Second verse, same as the first.
Amy's lost and alone for the third time this month.
The desert wind is harsh against her skin, the heat; the terrible heat is beaming down. She’s pretty sure she’s got sunburn on her sunburn and sand in her...well...places there shouldn't be sand. Oh sure, a trip away from the crazy people in camp sounds fun. Until you're actually out in the middle of nowhere, lost and cooking slowly into a teenage girl stew-- A sweaty, dirty, overcooked, teenage girl stew.
The sound of a static radio fills the air to her left, and she has to make herself not look. She tries to tell herself that they're not real as she passes by them. Yesterday, they were only manikins. The day before that, they were just scarecrows. Last week, they were making sand angels. Today, they're asleep.
"They're only asleep." She mutters, fingers clenching around her holsters. "They're asleep, that's it."
Her voice is unusually calm as she speaks. She’s been at this for too long. Amy lies to herself about the dead every day, now.
“They got tired on the way home from their jobs.” She makes a story out of it. “They-they got off late from work. There was a…a traffic jam down town. And, on the way home, they hid their cars, and laid on the ground to rest.”
It’s a ridiculous explanation, she knows. But, you should really cut her some slack. Try walking in Amy’s sandy boots for a while. Try growing up in a post-apocalyptic world, and spending your teenage years alone in the desert with a large group of bounty hunting men, who honestly cannot count to a double digit number without busting a blood vessel. You’d be making up ridiculous stories to keep yourself sane, too.
Amy steps right over a sprawled, bruised limb. Her eyes connect with the owner's lifeless stare and all of her courage just melts away from her body. She can’t lie to herself anymore. They’re not asleep. No one sleeps with that look on their face, and if they do—they have some serious issues that they should be working out with a medical professional. She feels a terrified noise bubbling at the back of her throat and starts to walk faster than she probably should in the scorching heat of the desert.
At first, these bodies weren't really a problem for anyone. She'd only see a few scattered here and there every once and awhile, and that was mostly during the day. The Killjoys buried who they could, burned those who went down without their masks, and shared whatever necessary belongings the person carried on them. They had to act quickly, always finishing before nightfall. It wasn't really anything out of the ordinary for them.
And then, the raids began.
Rebels, they were spreading their disease like wildfire; raiding, killing, destroying, changing. Instead of a few bodies, there were many-- tied to cacti, chained to the back of cars, nailed to walls. Dracs, wanderers, and Killjoys were all the same to Rebel eyes. The Zones are pretty much a wasteland, only used for travel-- a dangerous way to get to A and B. There is no time to feel sad, and certainly no time to do things right. They do not bury, burn, or respect. Everyone is too busy looking after the living, now-a-days.
This is why Amy just wants to get home. She wishes that she had remembered to bring her radio with her, so she could call for help. She doesn't want to end up like one of these corpses whom no one cares for. The living are much more valuable than the dead. And, the more valuable you are out in the zones, the less likely you are to die. It’s like a weird circle of Killjoy life or something. Okay, wow. Don't patronize her, okay? Just take what she says, and remember it.
Dead= Not Valuable.
It’s not that fucking hard, okay? Take notes if you're still behind. There will be no tests. Anyway, the whole patrolling around camp thing always fucking sucks. Well, her whole life pretty much sucks, but there's something about stepping over clawed apart bodies and masses of bloody limbs that makes her want to just curl up in a bathtub and cry until the next Apocalypse comes.
Amy turns in the opposite direction of the bodies and prays that it’s the way to camp.
"Oh, Jesus Christ. Stupid, freakin' handle."
Rainbow smirks down at her report paper as she hears Sunny re-attach the handle to the door and tries knocking again.
"Oh, you stupid asshole."
"Just push it open!" Rainbow calls loudly as Sunny tries to fix the door yet again. "S'never gonna work. I don't know why you insist on trying to fix it!"
"It's your fault in the first place. You broke it." Sunny huffs through the door, attaching the handle again. Sunny was right about one thing. Rainbow did break the handle, but it certainly wasn't all her fault. How was she supposed to know it was a push, not pull door? There should definitely have been a sign.
