Things were so much simpler before, even if they were boring. Go to school, get A's, trudge through life and attempt to meet everyone’s expectations. Bosses, teachers, parents, professors But unfortunately for most, things always end up changing. Life now was risky, painful, full of actual obstacles that could take your life. The environment was deadlier, cleaner, and all around.. Better. He was free now, free from the social contract he didn’t even sign. Free of expectations and let downs; and no one could stop him from doing all those things he wanted to do before. Piss in the fountain, kick the dog, rape the children, kill the neighbor and fuck his wife. It. was. ALL. Open.... Every.. Single.. Bit. And the zeds, they were just there for target practice. Fun to shoot at and maime, useful to use. Furthermore, they didn't cry out, or care. You didn't put one down until you shot it in the head, so you could break its arm without it screaming and alerting others like the most dangerous game might. All it did was moan and gurgle.. Well, the moaning might have been coming from him. Feeling the bone snap, seeing it move out of the skin... It was bliss. The new world, to him, was. . Perfect. Get bored of one place, you moved on to the next. You could steal whatever you wanted from anywhere you wanted at any time. He even met a single person on Call of Duty once, when he stopped at a house with a generator Ah, fun times, fun times. Such fun goddamn times. Before the outbreak, all he did was desire. Desire to kick in the head of the little fucking brat who wouldn’t shut up. DESIRE to steal someone's money just to burn it with their body and home. But now.. Now he could do what he wanted. Get challenges that excited him, open forbidden doors mankind would have never let him open. Before he could help it, his mind wandered to the day it started. Sitting on the fountain, trying to trick Kate into bending over. His cover friend Nathan talking to his parents at the gate.. If he would have left anyone alive, it would have been him. But there lay the irony. Nathan was the first infected. Blood shot from his neck like a firehose and mesmerised the sociopath on the fountain into staring, taking in the cadaverous complexion of the body losing blood and body that attacked the body losing blood. It took him a minute to run, being way too infatuated with the gruesomeness and panic of the place. Everyone was running but him.. That’s probably why it spread so quick. After quite a few people, he bolted, running far and fast. At that point it was a free for all, fuck his family. Not literally, they were too ugly to bang. Finally, after malicious and slightly sexual thoughts about the one hot aunt he had, he brought his mind back to the present. To the scope inches from his face, the yellow dress he saw causing it to scowl almost immediately. Dumb bitch couldn’t of been caught in something more red, or revealing? A sigh escaped his lips, a familiar tug in his head trying to push him to shoot now. Fortunately no one was around to hear the exasperation, and the blanket that was pulled over his figure hid him from sight. Even when he squeezed his trigger, the silencer..suppressor- whatever the hell you want to call it- turning a bang that would ring out for miles into a ‘pew’ that could barely be heard over a flapping flag. Not that it mattered too much.He knew no one would survive to try and find him anyways. The rounds he used were hollow point, specially made to fragment on impact and tear up the tissue. There was so field patching a wound like that- and before all of this happened, he was already good with a bow. Amazing in fact. With a pistol, he was better than most veteran gun nuts, the technicalities behind it being easily grasped by his constantly moving brain. He took natural talent to shooting .. Not useful before, but it helped a lot after everything went to shit. The scope he stared into swayed slightly with his breath, making everything seem twenty times closer than it actually was. At his side were three more just in case magazines- backups for if more popped up from the woodwork or something like that- and one just in case times five magazine, with explosive rounds that could punch through an armored car's tires instantly. . He only had twelve explosive rounds, so he was extra cautious with them.. Minus the three he used to blow up gas stations, those didn’t count. “ Stop thinking twit. “ The inner voice lulled him into his senses once more, making him adjust to a more propped position. He now had his scope adjusted, putting his hand flat up into the air the feel the wind direction... Three MPH, north east. Looking through the scope, he was about one hundred and thirty eight yards.. Easy . Licking his lips, he looked deep into the scope, like it just failed a cavity search. This ‘rival’ group had four people, three male and one female. The female was a prisoner of sorts, kept for fucking n’ entertainment and what not. She was in a cage, one with a large lock holding the door to the edge, the bars both vertical and horizontal so she couldn't reach far through.. Smart. There was even a bit of a wetness on it, where the girl started peeing in order to corrode away the bars.. a dull hope, a dull hope indeed. But it was almost funny to think that she was trapped in there and her only chance at the outside was a piss poor excuse for hope. ( Badum tss) . For moving her, and more importantly whatever goods they had, was a large military style cargo truck.. Sighing, he decided it was time to act. He was bored of observing, and bored of watching the girl piss on the bars when the men weren't looking. Pulling his rifle up and into his shoulder, he checked everything around them.. No zeds. But being out in the open was stupid. All three of the men were at a table, playing poker, two of them lined up, and a third acrossed from them. One of the two was the " leader " shouting orders whenever he could. . He was the first target. And the one behind him was the first target as well. Now was the time.. He had to make one of them suffer, save the damsel in distress.. And make her watch in excitement and horror. Lining up the sight on the leader, who was bald and covered in tattoos- mid forties, maybe.. Buff, and wearing riot gear to protect him from zed bites. But that's not what would end him. Funny how things work out like that. Behind him was his PIC, the one he