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sailorstarsunIs it weird to write fanfiction featuring your own original characters? ^^
But I really wanted to write this kind of story, but didn't feel like making up new characters for it. Which is funny, because usually I come up with characters first, and build stories around them. I just really like thinking up characters!
But this time, the story came first, and instead of making characters for it, I just used the guys I already have laying around. (笑) If that makes sense.
So it's Alternate Universe fanfiction... with my own characters.
Content warning: a little bit of gore
* * *
Chapter One – SOS
The day started off like any other. He woke up, he prepared his black coffee and toast with almond butter, and he reviewed his case notes as he ate his meagre breakfast. This case meant a lot to him, not only because he knew for sure his client was innocent – the complete lack of any evidence and the supposed victim admitting he was lying at the behest of his parents more than proving that – but also because he was simply a decent man. A reputable doctor whose livelihood would be ruined by the accusation alone, he didn't deserve to be behind bars for something he didn't do, and Günter would do everything in his power to make sure he walked free.
So he reviewed the case notes once again, packed up his briefcase just as he did on any other trial day, and washed his dishes. He grabbed his phone and his keys and his light suit jacket, just as he always did. Right up until he left his apartment, he thought it was just another day.
He wished he hadn't gone outside.
He desperately wished he could go outside.
For the first two days, he still had electricity and water, which he took as a matter of course. If he had known the shower he took the evening before the world ended would be his last, he would have relished it a bit more, instead of bathing on autopilot. If he had known the soup and sandwich he'd had for dinner would be his last real meal, he would have savored it a bit longer. All of life's little things were taken for granted, like they would always be there, and then they weren't.
The first time he turned on the tap and got nothing, his heart sank. Water treatment plants and the systems that kept it all going were run by people, and people were scarce these days.
Günter wasn't one for social media, but when he ran home that day, pursued by a hoard of snarling, festering, undead... things, terrified out of his mind, turning on his TV only to find a newsfeed featuring an empty anchor desk and nothing else, he turned to the internet.
What he found terrified him.
Something had brought the dead back to life, and they were hungry. Both the newly deceased and those long dead and buried roamed the streets, attacking anything alive and feasting on the flesh of the living. Some suspected a virus, some said bacteria, some claimed it was Jewish space lasers – the truth was, nobody could say definitively what started it or where it came from, or even if it was really as sudden as it seemed or if it had begun small and unnoticed until it spread out of control.
The only things known for sure were that it had spread to all corners of the world, and that it was contagious. Countless blogs and tweets told of survivors and their loved ones escaping an attack with only a single bite on their brother's, wife's, partner's arm or leg or shoulder, thinking they were safe, only to have the person they cared for turn and attack hours later. It spread via bite – if one of those things even snagged a tooth on living, human flesh, it was better to just end things straight away, instead of becoming one of them.
So the internet said. Günter wasn't sure he could do that if it came down to it.
And then the power went out, taking his Wi-Fi and connection to the outside world with it.
He was scared. More scared than he had ever been in his life. Scared enough that he spent the first five days after the advent locked in a cabinet, alternating between relentlessly refreshing Twitter and shuddering in the dark, holding his breath when he thought he heard something bumping around outside. He only came out when he absolutely needed to eat something or absolutely needed to relieve himself, which became less and less when he ran out of water. He knew he was becoming dehydrated when he stopped sweating despite being shut in a hot cabinet with no air conditioning in the encroaching heat of early summer.
It was the rain that got him to come out.
At the first clap of thunder, he realized that was his way to water. It wouldn't be the cleanest and wouldn't taste the best, but it was something. So he left his cabinet, scrambled for buckets, bowls, pots, anything to collect the rainwater in. He could access the roof through a window in the loft, and once he was out there, with the cool rain pouring down, he just lifted his face to the sky and let it wash over him.
It wasn't until he was thoroughly soaked and nearly drowned that he finally opened his eyes and took stock of the world around him.
A few of those things – the undead, zombies, walkers, whatever history would ultimately call them – roamed the street in front of his building. They didn't seem to notice him, and he crouched low on the roof to keep it that way. Perhaps it was because of the rain, but it didn't seem like they could smell him right then either.
