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And who wouldn’t? Enemies, yeah, I could carry on a bit longer, but I didn’t have enough friends left to lose any more. That was a week ago. Yesterday, I buried my last friend.
Life’s a bitch and then you die.
I wish I had that option. Being the living dead does things to you, like not being able to die. Easily, at least. Wasn’t like I couldn’t die, but of the few avenues open for my death, none sounded quick or painless. I’ve been told I’m a coward.
After burying Tony, I spent the rest of the night wandering the cemetery, but there was no comfort in cold stones or upturned dirt. Anyone I might have found comfort with, would have died.
Tony had been my first friend and, ironically, my last. He’d been my lifesaver. Without him, I’d have died the moment I awoke. With me, he’d died instead.
I’d always wondered how the world would end. Fire? Flood? Atomic bombs? Imagine the surprise when everything started to end due to the Undead virus. It was me – Me! – ending the world. Everything I saw, touched, tasted began to crumble to dust. Every person died. If I had known, I would have… what? Caused my own death? Hidden away, far from human civilization? Forever alone?
I am a coward.
Near dawn, I settled down in front of my grave stone, leaning back against hard, cold, stone.
Waiting for the sun.
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