always raped the woman with. Black hair that was cut into a buzz, wearing riot gear from a police station they must have raided some time back. With the wind the way it was.. He pulled over, locking onto the third man. He seemed to have a good soul, sneaking the woman extra rations now and then, never joining in on rape night.. Ah, well. He should have lived while he could’ve. Now was time for action. The sniper brought his scope up and to the right of the leader's head. . It would hit. Closing his gray hued eyes briefly, he breathed out, steadying himself. And then opened them, holding his breath and squeezing the trigger. It was instant. The bald man's head exploded, just as he revealed a royal flush.. That sucks, shitty luck.. Ha. The one beside him, with the military style haircuts eyes widened, the left of his throat spewing out blood further than Nathan did day one. Impressive. Well, multiple parts of it created one stream. The fragments of the bullet he shot tore through the man's skull, and into the other man's throat , as he hoped. The third man, with long brown hair that was tied back in a ponytail gasped, his mind processing what happened, as he was in mid facepalm when he was called on his bluff.. And now, it didn't matter. The shooter gave him enough time to know he was next and start running, before a bullet went through his spine. it was funny as hell, watching him roll around, gasping for air as the life slipped from his kind eyes.. That was two of his clip that held five bullets. Turning and focusing, he saw the woman in the cage, her expression combining horror and happiness into some contorted ugly horpiness. His third bullet went right through the lock that held the door- opening it. Standing still for a moment she took a gander in his direction, mouthing something.. It was either “Thank you,” or “Fuck you.”.. Could go either way, really The hope in her eyes was gone as he launched his third bullet through her kneecap, making her fall to the ground and scream. That HAAAD to hurt- he would have busted out gut laughing if he didn’t get scolded by his inner voice, " Take her out. " One more squeeze, the ‘pft’ of his weapon sounding, and then silence... Not a sound was made, not a soul saw it but him, and that's what sent him into his next fit of laughter.. “ WHAT FUN, WHAT FUN!! “ The voice laughed along with him, complimenting him on his sins. Looking up, the man sang to the lord, apologising for what he did. Only, he wasn't sorry. He did believe in god, he just didn't care about what happened after death. If need be, he was going to hell to put a round through the devil's ass and take his place on the throne. His laughter died down a bit as he went down the fire escape and into the tall building he was on, making his way to the the ground below. After reloading his clip, of course, and placing his extra magazines in his backpack, as well as his blanket that hid his position. His sniper had a strap, and was hanging on a shoulder over his back. On either leg of his form were pistols, one a P95, the other a Strong Ruger; nine millimeter. But it didn't stop there. On the belt of his jeans was a long quickdraw knife, military. That was just his equipment that could be seen. He had clothes, a lot of ammo, extra clips, and one more pistol in his backpack. The smile still plastered to his face, he found himself face to face with a mirror. Been a minute since he looked at himself. Long dark black messy hair that was unevenly cut, barely coming down to his eyes. His eyes both a deep gray- very sadistic, yet intelligent at the same time.. Almost predatory. His skin was paleish- having very little tan as he mostly operated at night or when it rained.. He was a bit of a pluviophile and nyctophile. He had a fondness of both settings he operated in greatly, having loved them both since he was little. Night vision made it possible to work- and he also had thermal, just in case. . The 38 special was rather tricked out- minus the suppressor that was now in his backpack. ANYWAYS, he was a bit tall, around six two and rather well toned- though that wouldn’t show.. He had to be in order to live, and carry so much equipment. His upper half was covered by a hoodie similar to that in assassin’s creed- but slightly darker. Stolen from a hot topic at some point. It wasn’t his favorite game, but it did cover his head when he wanted to not be seen, or when it was raining. It had slight bits of gray, as to go with the transition of color in the actual hoodie in the game. His long legs were covered by black jeans, also good for not being seen. His shoes were black, and lightweight, easy to jump around with, since he had to so often. His lips were curved into a smile- his thoughts returning to the time before, blasting through them, hearing the blood and bullets hit the concrete at high speeds behind them.. He could never have done that before. Reaching the ground of the office building he was in he went over to the corpses camp, stealing whatever supplies he needed. Food that wouldn't rot, ammo, water, lube (as he was almost out)- Then pissed on the corpse of the female, for a guaranteed ticket into Hades. Afterwards, he marched on, trying to find some place to lay low. Somewhere dark and peaceful. But these guys might have friends, so logic dictated him to hoof it on the highway for a bit.. But the brains splattering, the girl’s false hope.. It was all fresh in his mind, all had him turned on. “ First thing I’ll do when I get there is me. “ His mouth echoed his thoughts as he walked, soon he began humming to himself, pulling some headphones and a stolen iPod out of his bag, somehow still working. He stole it before all this, but it had some okay music- keeping him occupied so he hopefully didn't think about going off looking for someone else to slaughter.. Ha, the look in that bitch’s eyes was priceless. He would do anything to see it again.. Luckily he had an alright memory, so he could savor it always. The song Raindrops by BJ Thomas played through his mind as he walked, the Beats he had on producing an amazing sound; the voice he had in his head singing along and conversing with him. He was schizophrenic. He knew since he was eight, but now the voice egged him on, told him how to go about things, kept him alive, even... Before they used pills to silence it. Called him a freak because of it- but now.. Now, the voices were his best friend.

