military played a major role in her plan. Moments before she stepped out of sight and faded into the unknown, she clutched a knife from her back pocket. She was lost behind a family of five and their car. Some of the families had even began pitching tents and unrolling sleeping bags, ready for the night. Stanley had brought nothing with him. Stanley was curios of this mysterious woman, ‘Na0nka’. Her eyes, before she left, suggested a plan. A mischievous one.
The only reason Kol was allowed permission into the Hughes home was being a neighbour. And young. Only 16. Alex’s age. They were kindergarten lovebirds. Kol and Alex played Mary and Joseph once, and even actually kissed during the play. The round of applause was insane for their acting. Missy captured the moment, and framed it. It is beside all of her treasured photos and swimming medals, high on a shelf in the living room, where everyone, other than Jesse crowds. Some of these medals and photos lie crashed on the carpet, in the shadows of the furniture, soiled by Charlotte’s attack who lays centre of the room. Charlotte’s dead body has the opposite of gravity; everyone is pushed to the corners of the room except for Kol, who’s shotgun hangs from the tips of his fingers.
“It was fathers,” he says, “I knew where he kept it, in case we got robbers,” he pauses. His father was dead now. And his mother. Who knows about any other family members. Kol’s torso is still soaked in crusting blood. Alex and Justyn are too. Alex clings tightly to Missy, transplanting the blood onto her clothes as well. Justyn clings to his knees at the far end of the room. Colby paces. Josh coughs up phlegm on the sofa, still battling his cancer. Jesse hides upstairs. Walkers bang on the windows, walls and doors from the outside. At at least six or seven. Maybe even ten. The growl, snarl, spit and gnash their teeth, slowly cracking the paint. Then the cement… then the walls… then the windows… until they break in and rip them all open. They keep the curtains drawn, as they have the last 24 hours, not wanting to view their future in case of a mental breakdown, which they were all close too.
“How?” Alex asks, rising her head from her mother’s breasts, which she hugged for comfort. Even though she was a teenager, everyone needs their mother, no matter how old. Missy was there for her. Alex directs this statement to Kol, “They walked right past us. How?” Everybody turns to Kol. A sixteen year old.
He clears his throat, nervous, as if planning a speech, meanwhile the walkers can be heard banging violently feet away.
“They- they- if you wear the blood, they can- they can’t tell the difference. The difference between you and them,” Kol stutters, “they walk right past you.”
The entire household, even Jesse, deep down, knows they cannot stay here. The walkers will break in and kill everyone without mercy. Jesse, who was tranced with fear, slumped down the stairs, and starred down at his mother blankly, focusing on the screwdriver stuck in her eye-socket. As a group, they planned an escape, considering every method. But Kol had a very clear idea.
“Why not her?” He asks, looking down at Charlotte, “we use her as camouflage.”
“No. No- that’s not an option!” Missy complains, broadening her voice and scowling her brows, while rocking Alex. But Kol seems confused.
“It is an op-option,” he says confidently, “It’s your only option,” Kol stutters again. He has always had a bad stutter. It makes him seem unconfident in himself, which is not the case. He is very brave. Missy looked too Jesse, who was distraught but without tears. He shook his head painfully, and collapsed into a ball on the floor, by the stairs, almost out of sight, partly hidden by a wall. How was he supposed to wear his dead mother to survive? He wouldn’t have the strength, he thought to himself. He would have to stay behind, that’s if the others have the emotional strength to go ahead with Kol’s heartless plot.
PUBLIC VOTE: Jesse is too emotionally unstabble to use his mother's corpse as comoflauge from the walkers. Too give Jesse strength, type #HelpJesse in the comments. Anyonce can vote! If a certain number of tags is not reached, then he will be left behind. The goal of how many tags were needed will be revealed next episode, along with his fate. So tag away!
QUESTIONS ABOUT CHARLOTTE:
(A seperate blog will be creatd as tribute too her death, including trivia facts. This is too help settle her best moments)
1. Her best quote?
2. Her best moment?
3. Was her death sad, relieving, predictable (any other adjective)?
4. Anything else to say about Charlotte that you feel you should say? Opinion overall?
GENERAL QUESTIONS:
1. Favourite character at the moment and why?
2. Opinions on new characters (Charity, NaOnka, Kol)
3. Kate's alive bitches
4. Can you foresee any event?
5. Because we have had our first major character death, I would like to know who you are CONVINCED is going to die soon and why. Give me your top three?
Sorry this episode too so long to come out. It was a long one too, preparing for the mid-seasonal finale! But I hope you find it enjoyable. So kick back, and enjoy the literal sweat and blood I put into this episode while listening to inspiration musical just to keep me motivated to keep writing because i'm adicted to sims 4!!! #Goingdownhill#dontcarethou
I was thinking of doing an X-men sort of series. As of yet, it will not be as long as my walking dead series, but I will still put the same amount of passion into the writing. I was thinking maybe 8 episodes for the first season? It won’t be called X-men, I don’t think, but it will still centre around the idea of mutated powers and will also focus more on how mutants survive in current society rather than ‘superheroes’. A bit like how wizards in Harry Potter have to hide from muggles, LOL.
ANYONE CAN APPLY! Maximum of 3 characters per user.
First Name:
Last Name:
Gender:
Age:
Relationships with other characters (brother, sister, etc):
Sexuality:
Bio (max 100 words):
I’ve decided to not provide the option of being a mutant. I feel like it would be much more interesting if even you guys did not know, that way it would be a complete and utter surprise when characters are discovered to be mutants. But do not be disheartened if your character(s) are not mutants! Human characters will play a large part in the story! I have some very interesting mutant powers btw! Very original ones. If you are VERY passionate on having a mutant character, message me in private and we can sort something out. Please also message me some creative mutant ideas. MESSAGE THEM so they are not spoiled in the comments!!!
I'm so sorry it has been so long!!! My exams are almost over. My last one is this Monday and then I have three ENTIRELY FREE WEEKS from college. I will try to dedicate my time to this series to catch up on time missed. I am currently working on episode 7. MID SEASON FINALE SOON! GET HYPED! haha.
Btw, my exams are going great!!! :D Looking at universities now LOL #scary.
If any of you are in English college (6th form) or have been, #sympathy
I actually just had an exam today, and my friend made me cringe uber hard when walking to the exam hall, we was joking by saying "I wont inentionally hurt myself, but if I happen to seriously injure myself on the way, I wont complain," and then she said,
"I'd rather stab nails under my toe nails and kick a concrete wall"
-_-
AND THEN, I had a poetry question about how a poet 'presents the theme of nature in both theese poems' and I really wanted to cross out 'nature' and replace it with 'my sad life':
"present the theme of my sad life in both these poems". I would get an A then LOLLLLLL.
That's my life story lol. Tell me how it is going guys!!! Missed you!!!!
Also, because Osiris has been inactive for almost two months, her characters are up for claim!!! Preferably, I'd rather any current member claims them. Get one of your friends who likes walking dead to tag themselves if they are interested!!!!
To prepare, and this is optional, reading the last few episodes again so things make sense? Because it has been a long time since last episode! If you do, I will be very grateful! Although there should be no plot holes on my behalf, if some things dont quite 'match up' with previous episodes, please either point it out or just ignore it because it has been a long time since I wrote one! I have been focused elsewhere.
Kara Allard, F, 24 ( Osiris)