They were slow. And stupid. He knew they had strength to them from the pictures he had seen of the aftermath of an attack, flesh shredded to ribbons like it was nothing, but they weren't coordinated, and it seemed like they couldn't climb or manipulate door handles or windows. It almost seemed like... as long as one wasn't trapped or surrounded by a horde of them, it was possible to survive.
And surely the government was doing something. Mobilizing the military, searching for survivors and bringing them to safety. In all probability, Günter just needed to sit tight and wait. Help would come.
Leaving his pots to fill, he climbed back through the window into the loft, grabbing a towel to dry off with as he headed into the living room of his apartment, and then took a deep breath.
Thinking about it with a clear head and wet hair – feeling cleaner than he had in days, though he had only gotten a soak in the rain – he was in the best place possible to wait out the end of the world. His apartment wasn't in a complex, but rather a converted space on the upper floor of a standalone building, below him the office of a privately owned real estate agency, and he hadn't heard anyone down there since before all this began. It meant there wasn't anyone else in the building to worry about, no shared hallways for undead roamers to roam through. His closest neighbor was in a-space-above-an-office just like him, their windows facing each other, but with an alley between them. Even if his neighbor – whom he had never met, actually – had turned and tried to reach him, they would fall two floors down to the ground between them.
That alley – narrow enough that Günter couldn't pass through it with an open umbrella – was the only access to his door. One of those mindless monsters out there would have to stumble their way down it accidentally to get to his stairway, and even if one somehow did, the door itself was thick and heavy and metal, and it opened outwards. There was no way one of them could push it in or push through it.
All the windows were two floors up, so if they couldn't climb, they couldn't get in. He would barricade them just in case anyway, take apart one of his bookcases and use the wood to reinforce the glass barrier.
He would ration out his food and whatever rainwater came.
He was safe here. He could just sit tight, and wait for help to come.
Help would come.
Help had to come.
That was six weeks ago, and help hadn't come.
Günter had run out of food two days prior. He had rationed it out as best he could, going from one granola bar a day to half, to a few bites. He ate every crumb of every cracker with whatever condiments he found in his refrigerator. He had teaspoons of maple syrup when his glucose was low, but when that was gone, he downed sugar packets like Pixie Stix. At first, he ate spoonfuls of peanut butter for protein, determined to keep up his exercise routine for strength, but now he had neither of those things left.
After he had eaten his last quarter of a granola bar, he broke down.
His memory-strapped mind couldn't remember ever crying before, but the anguish poured out of him then, loud and harrowing. Loud enough to possibly draw those things outside to him, but he didn't care as he pounded a fist against the floor. They wouldn't care about him after he had starved to death anyway.
When he had finally wailed out his anger and hopelessness, he just laid on the floor for the longest time, until he eventually passed out.
Then the next morning came, and nothing had changed, and then came the one after that.
Another big rain the week prior had filled his buckets and pots, but it was going stagnant. He had read somewhere a long time ago how to rig up a solar still to collect condensation, and was having some luck with that, but it was slow going. Hopefully it would rain again soon, but hope wasn't doing much for him.
He had used his brightest-colored books to make a large 'SOS' on his roof, big enough to be seen by military aircraft when they flew by, but they never did. No trucks or tanks barreled down the streets, searching for survivors. No city-wide announcements came through the tornado-warning speakers. No help came. He was alone.
And he was losing his mind.
Günter was a man of routines, and generally didn't like when things were shaken up or out of order. He was called stern and stubborn by his colleagues, but no one could deny that he was a damn good attorney, and that's all that mattered. His work mattered, but he didn't have that anymore.
He re-read all of his books – all of the ones that weren't uselessly baking on the roof, anyway – until the sun set, taking all the light with it. He read all the magazines he had never gotten around to throwing out, then moved on to the labels of shampoo bottles. He played word games with himself, seeing how many words he could make using the letters in 'Geographic', and then he re-read his favorite books again, until his eyes were strained and he had to stop. It wasn't like he would be able to get new glasses anytime soon, so it would be best to preserve what vision he had.