Death is an abstract concept that has brought about a lot of wonder and anxiety in many lives, as well as a lot of theories as to what happens after. Some of these theories are likely only believed because of a fear of nothingness and a hope for those who are already dead- these theories can be titled two different ways. If you believe in the theory, then you would call it your religion. If you believe in a theory other than that specific one, then you would call it a mythology. It’s a bit hypocritical, really, defining another's unproven theory as fake because your unproven theory is what you have grown up believing in. A step above that on the being-a-dick-biscuit scale is believing everyone should follow the rules that accompany your theory. Theories are beliefs, and to try and force your beliefs on someone (or, ya’ know, an entire fucking country) because you think it’s right is kind of messed up.

No one really knows what comes after death, and trying to come up with something without evidence of any kind as to what actually happens is comparable to trying to find a blade of grass someone else in the world picked without any hints or means to know if you’re right. I respect these beliefs, of course, up until the point where they prove themselves to be on the dick-biscuit scale earlier mentioned. I can understand that people believe what they believe, and may believe because simply because they want to believe it (like someone who is religious because they want there to be something other than nothingness after their death).

Now, no matter what you believe there are many who are scared of death. I do not see the point in being scared of such a thing, as it is inevitable. Why waste time being scared of something you can not hope to understand? If there is nothing after your life, then it will not be scary. It will be like a permanent retirement from the world into a state of nothingness- much like the time before you were born. Some could be fearful because they do believe in something, and that something says if you disobey you will be punished. There are many options when it comes to confronting this kind of fear, but I will only list a few. You could live your life as a complete and devout follower of the laws put in place, never straying even a hair, because there are two ways it could work out. One- you were wrong and wasted your life following a false prophet’s idealisms out of fear. Two- You were right and end up where you wanted to be while everyone who lived their life in disbelief is where you were scared of ending up. Either way, you’re taking a risk- so you have to decide which risk is worth taking. Looking at it this way is also good for deciding whether or not you are a true believer in whatever it is you think you believe in.

