𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬

- Chapter 8 -

My hand glided across the smooth paper of my thick black journal. I wasn't sure how it was still in one piece after being in my small backpack on the road for almost two months. It endured nonetheless, the only visible mark that could distinguish it being so old was the paper itself turning slightly brown - yellow.

I translated thoughts in my head on the paper, dismissing pain recurring in my wrist. I have been writing for a while, turning and filling page after page. For the first time since the outbreak I had something else to say other than that we crossed the borders again, or that we successfully hid from the Infected or that Miracles was welcoming or even that the Ground Zero is not what it seems.

Insead I wrote:

Is it crazy to say that in the middle of the pandemic you could find something worth living for? Something that keeps you going in the midst of the world ending? In the midst of giving up on hope of life getting better?

Seventy, thirty, fifteen days ago, I would say it was completely delusional. It was denial luring you into its deep, dark, endless cave and once fully in, trap you and never let you go.

It was a glimmer of hope that terrified me. Hope is what makes you vulnerable, easily breakable in the world that is today. So, I never put my guard down. And it worked. Until fourteen days ago.

And there is only one person that I blame for letting hope envelop me, break down the walls I worked restlessly to build; make me feel other things than fear and loneliness.

One person with gray eyes, golden blonde hair, a smile that makes you feel nothing is lost yet.

Jake Smith.

I wished I didn't let him. Wished I never asked him to help me train. Wished I didn't spend most of my day at Ground Zero with him. Wished I didn't bring myself to care about him in this place, at this time.

But once I did it was inevitable. I sailed my faith. I can't say that I hate it. Part of me needed to feel it. Something else other than longing. If it's for the worse or for the better, only time will tell. The only thing I can do is wait and hope it's the latter.

Jake groaned, closing the History Of The United States textbook. Muttering, he tossed it onto the coffee table and slouched in the chair further. His eyes were closed as he said, "I've never been this bored."

I looked up from the book, rolling my eyes. "So you've said. Four times now."

"And I'll keep saying it until you do something about it."

I brought my hands up in surrender, shrugging, "There is nothing to do...plus we have the test in two days."

"Who cares about the test?" He stood up, dismissing my point. He took the book out of my hands and closed it, stacking it on top of his. "What are we studying anyways? American Revolution that started in 1778?"