He spent time re-arranging his fishing lures, thinking about getting his hands on a boat and living out at sea. Surely the undead couldn't swim. Or sometimes he just stared out the loft window at the empty street below, thinking how easy it should be to just walk down to the store and buy some groceries. None of those things were around right now; maybe he could make it...
But then he remembered that day, that first morning. He remembered arriving at the station and feeling acutely like something was off on what had otherwise been a normal day when all but one of the doors on the train were closed, something usually only done when there was a fire or some kind of attack, in order to herd passengers to safety. He remembered seeing people trapped inside the train, banging lazy fists against the doors, and he rushed to help them, digging his fingers into the seam between the doors to pry them open.
He remembered the things that poured out of the train, snarling and reaching with bloodless, gray fingers and clouded eyes. Some of them were missing chunks of flesh and some of them had been torn open, spilling guts and organs, but still they surged on, as if the need to feed transcended even death.
Falling on his ass was the best thing that could have happened to Günter, as it pulled him out of reach of the hands that sought to tear him apart, and he scampered away with his heart pounding in his chest. Dumb luck had saved him, and then the first few monsters that stepped out to give chase fell through the gap between the platform and train, giving him time to scramble to his feet and run.
He remembered making it up the stairs and out of the station just in time to see Mrs. Billings from across the street, who had once tried to set him up with her daughter, get grabbed by a monster that had stumbled out of the automatic doors of a convenience store. It tore into her throat, pulling away flesh and tendons with its teeth, and she screamed and screamed, drawing the attention of more of them, until they had piled onto her, smothering her in their desperation to get a piece.
He remembered the way her screams suddenly stopped, and the way the sudden silence rang in his ears.
Pulling away from the window and its view of the empty street below, he retreated to his dark, sweltering cabinet, and shook.
No more rain came. The scant amount of condensation he had collected was barely enough to wet his tongue. He didn't read anymore – he could hardly move, couldn't see straight, couldn't think straight. He spent as much time unconscious as he did awake, and when he was awake, he hallucinated. He heard his phone ringing, despite the fact that it had died a month ago. He heard his secretary ask if he would like another cup of coffee, he could smell the fresh brew, he could taste the hot blend, the mug warm in his hands, even though he was laying face down on his living room floor and hadn't seen another living human in weeks.
He could hear a plink, plink, plink, like pebbles being thrown against glass.
Usually, the hallucinations faded, either into oblivion or twisting into something else. A vision of Mrs. Billings calling to him morphed into a screeching, undead ghoul, aiming teeth and claw at him, startling him into awareness.
The plinking sound was still there, tapping against his window in intermittent beats. It wasn't a hallucination.
Günter's hands began to tremble and his heart sped up, beating frantically. If one of those things had managed to climb-
He struggled to his feet, hurrying on staggering steps to the kitchen, where he grabbed the largest chef's knife from the knife block. He was a pacifist by nature, but if he had to fight to defend himself, he would. Even if he had no idea how; even if he would probably lose.
His breaths were labored as he returned to the living room and faced the window, holding up his knife. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping him on his feet.
Another plink, plink, plink.
And then-
"Hey!"
A voice.
"Hey! Are you in there!?"
Plink, plink.
"Are you okay!?"
Günter choked, and his eyes grew hot. The knife slipped from his fragile grip, thudding to the floor.
"I'm human, I promise!" The voice came again. "Are you there!?"
He moved to the window on shaky steps, his feet like lead, his heart like a drum. His hands reached for the plank of wood he had nailed over the window as reinforcement, tugging at it, though it didn't budge.
The plinking had stopped, and the voice had gone silent. He would be left alone again.
"No..." Günter whispered, tugging on the plank again. "Don't go." He tried to raise his voice, to call out and say 'I'm here! Don't go!' but nothing but a croak would come out of his parched throat.
He reached for the sliver of glass that showed just above the plank of wood and hit it with everything he had – hardly a tap.