My personal risk is the ladder. It’s hard for me to see why I would want to devote my life to belief, when belief is just self assurance in uncertainty. Why give up my freedom just to appease something that doesn’t for sure exist? I suppose this is a bit of a “play now, pay later” mentality; but I believe there won’t be any actual price to pay outside of the consequences of my actions in the here and now. Even if I do end up damned for my sins, I committed them with a smile on my face and lived a full life because of it. So whatever I have to go through, although potentially torturous, will likely be worth it looking back.

Now, what about other people’s deaths? Those whose names you don’t even know as well as those who are close to you? Well, as I said, this dark shadow that looms over life will inevitably snuff out everyone’s fire. So handle it in whatever way you can. Try to come to the understanding that death is what makes life precious, and remember them and the life they lived. Coping style is dealer’s choice.

Isn’t life grand? A consciousness that allows us to decide what we like to do and what we want to do? Freedom in all aspects except the ones we deny ourselves in? A beautiful world that we can take to in any way we please? Now, you may think some of these things don’t seem true. Law dictates we follow it or get punished (if we’re caught, anyways ). Parents put rules in place that hold the same concept; obedience or sanctions. Now, I won’t say that disobeying the law or your parents is what you should do. I’m saying it’s something you can do. As a human being, you are an individual. All choices that can be made, and I mean CAN as in they are possible to make, can be made. You can decide to murder and pillage, decide to run away, decide to fly to another country if that’s what suits you. Of course those are extremes- but what I’m getting at is you are in control of your life as long as you stick with yourself and are conscious, not to the laws and rules others put on you, but the ones you put on yourself.

How can you say you’re an individual if you spend your life doing what is expected of you in every way? Who is truly free between the man who works the nine to five and the man who gets put in prison or killed for shooting up, or fucking a prostitute? Sure, one may be in a physical cell, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t free mentally. Between the two, my respect goes to the man who is in prison for living his life- not surviving through it. I may not respect what he did in order to get to the point of living, but the living itself is impressive in whomever may obtain it. It’s like the concept of enlightenment, but on a lesser scale. In order to tone it down a bit I’ll give lesser examples. The kid who gets put in the corner for going too far from his house against his parents orders, or the one sitting on the couch because he stayed inside and wasn’t involved?

Our entire lives we are taught there is a system we have to go through, rules we have to obey at all times. ‘ They taught us how to walk and talk, but now all they want us to do is sit down and keep quiet. ’ In a world where everyone wants their kids to be leaders, all we are taught to do is follow. I find this to be appalling in every sense of the word. I’ve met children who used to love a sport, and now hate it because their parents have made it their mission to make it absent of fun- a chore that needs to be done rather than an activity that should be enjoyed.

The same thing happened with school- remember back in your first few years, having an enjoyment for the things that went on? Even if you were yellow carded for talking, the day went on and you would talk again. But soon that faded- we were really pushed into sitting in quiet little rows staring at a screen and memorizing whatever we could as our teacher ranted so we could get into college. They even take away our individual ways of completing assignments. If your paper doesn’t hold exactly what they want- points off. If you did the math problem a different way and got the right answer nonetheless, points off. Things people actually enjoy doing are put on a lesser level than the academics- that although can be important are shoved down our throats whenever we get into the habit of being slacktivists because of the disinterest these years have caused us.

Furthermore, they hold four subjects that tend to be thoroughly unenjoyable and put them above all other classes you may take. Math, history, english, science. Why are they so much more important than the other classes they only throw in to give us credits? Art, music, technologies , drama, shakespeare. There are jobs out there for artists and music enthusiasts, but they apparently pale in comparison to those big four that rule whether or not you get to go on to the next grade.

Now, tell me this. Whenever you are stressed is it because you are putting it on yourself, or is it because you are having troubles meeting someone else’s (or society’s) expectations? I’m assuming you have both, but the ladder majorly trumps the former overall. Though, I suppose in a way stress is always put on you by yourself. You let yourself want to meet these expectations, and when you can’t or it’s difficult it makes your heart beat faster. That’s why people need to slow down and try to figure out if these expectations are something that they actually want to meet, or if they are something they feel they have to meet.

