Pain.
It was the only word she knew. The only thing she was aware of. The only fuel to her existence.
Some distant, disconnected part of her knew she was screaming, but she heard no sound, suffering in utter silence. She remained in the dark, every pore of her wishing this ordeal could be over, wishing it would end.
But it went on and on. She felt herself age with the effort it took to endure it all. As if every cell was alight and had to fight back to withhold from turning to ash.
Trace was exhausted.
But, after what felt like centuries of pure agony, the darkness was broken; a dim light appeared in the distance, growing and brightening as it came closer to her. Finally, it reached her, enveloping her in its warmth, filling her vision so that she had to squint to adjust to it.
Then she began to see. She saw the world clearer than she ever had before.
But only in snippets.
She saw old, abandoned houses; she saw bodies littering the streets; she saw mad, disease-ridden monsters brawling before her eyes.
She saw herself- much younger- creeping through an empty house, looking for something. Looking for someone.
She saw a ladder, taking her up to an attic. A bookcase, an old television, a moth-eaten chair. She could see out the window of the attic, to the street below, but she didn't leave. Instead, she watched as a family of four- a mother, father, son and daughter- tiptoed their way to safety.
Then she was older. She saw herself raiding homes, hiding from the infected, finding a gun. Firing it, watching the bullet land in its target.
She saw a large, white building in the snow. She saw the people guarding it.
She heard her gun fire.
And the light went out, leaving her in the dark once more.
Only, this time, the pain was gone, and exhaustion was in its place.
The Changing was over.
YOU ARE READING
Subject A250: The Fangirl (COMPLETED)
Fanfiction--Book one in the Subject A250 series-- She's read the books. She's seen the movies. She knows all there is to know about the storyline. Except for her role in it.