"You are there!" The voice came back, cheerful and excited like a puppy. "Are you alright!?"
Gripping the plank again, Günter pulled and pulled, putting his weight into it, tugging with renewed vigor.
By the grace of whatever god or guardian angel was out there, or the fact that the building was sixty-something years old and the wall the plank had been nailed into could only take so much abuse, the wood pulled free, sending Günter crashing to the floor and sunlight streaming into the room.
He was up before he could even register any pain, reaching for the window's lock, praying that the voice wasn't just another hallucination.
He threw the window open, and was met with bright, black eyes and a brilliant smile that was like pure sunshine.
"Thank god, you're okay," the brilliant smile said. "I haven't seen you in your loft for a while, and was worried..."
Günter heaved deep breaths as tears spilled over his face.
"Hey..." The neighbor's smile softened for a moment, and then he chuckled.
Then he grinned, bright like sunshine.
"I have some food. You hungry?"
* * *
Basically, I've been watching way too much of 'The Walking Dead', which made me look around my apartment and think, "Yeah, I'd be fine here, except that I don't have any food." ^^
But I really wanted to write this kind of story, but didn't feel like making up new characters for it. Which is funny, because usually I come up with characters first, and build stories around them. I just really like thinking up characters!
But this time, the story came first, and instead of making characters for it, I just used the guys I already have laying around. (笑) If that makes sense.
So it's Alternate Universe fanfiction... with my own characters.
Content warning: a little bit of gore
Chapter One – SOS
The day started off like any other. He woke up, he prepared his black coffee and toast with almond butter, and he reviewed his case notes as he ate his meagre breakfast. This case meant a lot to him, not only because he knew for sure his client was innocent – the complete lack of any evidence and the supposed victim admitting he was lying at the behest of his parents more than proving that – but also because he was simply a decent man. A reputable doctor whose livelihood would be ruined by the accusation alone, he didn't deserve to be behind bars for something he didn't do, and Günter would do everything in his power to make sure he walked free.
So he reviewed the case notes once again, packed up his briefcase just as he did on any other trial day, and washed his dishes. He grabbed his phone and his keys and his light suit jacket, just as he always did. Right up until he left his apartment, he thought it was just another day.
He wished he hadn't gone outside.
He desperately wished he could go outside.
For the first two days, he still had electricity and water, which he took as a matter of course. If he had known the shower he took the evening before the world ended would be his last, he would have relished it a bit more, instead of bathing on autopilot. If he had known the soup and sandwich he'd had for dinner would be his last real meal, he would have savored it a bit longer. All of life's little things were taken for granted, like they would always be there, and then they weren't.
The first time he turned on the tap and got nothing, his heart sank. Water treatment plants and the systems that kept it all going were run by people, and people were scarce these days.
Günter wasn't one for social media, but when he ran home that day, pursued by a hoard of snarling, festering, undead... things, terrified out of his mind, turning on his TV only to find a newsfeed featuring an empty anchor desk and nothing else, he turned to the internet.
What he found terrified him.
Something had brought the dead back to life, and they were hungry. Both the newly deceased and those long dead and buried roamed the streets, attacking anything alive and feasting on the flesh of the living. Some suspected a virus, some said bacteria, some claimed it was Jewish space lasers – the truth was, nobody could say definitively what started it or where it came from, or even if it was really as sudden as it seemed or if it had begun small and unnoticed until it spread out of control.
The only things known for sure were that it had spread to all corners of the world, and that it was contagious. Countless blogs and tweets told of survivors and their loved ones escaping an attack with only a single bite on their brother's, wife's, partner's arm or leg or shoulder, thinking they were safe, only to have the person they cared for turn and attack hours later. It spread via bite – if one of those things even snagged a tooth on living, human flesh, it was better to just end things straight away, instead of becoming one of them.
So the internet said. Günter wasn't sure he could do that if it came down to it.
And then the power went out, taking his Wi-Fi and connection to the outside world with it.
