The dying light flickers in the sunken hollow that was once her left eye. It licks the socket, whispering promises of a future that cannot be. No matter how much she dreams, it's always the same at the end of day. She sees it in her right eye-- and her right eye never lies.

People of prowess beaten down in mere seconds, people of sanity slowly and meticulously broken… the sights she had to bear still refuse to loosen their grip on what emaciated scraps remain of her mind. Every waking moment is hell. Sleep is worse. Memories torture her, torment her, howl with ecstasy as they repeatedly batter the feeble barriers that she constructed to keep them out. Living, breathing, functioning nightmares still endlessly roam the spiraling cavities of her consciousness. Every thought is another brick in her prison, every word a needle glistening with bloody saliva.

She used to scream at her demons, scream until her throat was raw and useless and her fingernails dug into her palms, drawing crimson in crescent pools. She used to yell every possible insult at them, spitting salty tears from her cracked lips as she howled at the silent night air. But she doesn’t speak anymore; there is nobody left to listen. They have either been consumed by madness or by the Things. And she doesn’t talk to herself.
Herself doesn’t listen either.

It would have been much easier if she was blind back then. There would be no running, no hiding and trembling and pleading for the quickest end possible. She would not see what she saw, nor kill what she had killed. Simple. Merciful. The only things left would be those throat-ripping howls, and if she was lucky, she would have gone deaf too.

Sometimes, she was surprised that she hadn’t. Or maybe she already had, and those sickening, bloodcurdling cries had been merely reflections of what chunks were left of her own raging insanity.

No. She could feel herself clinging desperately to the cliff, but she had not yet fallen. Not yet. She still lived for him, fought for him, breathed for the both of them. That was what they had always wanted. That was what they promised.

The boy with the cloudy blue eyes coos and extends his tiny hands, grasping experimentally with chubby fingers. She turns her head toward him as her lungs violently expel a burst of smoke, tears springing into her hazel eyes. His carseat is tilted to the right, inches from the massive pine branch impaled through the windshield.

"Charlie...Charlie, hold still!" she commands, though her voice quivers. The toddler squirms, and it takes her several tries to unbuckle him and yank him from the plastic contraption. His cheek brushes a pine needle, and he whimpers.

"Shh. Don't cry, Charlie. We're okay. We're all okay," she murmurs as she wraps him firmly in her arms. "Mommy and Daddy--"

Two hazel eyes follow the pine branch.

Two hazel eyes halt once they reach the front of the car.

Two hazel eyes stare at the hunched figures, shadows in the fading twilight.

Two hazel eyes absorb the placid river of crimson.

Two hazel eyes widen.

Two hazel eyes finally release their tears.

Charlie. It must’ve been Charlie that kept her sane all those years. Her precious younger brother… it had been the purest, starkest terror she had ever faced when he fell. She had never known death's presence as intimately as when she watched his beautiful smile torn, extended to his temple in three rough motions. Skin parted like a knife through butter, crimson blood spurting erratically, dancing with ivory splinters of bone and tiny shreds of pink, baby-brother flesh.
She lost her left eye in the futile, desperate attempt to save him. By the time she had reached his body, he was already long gone.

But the Things weren’t.

After that, it was sprinting and hiding. Stop, go. Stop, go. Her existence became a sadistic rendition of the childhood game "red light, green light." She didn’t exactly know why she kept moving on, why Charlie had made her promise to survive, why she didn’t just lie down and die along the weathered dirt road. She blamed him for that sometimes, whenever she’d halt her endless escape to gulp the warm, stagnant water from her cupped hands-- and stare at her reflection. One eye reflected a monstrous emotional scar, the other a scabbed and bloody mass. Why didn’t they take both? Sometimes, she wished it were so. She wouldn't have seen Charlie then, and that might've been the ultimate mercy.

In one hand she clings to a simple dagger, still crusted with a dry, brown substance. It’s a dull and ugly thing, with jagged teeth for edges. They wore themselves into the metal by the unmistakable merit of time. She had retrieved the weapon by an abandoned supermarket, nearly missing the shiny glint in the fading light. However, she had trained her right eye to see. The blade was hers now as if it had always been, serving her with the zeal that only two half-dead survivors could exhibit. She saw the dagger as a survivor, too. In some ways it reminded her of herself--used, abandoned, and not without scars.

A hand reaches up out of the shifting, ravenous mass of oily black. It trembles. Here is a lone island in a roiling sea of claws, haunches, skulls and sinewy grins. Here is something beautiful. She's running now, and she can see his messy, blonde hair. She reaches for his hand...

It falls, and the scream that escapes from her lips isn't even her own.