"AWW, FUCKING ANIMAL CRACKERS. THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS AROUND HERE, BOWIE."
Rainbow rolls her eyes and drops her pen onto the table. "Sunny. I am not in the mood for shenanigans, right now. I'm trying to write a zone report for Atomic. So, would you please just push the door open, or tell me what you want and leave?"
Sunshine huffs and Bow can already picture her pouting. "Fine. We're going on a search. You wanna come and mess with people, or what?"
The older of the two starts scribbling again and sighs. "Nahhh. Just tell me if anything happens.”
Her friend sounds a bit disappointed. “Okay. See ya later, I guess.”
“Alright. Be careful, hon."
"Okay. And, oh. Bowie?"
Rainbow smiles. "Ahhuh?"
The door slowly creaks open and Sunny peaks her head in, dark eyes wide and lips pouting. "Why don't you look me in the eyes when we make love?"
Rainbow's pen just barely misses her cornea.
"Well this freaking sucks."
Now, this is something Amy really wasn't planning on. No. Staying the night in creepy abandoned houses isn’t an activity that she enjoys in her spare time. It’s definitely not written on the list of things she would give to the local dating pub. As if anyone would want to make out with;
“Hello. My name is ZigZag Lightning, but you can call me Amy. I am a nineteen year old female Killjoy. My interests include; listening to music, playing video games, drawing Manga art, and staying in creepy abandoned houses during the night to keep away from the creepy crawlies of my desert home. Pick me, and I can definitely show you all of the places on me that are pretty much filled with sand. I hope you like tangled hair and heat rash.”
She mutters as much to herself as she rolls over on the floor. Everything is dusty in this house. It’s dusty and drafty and freezing cold. She’s pretty sure her toes are freezing to the inside of her boots, and she can seriously feel her ass chafing against her denim jeans. There's some sort of leak in the ceiling somewhere, so every five seconds or so she hears "Drip, drip, drip." For sleep to come, would be a miracle.
There's almost tickle of breath right at the back of her neck and then there is an off, crunching sound. Suddenly she's upright again, eyes wide and fearful as she searches around the room.
At first there is silence. And then...
She's on her feet now, panting and running to peek through into the next room. She knew she should have actually checked the rest of the house before it got too dark. There could be a million different things in this place, and she has no way of seeing them.
She shuffles close to a door that looks pretty safe and suddenly remembers an old scary movie-- the one where the unbelievably hot, bouncy-chested girl hears a noise and goes to investigate, then gets her head chopped off by an evil masked-murderer who has a thing for corpses.
"You're so stupid." She thinks to herself as she rests her hand on the old, rusty door-knob. "Don't do it. Just find a place to sleep for the night. Ignore the noise, and then leave."
She pushes the door open anyway, apparently deciding to ignore the smart little voice inside of her head. The room is pretty dark, floorboards as creaky as the door, and cobwebs scattered here and there. Nothing is really off about this part of the house. It looks like just any other old, abandoned place. She turns to go back to the living room, and then there comes a low murmur. It's seems far away, as if it came from a different room. She frowns, squinting as she leans into the darkness.
"Hello?" She calls, tilting her head to the side. "Is anyone here?"
There isn't an answer, so she shuffles on further into the house.
"Maybe it's haunted." She says to herself "Or maybe there are survivors!"
At the first thought of hope, the Killjoy in her kicks in.
"Hello?" Her voice is a bit louder this time. "Is there anyone out there? I can help you."
The murmuring is louder this time, sounding through the metal door in what she thinks used to be the kitchen area. Without a second thought, she goes in, gun charged and ready.
Oh, boy. Was that a mistake.
She immediately regrets every decision she's ever made, leading up to this point as she scans the room quickly. A dark, thick substance coats the walls. The smell, oh god, the smell. It's almost warm, like whatever is there, hasn't been there for very long. Her stomach churns and flips as her eyes lock onto the pile of what seems to be corpses that are only a couple feet away. Her heart is pounding against her chest as she gags, her shaking hand coming up to press against her mouth to keep her screams in. She is afraid, now. She is so terrified, that she can feel herself actually shaking in her boots. Her head is practically spinning from all of the emotions. Sure, she has seen dead bodies before, she's a Killjoy. It's just this place, this place is wrong to her.
