FaultLine: A Call Of Duty Zombies Fanfiction

I

This is the first flashback. This story contains four flashbacks, each revolving around the past lives of the characters. The main events (i.e the present) will begin after the flashbacks.

ONE

When Anya shifted to her new home which was directly situated behind the patios of vacant to-let houses packed with gloomy bungalows; she was devastated. She had every right in her hand to go and rip out the living soul of her previous school Principal who had taken the cold blooded decision of suspending the Frost siblings.

For what? For sticking a tiny piece of strawberry flavored chewing gum on the huge leathery surface of the Principal's office chair. Not that she had a forbidden grudge over her, it was that the old crook's daily persistence of black-mailing her father for the school fee plus doing it in front of the whole class was getting out of her hands...

Who would then not leave her alone a single minute before asking a million questions on how her father came late, when had he left her mother, even if she had a mother or if her sister was adopted?

They'd say it with a slight hint of humor and with a slight coating of pity. They would then give her a pat on the back, nod apologetically and leave chuckling. Never had she minded and mourned over the hurting words she heard every day, in fact, the more questions she received the more she felt honored to answer them with sarcastic answers.

It was not that she didn't care and that it wouldn't have stung, but once after when she saw her father lying on their tiny sofa, crying over a newspaper article on the rise of price and then shattering the bottle of beer with anger, she dared not go complain any further. That afternoon, she had decided to sleep with her little sister.

But yes, her eyes weren't dry when she went to sleep. Of course she hadn't cried while with her baby sis, maybe it was the toxic fume of cigarettes and alcohol... Anya thought it was useless to again bang her head and strain her throat on the bedroom door. For, she chose to give that night to her dad.

Later that night, it was full of screeches, colorful comments and a lot of strange faces, Anya found herself closed in their room with her hands running over her test papers. Unsurprisingly, her brows bunched at the one digit numbers; three out of ten, six out of ten, two marks out of ten in Literature etc...

Then a grin cracked as she flipped over the pages of her sketch book. They held her precious gems; a rough sketch of the principal with horns, another handsome outline of her father in an expensive-looking cardigan, an imitation of her with fangs and on the last page, a drawing of Michael.

She liked Michael.

She would willingly die in sewers but would never dare to speak anything about it. She'd think of it and then bury it as a souvenir in her sketch book.

Anya had a remarkable talent in art- is what her neighbours used to say- the details of everything and anything fascinated her. She also was quite famous for her unpaid assistance in the history and science lectures while infamous for her quirky mouth.

While other girls sat in groups and talked, occasionally giggling and nudging each other, busying themselves, Anya sat in the first bench, slouched over and drew and wrote notes in her precious notebook.

Scribbling and erasing. Looking. Blushing. Reading.

Maybe this boy named Michael sitting just beside her, did not notice the quick peeps and the looks Anya gave while making herself engrossed with her books. If he would ever catch her staring, he'd smile but then his smile would falter into a thinly pressed line accompanied by a confused shrug.

The one who would receive the smile would gawk and stare adjust her spectacles on her pixie nose and bury her head deeper in her books.

Anya never understood why others would behave as if she emitted poisonous gas or like her head was a fluffy dandruff circus.