The woods
I long for the days of my childhood, when I would frolic in the shimmering lake, the sun glinting off the water while I splashed about, and gather vibrant wildflowers in the expansive meadow. I can still hear the peals of laughter as I played hide-and-seek with my older brother and younger siblings. Those moments seem like a distant dream now, especially since my brother moved away, altering the fabric of our lives forever.
Now, my existence revolves around foraging for food, a stark contrast to the carefree days of my youth. Instead of playing with my brothers, I find myself avoiding the lurking dangers of the woods. The creepers—those grotesque, mindless creatures—hide around every corner, driven by an insatiable hunger. They appear deceptively human from a distance, but up close, they’re nothing more than shambling husks, rotting but relentless, emitting a putrid odor that carries far and wide.
I’ve spent the entire day searching for sustenance while also gathering wood to craft more arrows for my bow. I’ve learned the hard way that noise can attract danger, so I tread carefully, taking small, deliberate steps. A sudden snap of a twig jolts me into alertness, and I whip my head around, trying to pinpoint the source.
Then, I hear it—a voice. It’s not my father’s; it’s unfamiliar and sends a shiver down my spine. In an instinctual move, I scan my surroundings for a place to hide. A sturdy tree nearby seems like my best option. I scramble up its thick trunk, positioning myself in the branches high enough to observe without being seen.
As I perch among the leaves, I spot two men wandering through the woods. It’s been ages since I’ve seen another human being aside from my family. Dad always taught us to maintain our distance, to avoid drawing attention, while Mom believes we should seek out other survivors. I tend to side with Dad; larger groups mean more mouths to feed and greater risk of attracting unwanted attention.
So, I remain motionless, waiting for these men to pass before I resume my trek. I’m at least five miles away from home—far enough where I feel somewhat secure but still wary. Dad usually accompanied me on such ventures, but he was deep in sleep when I decided to head out. Mom encouraged me to go it alone, knowing I can manage by myself.
Before I left, she also asked for more shrubs and flowers to use as medicine. But I can’t shake the worry that the creepers will soon wander this way; the food supply in the city is dwindling, and they might come searching for easier pickings in the woods where we live, isolated from the chaos—a good 35 miles from the city, shielded by trees that have, until now, kept us safe.
Once the men are out of sight, I carefully descend from my hiding spot, feeling the weight of survival pressing heavily on my shoulders.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, I hurried back home before darkness set in. I wanted to ease my mother’s worries, knowing how anxious she gets when I’m out late. On my way, I decided to pause by the serene lake, its surface shimmering like liquid gold in the fading light. I knelt to fill my water bottle, the cool, fresh water reflecting the last rays of the sun. The gentle lapping of the waves against the shore added a soothing backdrop to the moment, helping me find a calm amidst my urgency to return home.
