Posted in Blog

Ella at The End Of The World – Episode Twelve

Read more of Ella at The End Of The World

I saw a person! A real life, living, breathing person! A non infected, non zombie person!

Seeing a stranger may not seem excited in normal circumstances, but in these troubled times, it was a much needed morale boost.

He was tall, with sandy hair, and a huge rucksack, I assume, full of supplies. As we were driving through a town, we spotted him, through the window of a shop. The place was abandoned, torn apart, but he was still hopefully scanning the shelves. At first, I thought he might be infected, but as we drove past, he turned, and I saw his face for a moment. It was normal. I watched him as far as I could see him, in the mirror, and his movements seemed normal too.

I thought about asking Martin if we could go back and help him, but I’m on thin ice as it is.

I keep wondering when we are going to talk about the herd of elephants in the room, because while I’m on thin ice, so is he, and I’m getting tired of the chilly atmosphere.

Martin is refuelling the car, and checking the tires. I miss my car. Martin says we had to take his, because it’s bigger, and that two cars would make it harder to stick together, but deep down, I know he refused to take mine, because it is pink, and he likes to feel manly. He got it for me, just after I moved up here from England. I’d seen one, a baby pink Fiat 500 (just like the girls on twitter), where I lived, and I used to send him pictures all the time, declaring that one day, I’d be rich enough to buy it, and he’d always promise that he’d get it for me instead. Martin always keeps his promises, whether it’s pink cars, or slaughtering my undead brother to keep me safe.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s