He was scared. More scared than he had ever been in his life. Scared enough that he spent the first five days after the advent locked in a cabinet, alternating between relentlessly refreshing Twitter and shuddering in the dark, holding his breath when he thought he heard something bumping around outside. He only came out when he absolutely needed to eat something or absolutely needed to relieve himself, which became less and less when he ran out of water. He knew he was becoming dehydrated when he stopped sweating despite being shut in a hot cabinet with no air conditioning in the encroaching heat of early summer.
It was the rain that got him to come out.
At the first clap of thunder, he realized that was his way to water. It wouldn't be the cleanest and wouldn't taste the best, but it was something. So he left his cabinet, scrambled for buckets, bowls, pots, anything to collect the rainwater in. He could access the roof through a window in the loft, and once he was out there, with the cool rain pouring down, he just lifted his face to the sky and let it wash over him.
It wasn't until he was thoroughly soaked and nearly drowned that he finally opened his eyes and took stock of the world around him.
A few of those things – the undead, zombies, walkers, whatever history would ultimately call them – roamed the street in front of his building. They didn't seem to notice him, and he crouched low on the roof to keep it that way. Perhaps it was because of the rain, but it didn't seem like they could smell him right then either.
They were slow. And stupid. He knew they had strength to them from the pictures he had seen of the aftermath of an attack, flesh shredded to ribbons like it was nothing, but they weren't coordinated, and it seemed like they couldn't climb or manipulate door handles or windows. It almost seemed like... as long as one wasn't trapped or surrounded by a horde of them, it was possible to survive.
And surely the government was doing something. Mobilizing the military, searching for survivors and bringing them to safety. In all probability, Günter just needed to sit tight and wait. Help would come.
Leaving his pots to fill, he climbed back through the window into the loft, grabbing a towel to dry off with as he headed into the living room of his apartment, and then took a deep breath.
Thinking about it with a clear head and wet hair – feeling cleaner than he had in days, though he had only gotten a soak in the rain – he was in the best place possible to wait out the end of the world. His apartment wasn't in a complex, but rather a converted space on the upper floor of a standalone building, below him the office of a privately owned real estate agency, and he hadn't heard anyone down there since before all this began. It meant there wasn't anyone else in the building to worry about, no shared hallways for undead roamers to roam through. His closest neighbor was in a-space-above-an-office just like him, their windows facing each other, but with an alley between them. Even if his neighbor – whom he had never met, actually – had turned and tried to reach him, they would fall two floors down to the ground between them.
That alley – narrow enough that Günter couldn't pass through it with an open umbrella – was the only access to his door. One of those mindless monsters out there would have to stumble their way down it accidentally to get to his stairway, and even if one somehow did, the door itself was thick and heavy and metal, and it opened outwards. There was no way one of them could push it in or push through it.
All the windows were two floors up, so if they couldn't climb, they couldn't get in. He would barricade them just in case anyway, take apart one of his bookcases and use the wood to reinforce the glass barrier.
He would ration out his food and whatever rainwater came.
He was safe here. He could just sit tight, and wait for help to come.
Help would come.
Help had to come.
That was six weeks ago, and help hadn't come.
Günter had run out of food two days prior. He had rationed it out as best he could, going from one granola bar a day to half, to a few bites. He ate every crumb of every cracker with whatever condiments he found in his refrigerator. He had teaspoons of maple syrup when his glucose was low, but when that was gone, he downed sugar packets like Pixie Stix. At first, he ate spoonfuls of peanut butter for protein, determined to keep up his exercise routine for strength, but now he had neither of those things left.
After he had eaten his last quarter of a granola bar, he broke down.
His memory-strapped mind couldn't remember ever crying before, but the anguish poured out of him then, loud and harrowing. Loud enough to possibly draw those things outside to him, but he didn't care as he pounded a fist against the floor. They wouldn't care about him after he had starved to death anyway.
When he had finally wailed out his anger and hopelessness, he just laid on the floor for the longest time, until he eventually passed out.
Then the next morning came, and nothing had changed, and then came the one after that.
Another big rain the week prior had filled his buckets and pots, but it was going stagnant. He had read somewhere a long time ago how to rig up a solar still to collect condensation, and was having some luck with that, but it was slow going. Hopefully it would rain again soon, but hope wasn't doing much for him.
