Twitch [Conor]

Conor
"It's sunny today. There is no wind, and therefore I'm sweating. It's mid-Summer, but I've forgot the day. I haven't kept track of dates for months, really. No need - I have no plans. None that require planning. I don't plan plans. I take things as they come, cross bridges when I get there. If you plan to cross the bridge months beforehand, what do you do if you find it burnt to the ground?
Currently, I'm walking around town, don't know where exactly, looking for... well, anyone else. I'm not travelling in the Fiesta because it's loud and because the roads are covered in abandoned vehicles, walkers still scraping at the windows from the inside as I walk past. I still have my golf club and knife though, just in case. Some day I hope to find a gun. Some standard pistol, with a silencer, ideally. Yeah, that'd be nice. I know jack all about guns, but I've played enough Call of Duty to know how to load one and turn the safety off. Thing is, martial arts does fuck all to a zombie. What would usually knock a person out cold just knocks a walker back a bit. All these skills are good for now is knocking runners back a bit, or snapping their neck to stop their lower bodies from functioning, leaving nothing but a snapping head moaning on the floor.
Practicing my martial arts kept me sane, really. I practiced at least an hour a day - what I usually did before this all happened - but more to maintain my current level rather than excel. There was no point in improving when there's no one to compete against, but at least I could stay fit, focused... and alive.
Suddenly I heard that signature moan and I ducked behind a nearby car. I looked below the cars and saw those horrible shuffling feet just wandering around aimlessly, but I didn't know if it was a walker or a runner - before they spot prey, they all look the same. I thought it best to work around it. It would take less time, and preserve energy, and so I planned a route through the cars and wired my way through, taking care to watch my step so I wouldn't knock anything or step on something noisy. It wasn't hard; they're not the smartest things, and when they can't see you they're pretty oblivious unless you make a glaringly obvious noise. Therefore, I easily worked my way round it, and didn't linger around enough to get a good look. Why would I? They're grotesque creatures.
So far, along my travels, I had met one survivor who wasn't about to be or in the process of being eaten alive. His name was Chris, and he was the same age as me. Sound lad, a bit dense, but could hold is own in a fight, and we were a good team for about four months. It was nice, because before that I had been alone for about six months, and as my first time truly alone I was going a bit mental. Thing is, Chris got a bit crazy himself, and all of a sudden started wanting to set off on 'hunting trips'. He said it was "a good way to pass the time", but I obviously objected. We needed to stay alive, not become some sort of Evil Dead firing squad. After a bit, though, he set off on his own, taking the car with him. Didn't see him again for some time after that, and the bastard took most of my supplies, too. Came across him a few weeks later lying on the pavement a few miles across Sheffield with two broken legs and a bite wound, but not a walker in sight. Had to leave him and get his cries of fear out of my mind before I lost it. I never saw him again.
I decided before long that this was no way to search for survivors, and reflecting on past events didn't really leave me in the mood anymore. It was time to head back to the 'base'. It's... 12am, more or less - and yes, I have learnt to tell the time based on shadows and the sun, so I'm fucked when Winter comes - and I was getting hungry. I should eat, train, then keep watch, maybe draw for a bit on the roof of the Tescos. I have to keep a concept of entertainment and enjoyment in my life. It will keep me positive, and therefore focused... and happy. I need to stay happy. Be happy, Conor, be happy."

Chavvy
I sat up in the back of the van, still emerging from slumber, and leant my head on the half bulkhead behind the seat. As I did, I glanced out the windscreen, taking in the barren. Slightly decaying street I had parked on the previous night. I pulled back the blanket from over me, slipping on my jacket, and fastening my trainers, before clambering into the cab. Since I had lost Jake that night, it seemed empty in the van, nothing but my various tools and supplies to keep me company.

I must have sat in the drivers seat for at least an hour, thinking what I could do today. Usually my day would consist of work, with a few hours on the computer after, but sees as no one is alive to pay for home improvements, or any mains electricity for mass Internet abuse, my routine had gone to pot. I check over what supplies I had; three bottles of water, a tin of beans, it slightly stale bread that would be fine toasted, and a couple of lion bars. I thought I had seen a shop somewhere nearby, and would probably loot it later of anything still edible. My hunt for survivors had come to nothing so far, and I longed for companionship, as much of a recluse I was in the previous life.

