FIGHTING TO LIVE [H.S]

CHAPTER ONE

a/n: each chapter will feature a song i think goes well with the chapter's overall theme...so without further ado, welcome to the jungle ;) 

song: welcome to the jungle by Guns N' Roses

VICTORIA'S POV: 

Have you ever looked outside your window, and I mean, seriously looked outside, and tried to take in absolutely everything you can see?

And I'm not talking about simple things like how sunny it is, or how blue the sky is. I'm talking about the tiniest possible details that we as humans can almost barely manage to observe.

Feeling your cheek resting against the cool glass of the windowpane.

Seeing the exact directions the sun's rays hit the grass and where they reflect.

Smelling the flowers only steps from your window in your mind and breathing their scent deep into your lungs, as if to savor the memory.

Tasting the bitter air-conditioned air around you and trying to imagine what the air outside tastes like instead. Is it sweet, is it heavy, is it flavorless?

Listening to the different sounds the wind manages to produce as it whips and snaps the branches of the nearby trees.

And if you have ever actually tried to do this, you know that the feeling is nothing less than intoxicating.

That feeling of completely watching the world as some kind of outsider looking in.

And as that outsider, I always saw the world as beautiful.

And while it was broken, and filled with so much hatred, it was also brimming with life and humans and emotions and pain and all these stupidly beautiful things we never stopped taking for granted.

And I guess we took it for granted a little too much.

Because the world got angry.

And instead of giving us a slap on the wrist or shaking its finger at us in warning, it simply tried to kill us. To murder each and every one of us. To wipe out the entire human population.

With zombies of all things.

~~~~~

"SAM!!" I yell as my fist connects with the door in front of me and I begin to bang on it repeatedly. "Can you hurry your ass up?!"

"WHAT?" I hear her shout over the sound of the shower spray and I shake my head. Looking down at my digital watch, I realize it's almost 10:30 in the morning, meaning she's been in the bathhouse for what feels like an hour now. Which, she knows can get her in all kinds of trouble for overusing her allotted water rations.

"WE HAVE PATROLS TO DO," I yell again as I continue to bang on the door. We need to be checking in for patrols no later than 11 and the walk across camp takes 15 minutes at least.

I am not going to be late for the third time this week because she feels she deserves to treat the bathhouse as her own personal spa.

"WHAT?" She asks again over the noise.

"I SAID WE HAVE PATROLS!!" I yell even louder as I feel myself starting to get seriously annoyed.

And as if by some miracle, I hear the water shut off and moments later, Sam opens the door and emerges from the small stall in only a towel. Blissfully unaware, she saunters past me and makes her way to the nearby locker room, beginning to change into one of the many work uniforms we're given and mandated to wear.