Intense cold seeps through the concrete wall at her back, warranting an occasional shiver. The hand without the dagger is wrapped around her left knee, hugging it close to her body. But her other leg is carefully and straightly laid in front of her. In her most recent blind sprint to escape the Things, she had fallen and violently twisted her right ankle. Chances of survival had been slim before, but they never really died until that moment. She had then dragged herself into a small, square room-- part of what was once a parking structure. Maybe it was used for maintenance, sometime in the past when the world was still good.

There is a door in the corner and a lightbulb on the ceiling, but she has nothing to barricade the door with and the light doesn't help much. She glances up at the halfheartedly throbbing bulb. Soon it will burn out completely, and darkness will finally overtake her. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does.

The Things are coming.


In another time, she would hunt for a way out. She would kill as many Things as possible before making a hasty and daring escape. But not today. There are too many, and they have chased her up the parking structure. If she makes any attempt to break free, she will be spotted and easily overtaken. Her ankle has sealed her fate. The only remaining option is to hide, but they will still find her eventually. It is only a matter of time.


Wasn’t it all just a matter of time? She was doomed from the start. It’s so simple, she laughs for not knowing it sooner-- laughter, which is more like a strangled series of grunts than anything even remotely human. She wonders if she ever was human.


"Don't cry, Sis!" Charlie wipes a tear from her cheek as she releases the two useless fire sticks and clutches her splintered, bloody hands to her chest. "It's okay!"


Her tears crescendo into sobs, and he frowns. "Sis...please don't cry." He glances at their measly pile of salvageable firewood. We don't have to eat tonight. It's okay."

She meets his eyes. "B-but, Charlie..." she blubbers, " Charlie, you have to eat!" She tries to grasp the fallen sticks, but he snatches them away before she can.

"See, Sis," Charlie mutters, "the key is..." he begins rubbing the sticks rapidly together, unconsciously sticking his tongue out as he works. "Sometimes you need to ask for help, especially from your younger brother." The stick slips, and he swears quite colorfully for a nine year old as his shaggy blonde hair drifts into his eyes. He coughs once and rubs his forehead with a grubby palm. "But that isn't the most important thing. The most important thing is..." a single spark bursts from the sticks, and he quickly masks his surprise at having created one so quickly. "You gotta never, ever give up. No matter what!"

The kindling catches fire, the flames spreading hungrily along the wood and eating up the oxygen in the air. Soon their modest campfire is a glorious inferno, drying her tears. She turns and hugs Charlie tightly; he squirms uncomfortably but allows her to hold him.

"No matter what," she repeats.

"That's stupid, Sis," he replies. "It was cooler the first time."



A single tear rolls down her cheek. She makes no move to stop it, and it plummets from her jaw to kiss the concrete floor. There is no use in fighting. Not today. She will die here, but no one will know. No one in that beautiful, impossible future she dreams of during those ever-shortening moments of solace will ever stumble upon her bones and wonder who she was. Her body will be long gone by then, bones and all. Maybe that's for the best. After all, she gave it her best shot. Charlie, I'm sorry... She closes her eyes.

A quiet giggle causes them to snap open. It’s nearly imperceptible, but she has trained herself to hear that sound. It seems to bounce off the walls, reverberating in the air for a full second longer than normal. She shifts into a partial crouch, being careful not to disturb her injured ankle, eyes intently locked on the door. A second, quieter laugh joins the first. Her instincts scream at her to burst into a full sprint, launch herself from the parking structure… but it’s hopeless. If the fall doesn’t kill her, the Things will get to her, and that’s assuming her ankle doesn’t slow her down.

Why even think these thoughts? Why does the slightest glimmer of hope still reside in her mind? There is no escape. There is no way out. All of those weeks fighting for survival have amounted to a worthless, pathetic nothing.



“It doesn’t matter! So what if other people give up? I know you, and you don’t give up!”

“But, Charlie…”

He scoots slightly closer to where she is sitting and stares up at her with those excitable, hopeful blue eyes. “If something happens to me, I want you to keep on going. Don’t give in, don’t even think about it for one second. That's what wusses do. I don't want to die with a wuss as a sister."

She is silent for a few moments, pondering. “But why would I want to live in this world? Especially without you?”

“Duh, for both of us! And you would tell me to do the same thing!”

She smiles and holds his face in her hand. “Because you’re a fighter, Charlie. You always have been. Remember when that chicken attacked me, and you went after it with a stick?”

“Haha, yeah,” he murmurs happily. "I kicked that crap out of that thing. But you’re getting off topic.” He locks eyes with her, surprising her with the sudden intensity of his gaze.

“Do you promise that you'll never, ever give up? No matter what?”

She yanks him into a hug, and he murmurs a muffled complaint. “I promise, my majestic blonde buttercup. Now you have to promise me.”

"Mmmmffff!" he pries himself forcefully from her grip. "Yeah, sis. I promise."

“Now, let’s not talk about scary things.” She playfully brushes his hair out of his face. "Don’t worry, Charlie. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

"You'd better," he replies, grinning.