My mind was made up. I'm going to get supplies. I took the crowbar from behind the half bulkhead, as well as a lump hammer from my tool bag, stuffing it deep in my side pocket on the jacket, and placing a lion bar in the other. I cracked open the door, and swiftly slid from the seat, closing the door behind me. Today might be a long day, another one of many, but I'm not leaving without a bloody fight.

Conor
My muscles were tight today, especially my legs. I sunk down into a wide stretch, almost in the splits, and groaned as I could almost hear my muscles creak and my joints crackle as the muscle fibers strained. I stretched twice a day - first thing in the morning, then mid-day. Not only did it keep it supple and ready, I actually enjoyed it, believe it or not. Not nearly as much as I used to, though - it used to be a fun challenge, trying to test myself to push further, kick higher and strike faster, but now it's mostly the memories the activity brings back to me. A few days ago I actually began talking to myself, imagining I was chatting to my old teacher and my friends at my old martial arts academy. It seemed mad, and I knew I was doing it, but it at least made me feel like I had some company for a brief moment. I didn't quickly snap out of it, either, just slowly drifted away from what I thought was there. It was sad really. Had the same kind of experience in my car a few weeks ago - I imagined I was talking to my girlfriend, laughing and joking, on our way to the beach like we used to. Such things seemed insane but ironically kept me quite the opposite. This new world was lonely.
Suddenly, I heard a vehicle door shut. It was so quiet that the sound rang out through the streets. At first, I was excited - walkers can't close doors, and it was unlikely a runner had slammed into one and shut it unintentionally. Perhaps I would finally meet somebody else! A fellow survivor! But then I remember my past experiences, and decided to keep my wits about me... and not get my hopes up.

It was... 1pm, give or take. The sun still beat down heavily. I was on the roof of the Tescos with nothing but an umbrella for shade, which I was stretching under. I would finish, then eat, and keep a watchful eye.

Chavvy
Ever have that strange feeling you're being watched? I sure as hell thought as I was being watched. Maybe I was a little more on edge than usual, now being alone. Before, Jake would watch my back, as I watched his as we raided shops for supplies. I really should try and stop thinking of the family, it’s distracting. Should stop looking back if I want to move forward... at least... that's what my dad taught me to believe. Damn, doing it again.

I gripped my crowbar a little tighter, and made long, increasingly faster strides toward the shop. As I looked through the window I could see that there were still a few supplies out, though I was skeptical of entering. The last time we looted a shop, the shopkeeper was still there... well, at least his body was. He had been recently attacked, trying to keep his shop open among the chaos, and his stubbornness had cost him his life, cursing him to forever walk the earth as a flesh hungry, mindless being. At least he was until I smashed his face all over the counter…

I approached the door, taking the bladed side of the bar to the join next to the lock chamber, and smashing the crevice in one swift maneuver. The wood of the door, split with its' grain, the barrel of the doors lock being thrown aside with the force exerted. As the locking mechanism hit the tiled floor inside, the door swung open, leaving me in the opening, ready to check for walkers.
At first check, nothing. I checked all the usual areas, around the shelves, behind the counter, in the storeroom, upstairs... and not a soul. With the search done, I started loading out with supplies, taking everything deemed edible, or safe to drink. Everything from beans, chopped tomatoes, soups, chocolate, crisps, fizzy drinks, water. Anything that I could fit into carrier bags, I did. I even found some frozen burgers in the freezer! With about 4 carrier bags of food, I took the supplies, hooking my crowbar on my belt, and began to drag the goodies to the back of the van.

