One Last Whisper [c.g]

[22]

It's early morning and I am sitting on my window cill gazing out at my backyard. The outside world has been quiet and I haven't came across any of those...'freaks' recently. I watch my backyard. Small birds daring to hit surface. Daring to be safe, or- I guess, daring to take a chance.
I believe it's unhealthy to feel so unsafe all in one moment. I haven't eaten in days, no- not since I killed my neighbour.
Sissy lies on my bed, her chest rising and falling. I sit here to gaurd her, to help her have a nice sleep. I haven't slept either, so I feel somewhat like crap altogether.
I watch the hedges to my backyard rustle and from behind a bush come a frisby.
What the actual hell? A frisby. Following the frisby came Butch. My neighbours dog.
Just as bad as the dead men.
Butch was my neighbours prized possetion. A pitbull and a great dane, as you can imagine: a pretty damn savage dog.
So I realised Butch, the unfriendly dog had jumped the fence for a frisby but what I didn't understand was who threw the frisby. Dead people don't throw Frisbees?
My neighbours had fled, so I had no idea as to who was throwing the frisby. I watched more closely as another figure came from the bushes and stood right in the centre of my backyard.
A teenage boy, maybe a couple years older than me. He was huge and muscly. He knelt down and pet Butch. Butch licked the boys hand. Hanging from the boys belt was a gun and a hunting knife.
I silently crept out of my bedroom and into the lounge room. I had shoved a lounge by the back door, to keep those things out. Now I was desperate to get it off. I slowly opened the door and stepped out, pointing the gun at the boy.
"Your dog?" I ask him. I knew it wasn't. He looked at me pointing a gun at him and didn't even batter an eyelash.
"Nah. I found him in the folks next doors backyard. Poor boy was starving. Guess he needed a friend." The boy says. I lower my gun and lean against the wall.
"You do realise, that dead men roam the streets at this second, right?" I prosper.
He runs his fingers through his dark brown hair.
"Thoroughly. Isn't it splendid," he pats Butch. "Boy keeps them away. It's their oder, I'm pretty sure. It agravates him so he does the thing he was bred to do: kill." He grins at me and I notice how perfect his pearl white teeth are.
"So...you going to tell me your name? Survivor to survivor?" He questions. I hesitate but then answer.
"I'm Y/n. You gonna tell me YOUR name? From survivor to survivor?" I smirk.
He smirks back. "I'd tell you but then I'd have to kill you"
I shake my head.
"I'm pretty much dead already..."
He smiles.
"Okay. The name is Hockey." He looks at the ground.
"Wait...you're-" I start but Hockey interupts.
"Yeah...Hockey Puck." He looks into my eyes, wearing disappointment.
"That dropkick kid..." he whispers.
"I don't think you're a dropkick" I reply.
He shrugs. I had heard of Hockey several times on the news before.
His brother had brutally murdered his father and attempted to kill Hockey. Hockey's mother then killed herself after suffering from depression because of it. Folks around town called Hockey, 'Hockey Puck' because he was as hard as a hockey puck and when he was put in foster care he kept going backwards and forwards between homes. It was quite sad.
He smiles at me once more.
"Much apreciated Y/n. Now are you going to invite me in for tea or something?" He chuckles. I smile at him.
"Come on"
I open up the door and let Butch in with Hockey following.
"I like you Y/n." he smiles.
"That's a first" I bluntly reply. He smirks.
"No it's not" he looks at me. "You're the kind of person everybody loves. You're too hard to not like." He smiles.
I blush. "erm"
"Pleasure to make your aquaintance" he smiles.
"You too."