‘I won’t let anything hurt you.’ The words pierce her already shattered core. She has already broken one very important promise. She promised Charlie that she would protect him, and he had died anyway. He had died right in front of her and she couldn't even save the one thing she loved most. Worthless.

Her hand drifts to her left eye socket, the reminder of that torturous day. She doesn’t even remember how many Things she killed when they had taken her brother from her, how many beasts she had sent away from their pathetic, agonized existence. She had never been more furious in her entire life, more unified with the monster within. One moment, she was kneeling over what remained of Charlie’s body-- the next, she stood silently in a sea of blood and severed limbs.

One hazel eye regards the scene with a morbid satisfaction, relishing in her glorious revenge. Her powerful victory.


One hazel eye witnesses her brother. His bones. He's gone.


One hazel eye blinks, and something inside of her shatters permanently.

She grits her teeth and struggles against the flood of memories. The giggling grows louder directly outside the door. She fingers the blade of her dagger. Here are the beasts that stole from her the only source of solace in her entire crumbling world. They may have devoured her purpose, forced her to break that precious promise, and killed her hope. But unlike hers, Charlie's dream wasn't dead yet. He had entrusted it to her bloodstained, tired hands. In her, Charlie could live.


“It doesn’t matter! So what if other people give up? I know you, and you don’t give up!”


Her eyes narrow. She plants her injured ankle firmly on the ground, ignoring the excruciating jolt of pain that grinds violently up her spine. Climbing to her feet, she squares her shoulders and glares at the door. She settles into a crouch, muscles tensing, lips pulling back into a silent snarl. The noise increases, and just for the slightest second...that snarl of rage becomes her first real smile in months. She has already broken one very important promise. Never again will she break another.


The door bursts open.


And she is ready.


She throws herself at the incoming Things, screaming like she never has before. It's more animal than human, a cry of pure challenge and fearless rage tearing its way from her throat. She stabs and slashes furiously with her dagger, swings her arms and legs with powerful speed, bites with her teeth and rakes with her nails. Her attacks are met with howls and shrieks. They claw at her too, but she’s unstoppable. The inky, muscled blackness swarms her, squealing and laughing and oozing fluid in bubbling pools.


Their forms are incomprehensible. They are terror on legs, muscled and twisted humanoids embedded with the bones of their victims. Darkness is their cloak, and blood is their oxygen. They squeal with delight as they leap at her rapidly tiring body.


A wave of gray dances on the edge of her vision, the pain of her ankle threatening to overcome her and steal her from consciousness. But she’s not done yet. She’s not giving up. Limbs crack, Things screech and hiss, stumbling and falling as they heave their final, shuddering breaths. The squealing, living ones gouge long, deep cuts in her arms. She doesn’t know how many there are, only that she must fight and fight hard. Inky, black blood splashes her face, temporarily blinding her. It sizzles and scorches her skin, her scream joining the dissonant chorus.
She growls and wipes her right eye on her sleeve. A Thing slams into her body, sending her violently into the ground. Her head bounces once against the concrete, and she sees stars. It’s on top of her now, crushing her, running its long black tongue up her cheek. Her skin crackles and hisses wherever the tongue touches, protesting the acidic poison. She howls in anger and sinks her teeth into the Thing's neck, her eardrums ringing as it lets loose an unearthly scream in response. Dark, poisonous blood floods her mouth and eats away at her tongue. With one last push, she shoves the Thing off of her body- nimbly rolling to her feet and coughing up some blood of her own.
Just when she is about to allow hope back into her mind, more inhuman giggling drifts through the doorway. And after only several seconds of respite, new Things burst through. The next wave includes more of them- those sickening figures that appear humanoid but are more animal than any animal she has ever encountered.

The vision in her right eye is deteriorating quickly, so she launches herself at them once again, fighting just as viciously as before. She feels her body burning, but ignores it.
There are too many. They’re pressing her now.

“If something happens to me, I want you to keep on going. Don’t give in, don’t even think about it for one second.”

Her body tumbles beneath a sea of Things; the last of the air in her lungs is crushed beneath the weight. She can’t breathe.

“For both of us, Sis! And you would tell me to do the same thing!”

They pin her limbs down and bury their teeth in her flesh, gleefully ripping out chunks. She screams in terror and excruciating pain.

“Do you promise that you will never, ever give up? No matter what?”

She whispers the first words that she has spoken in months. “I promise.” The vision in her eye goes black, dies as the poison takes over. The flames are burning slowly toward the back of her skull now. She tries desperately to move, to spit in their ugly faces, but she doesn’t have control over her body. Her heart is on fire, and her blood is molten.

But then she can see. Charlie kneels directly to her left, smiling at her with those beautiful blue eyes. He offers his hand.

She takes it.