I was close, when I heard something in the distance... a groan... two groans…

I quickly unlocked the back of the van, and threw the supplies in carelessly, got to the driver side door, and prepared for a confrontation...

inSYNCinSANITY
I yawned, clenching my eyes closed tighter and stretching, my whole body lifting up as it tensed. I really didn't want to open my eyes, sleep forever. For the first time in, what felt like months, I had actually slept through the night.
I sighed and reached over, feeling around for my phone before finally opening my eyes to look at the time. 2:13. my eyes bulged, was that really the time?!
I sat up and looked around me at the boxes that I had emptied last night, and the makeshift bed I had made out of bubble wrap and foam peanuts, more of a nest than anything else.
I felt my stomach growl, long and loud, and I realized that I couldn't even remember when the last time I ate was. "Hmmmm..." I got to my feet, brushing myself down before looking around, trying to remember where I put the crowbar that I'd been using to open the crates last night. I spotted it hanging off the shelf full of wood and grabbed it, I'd really love to take down a zombie with one of these chainsaws but a crowbar was easier to carry and operate.
I climbed up to the broken window I had used to get in and climbed back outside, I could vaguely remember walking passed a gas station and figured it was worth a look at.

PumpkinPie
I'd been awake for what felt like a good couple of hours by now, I think I woke up at.......I actually don't know, I suppose it doesn't matter honestly. I gripped my baseball bat and carried it as I walked around. I was looking for some new food and drink. "Last night it was chicken and coke so I guess I should save some water for tonight and as for food......" I asked myself as I walked around the aisles after sadly realizing that the chicken I thought would last a week only lasted 1 day before expiring.

"Ah, this looks good!" I said excitedly as I grabbed some pears. "It isn't a meal but if I eat enough it'll do" I told myself. I heard a groan and ran to my usual hiding spot, oblivious to the naked eyes. The zombie didn't go away for a while but I was not seen. They better leave soon, I need fresh air within the next 3 hours or I might go a little batty.

Eventually, although I went a little bit batty, the zombie left. I assume it heard groans and screams like I did and followed the group or maybe it thought there was no meat here. Anyways, I checked to make sure there were no zombies and I unlocked a small part of the door and slightly shut it, with only a crack for an opening, and went outside.

LordTomyh
"94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100" I said, reaching down to carve a single line in the floor. Besides it were at least 150 other lines, all representing 100; 15,000 in total.
"Man I need to find someone to talk to"
Meow
"Not you Ryan; someone that talks back in words" The black cat yawned lazily on the edge of the roof and went back to sunbathing. Below it the orange cat, Corey, was batting Ryan's tail while the dark brown cat, Tristan, was cleaning himself. Why this three cats were following me was beyond me. I stopped giving them food, yet they still followed me. I was tempted to throw them off the roof, but not only would they climb back up, but it might attract a undead pack.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair, rubbing my tired eyes. The sun was well and truly into the air and I was tempted to fall asleep; despite being annoying the three cats did serve as an effective alarm clock and early-warning system.
"Uhh, how did it come to this? How did it come to the end of the world? And I'm not even in fucking Australia" I knew it was a big flaw of mine, but I loved my country so, I grew aggressively patriotic and competitive when it came to discussing countries, but I wasn't even in my home country when the zombie apocalypse happened. All my Z-Day plans ruined because I was on the other side of the world.
"Life, you are a cruel bastard"