Sometimes life may feel like a freight train, like you aren’t in control of it and everything sucks. This is partially true, as you are not in control of all aspects in life. You can not control other people, or your environment. What you can control is how you adapt to both of these things, and how you react. There will always be things in life that seem to be going pretty fucking shitty, but it’s necessary. If life never had any downs how could we tell when we were having a good up? The trick is to remember that, even when you’re drowning in shit, there are reasons to smile and things that you can change to make those smiles shine brighter and mean more. I don’t care if you have to run away from home or disobey every law there is- nothing in life is more important than your happiness. Not anyone, not anything.

These ideas may seem selfish, but sometimes people need to be a little selfish. If you go through your life always worrying about others or putting them before yourself, were you really able to live YOUR life? Sure, it was your decision to do it, and helping people is fine; what isn’t fine is putting them so far over you that they are the only ones who can make you feel like you’re making something out of your life. Live for yourself.

People are like puzzles: you can get ideas about whom they are from what pieces can be seen, but you'll never really know them until you bring everything in holusbolus. You can try to describe the puzzle as a whole with a single word, but you'll fail to capture it in it's entirety. I could turn every word I have left into an adjective and still not capture myself effectively, so how could I label myself as anything except, well, me?

I was set on it being fake

This love people feigned so well

A worldly mandella effected word

That could not be

That was until

I met

Her

Even though I haven’t done any manual labour, every muscle in my body seems to ache. Maybe it’s from anticipation; maybe my body is trying to tell me not to cross the line in the sand before me.. But the decision's been made. The gun in my hand weighs heavier and heavier every second I hesitate, clammy hands never being a problem for me before this moment. The past sociopath in me wrestles intensely with the man I’m trying to become, and even though I know it would be best to just let it take over, I can’t bring myself to put years of slow progress to waste. I’ve never been truly frightened before: no haunted house or scary movie ever bringing me past a few extra heart beats during a well places jump scare, but in this moment I am genuinely scared. I’m scared that when I pull this trigger the crying any sane person would be expected to do will be drowned out by a fit of laughter. I’m scared that this crazy circumstance will show me the piece of myself I’ve tried to keep at arm's length in a closer light than I ever could have witnessed before. Because it will no longer be out of sight, or out of mind. It will be in the mirror every time I walk into the bathroom. It will be reflected back at me any time I look deep enough into someone's eyes to see the reflection of my own. I physically feel a single thought turn into a word, it escaping my lips before I can put enough of my attention to what’s going on outside my own head to pull it back. “ Fuck.. “ I barely recognize the voice as my own, the exasperation and morose contradiction from my mind coming out just as audibly from something as simple as the tone I said in a single vulgarity. It breaks me. I haven’t even pulled the trigger yet and I feel the tears well up in my eyes. “ Fuck. “ I repeat it once more, closing my eyes and clenching my jaw as I try to urge myself forward. My hand moves up, everything seeming to slow down as I grip at the conviction I need to get this done. . It’s funny. You’d think in a situation like this the problem would be the life about to be taken. But I’m so selfish I’m crying over what might happen to me after. Before I know it I’m in a shooters stance, one hand on the cold handle of the weapon and the other supporting it. My finger sits inside of the guard, resting on the trigger, ready to end he who sits before me. Take away any and every possibility he has. I feel as if I should apologize, and try to make up with him before I do this dastardly deed, but I know it won’t matter. Instead I breathe, and try to bring my sobs to a more tolerable level. As the moment grows closer I feel someone else taking the reigns, but I’m too weak to stop it. Until eventually I’m looking through eyes that are no longer my own, waiting for the moment the change becomes set in stone. The tears fall, but the sobs stop. The heavy breathing subsides and the racing heart slows to a halt. Time stops entirely as what was once my finger squeezes a trigger, and the lead shoots from the chamber. The crack of the weapon echoes in the no longer empty room. Blood and brain fly out of the back of what was once a person’s head. My vision darkens as it happens, my consciousness seeming to disappear as my control had. The last things I hear as I fade away are three more echoing shots, and a laughter so cold it made me wish the darkness would come faster.. People would mourn the soul that once resided inside that corpse for years to come, moreso for themselves than for the person who once was. But what they didn’t know was: despite there only being one body in that room, two people died that day.