She turns around, planning to run straight out the door and then-
"H-help." A soft, trembling voice whimpers from the far corner of the room. "H-help me."
Amy yelps and throws herself behind the dining table, ray gun close to her side. Her heart stops, restarts, and then stops and restarts again. There is a body. There is a small, broken body curled up in a tight ball, shaking as the owner stares up at her with what seems to be glowing eyes. She spends the next thirty seconds mentally freaking out. Then, she spends the next ten contemplating just leaving whoever the fuck it is there without even looking back.
"Please." The voice is so small, harmless. "Please, I need help."
Amy somehow forces herself to move forward, shuffling wearily with her gun pointed as she continues to shake. She has no idea what she's going, or what the hell is even happening. She just knows that someone is hurt, someone is scared, and she needs to help them. Her eyes focus on the shaking figure. It is a boy. A very young boy, at that. Any other features are difficult to make out in such darkness.
"Hello?" She whispers softly, soothingly to the child. He flinches anyway, crying out as she continues forward. "Are you hurt? It's okay. I'm a Killjoy. I can help."
She tries to ignore the blood that is pooled below her shoes. It is cold and gooey, making it hard for her to even walk. She feels bile rise in her throat and swallows hard. No time for puking. First get the kid out.
"What's your name?" She murmurs, squatting in front of his frail form. "I'm ZigZag. But, if you want, you can call me Amy."
Introductions are good. Establish some sort of connection.
He doesn't give her much of a response, so she grasps his arm, tugging very gently. Oh, god. He's as cold as ice.
"Come on. We can get out of here."
Amy watches as his head rises, lips quivering as he tries to get words out. The whole time, she's fighting back tears.
"They made me do it." He whimpers, "She w-wouldn't s-stop screaming at m-me. I didn't w-want to do it."
He grasps her forearm and tugs.
"They made me do it. They made me do it, and now they want me to do it again. I'm sorry. Please, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
He repeats his apologies and tugs her down against him, sending her gun out of her hands. Amy struggles to get away from him, while trying not to injure him.
"Hey," She just about shouts. "Hey! Calm down. You have to calm down, or I can't help yo-AH!"
And then he bites down on her arm, sharp teeth digging in and sinking right through her flesh like it's nothing. She screams out in pain, trying to pry his jaw open and scoot toward her ray gun at the same time. But, he's just so much stronger than he looks. This harmless boy is suddenly a monster, pushing her back against the hard floor and ripping at her jacket as she continues to try and fight. Suddenly, it's game over for Amy. She flails and kicks and screams out, but it's still not enough. He releases his grip on her arm, only to bite down harder somewhere else, ripping at the flesh of her throat. A sick, wet noise sounds through the room and her neck is searing as the air hits her wounds. The fingers gripping at her curl into sharp talons, clawing and breaking her skin hungrily.
Before she blacks out, all her brain can put together for her is one single sentence.
"You're only asleep."
So, is Amy dead? Or is she really just asleep? Why doesn't Rainbow look into Sunny's eyes when they make love? Do they even make love to begin with?! WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT? -Evil laughter.- You will soon find out!
Do you ever have the feeling that “Oh, wow. I’m so ready to write this. I’m going to write this so hard.” And, then when you go to put your thoughts onto paper your brain just goes “Dah fuck how do I do dis, again?” Yeah. I’m pretty sure the whole hiatus thing did more harm than good. Anyway, next chapter will be up, soon. I’ll be extra good, so my father will have no reason to take my things. -Awkward wave- Bye!
Oh! Also, I'm going to be doing the whole "reply to reviewers in fic" thing that I used to do. If you don't know what I'm talking about, don't even worry. Go about your day, beautiful creature. And, please let me know if you liked this or not. Thank you!