Conor
Finally some clouds had no reached over the sun and blocked it out, blotting out the entire vicinity from its rays, but the heat still remained. I was sitting at a table I had managed to throw up onto the roof with a chair to sit on, and was eating a bar of chocolate and a bottle of water. I would cook something soon, but for now this would do. I didn't feel like eating a lot of the time, anyway. Because of the lack of fresh, edible meat I had lost my appetite more or less, but I still forced down proper meals when I could. My goal was to, at least at one point in the day, feel full, or as close as I could get to it. I felt it was important to keep small things from my past comfortable with me at times like this, as they stopped me from breaking down and crying as all hope slipped through my fingers. Feeling full, spraying myself with deodorant, drawing caricatures, even playing air guitar whilst I hummed tunes to myself, it all helped.
When I was back in Sheffield, with Chris, we remembered Wentworth Manor, a huge house just outside of Rotterdam, where I lived. It was on private land, and you could walk there in the summer, the main attraction being the family of deer that lived on the acres of fields that the manor had ownership of. We managed to get in and find the deer, and because Chris had an air rifle we managed to kill one and it lasted us a week. It was beautiful, really fresh and tender. I'd never had deer before that, and haven't eaten proper meat since.
I was remembering the deer when I heard groans coming from below the Tescos, on the street. I decided to crawl my way over to the ledge of the roof and peer over; one walker, just strolling by. Thing is, walkers actually attract other walkers, at least from my experiences anyway. Their groans are almost like beacons for other undead to hear, and if you've ever heard them attacking they let out a God-awful spluttering moan that signals others that they've got their next meal. As a result, I decided to take this one out.
Slowly, I jumped from the roof from behind the Tescos, using the boxes and industrial debris I had collected and stacked round the back to get up and down with. There I grabbed my Swiss army knife and selected the blade, then snuck round the side of the building, jumping over the barrier I had set up to keep the undead from swarming all sides of the building with one quick leap.
I approached the corpse from behind, staying low, and before it could turn I closed my mouth shut, tightly closed my eyes and delved the blade up through the bottom of its skull. It fell to the ground instantly as its spinal chords snapped and its brain stopped functioning there and then, and I quickly dragged it away from the street (after inspecting for place for any others) and chucked the corpse in a nearby bush, to which I then swiftly retreated back to the roof.
because the undead's body basically stops functioning to a 'living' degree, their bones are brittle and weaker than that of a normal, healthy human's, and as a result their skulls are easy to penetrate with something small and sharp, and smash just like a watermelon would if you hit it hard enough with a big, blunt object like a golf club or baseball bat. Of course, it all depends on the freshness of its turning - newly transformed zombies aren't usually as easy to crack open.
I had now perfected my stabbing technique as far as I could tell. I did it in such a way - up through the gap in which the skull meets the spine - then the blade pierced the softest part, and that also if the wound sprayed any blood or puss when the blade is withdrawn it would spray downwards towards my clothes (I normally used my other hand to position the face upwards by pulling on the back of the hair or ear so that this was a sure thing, this time being a rare exception), not completely backwards in my face where I risk swallowing a bit or getting it in my eye. I still closed my mouth and eyes in stealthy kills, though. This is why I hate swinging my golf club - it's messy; I remember thinking I had gotten a splatter of blood in my mouth and panicking like shit, rinsing out my mouth with water, pop and even bleach, spitting it out afterwards obviously of course) to try and get rid of what I thought was there. Turns out it had just started spitting rain when I got into that predicament.

The most tiring part of that was dragging the body. Good thing I stretched beforehand. Now it was time to eat. began heating up some beans on an outdoor fire and kept a watchful eye for whatever made that vehicle door close.

Pandipoo
I've been in London for a good few months. I've cleared out a small shop and I use that as my 'base'. I don't keep many supplies there as there could be other survivors ready to loot it. I'm surprised by the lack of survivors. I expected everyone to come flocking to London and for there to be a civilization here. And from what I've found, they tried to survive. They just didn't do it long enough. I found a shotgun shell whilst looting someone’s car. There was no shotgun there though. It was weird. The car was posh too, and I can't imagine someone driving a Jaguar with a shotgun.

It's safe to say that I have lost NO weight. I'm annoyed, but happy. How else can I get the jump on the walkers if I'm a skinny runt? That just shows I'm doing a good job with the food situation. Although I seem to be running low on mars bars. Which is a catastrophe.

When the night falls I return to my 'base'. The doors are sturdy and there are few windows. Which is good, it means I can light a candle and be safe. But this night I wasn't going to stay down stairs. I was going to drop cinder blocks from the roof onto unsuspecting walker's heads. As insane as it sounds, it's the only way I keep sane.

Bob
London. Columns of smoke littered the skyline of the city. Sounds of distant screams and moans filled the air.

I'm sitting in the driver’s seat of my bus, leaning back while my feet are resting on the dashboard. I was parked in the middle of the M1.
The double-decker bus looked out of place, parked nicely in the middle of a motorway, looking out to the city and surrounded by abandoned cars, leaving a path only just big enough for the bus. I reached to my side picking up a group photo of my family, one of the few sentimental things I took with me.
I smiled and hooked the picture under the top of the windscreen.
Sometimes I imagine the people I love are sat in the passenger seats behind me... Gives me a nice feeling inside as I clutch my machete tightly.

"Time to move." I mentioned to the photo, casually saluted it, and so I drove away slowly into dark abyss of London…

Who knows? I might even meet a survivor.