He had used his brightest-colored books to make a large 'SOS' on his roof, big enough to be seen by military aircraft when they flew by, but they never did. No trucks or tanks barreled down the streets, searching for survivors. No city-wide announcements came through the tornado-warning speakers. No help came. He was alone.
And he was losing his mind.
Günter was a man of routines, and generally didn't like when things were shaken up or out of order. He was called stern and stubborn by his colleagues, but no one could deny that he was a damn good attorney, and that's all that mattered. His work mattered, but he didn't have that anymore.
He re-read all of his books – all of the ones that weren't uselessly baking on the roof, anyway – until the sun set, taking all the light with it. He read all the magazines he had never gotten around to throwing out, then moved on to the labels of shampoo bottles. He played word games with himself, seeing how many words he could make using the letters in 'Geographic', and then he re-read his favorite books again, until his eyes were strained and he had to stop. It wasn't like he would be able to get new glasses anytime soon, so it would be best to preserve what vision he had.
He spent time re-arranging his fishing lures, thinking about getting his hands on a boat and living out at sea. Surely the undead couldn't swim. Or sometimes he just stared out the loft window at the empty street below, thinking how easy it should be to just walk down to the store and buy some groceries. None of those things were around right now; maybe he could make it...
But then he remembered that day, that first morning. He remembered arriving at the station and feeling acutely like something was off on what had otherwise been a normal day when all but one of the doors on the train were closed, something usually only done when there was a fire or some kind of attack, in order to herd passengers to safety. He remembered seeing people trapped inside the train, banging lazy fists against the doors, and he rushed to help them, digging his fingers into the seam between the doors to pry them open.
He remembered the things that poured out of the train, snarling and reaching with bloodless, gray fingers and clouded eyes. Some of them were missing chunks of flesh and some of them had been torn open, spilling guts and organs, but still they surged on, as if the need to feed transcended even death.
Falling on his ass was the best thing that could have happened to Günter, as it pulled him out of reach of the hands that sought to tear him apart, and he scampered away with his heart pounding in his chest. Dumb luck had saved him, and then the first few monsters that stepped out to give chase fell through the gap between the platform and train, giving him time to scramble to his feet and run.
He remembered making it up the stairs and out of the station just in time to see Mrs. Billings from across the street, who had once tried to set him up with her daughter, get grabbed by a monster that had stumbled out of the automatic doors of a convenience store. It tore into her throat, pulling away flesh and tendons with its teeth, and she screamed and screamed, drawing the attention of more of them, until they had piled onto her, smothering her in their desperation to get a piece.
He remembered the way her screams suddenly stopped, and the way the sudden silence rang in his ears.
Pulling away from the window and its view of the empty street below, he retreated to his dark, sweltering cabinet, and shook.
No more rain came. The scant amount of condensation he had collected was barely enough to wet his tongue. He didn't read anymore – he could hardly move, couldn't see straight, couldn't think straight. He spent as much time unconscious as he did awake, and when he was awake, he hallucinated. He heard his phone ringing, despite the fact that it had died a month ago. He heard his secretary ask if he would like another cup of coffee, he could smell the fresh brew, he could taste the hot blend, the mug warm in his hands, even though he was laying face down on his living room floor and hadn't seen another living human in weeks.
He could hear a plink, plink, plink, like pebbles being thrown against glass.
Usually, the hallucinations faded, either into oblivion or twisting into something else. A vision of Mrs. Billings calling to him morphed into a screeching, undead ghoul, aiming teeth and claw at him, startling him into awareness.
The plinking sound was still there, tapping against his window in intermittent beats. It wasn't a hallucination.
Günter's hands began to tremble and his heart sped up, beating frantically. If one of those things had managed to climb-
He struggled to his feet, hurrying on staggering steps to the kitchen, where he grabbed the largest chef's knife from the knife block. He was a pacifist by nature, but if he had to fight to defend himself, he would. Even if he had no idea how; even if he would probably lose.
His breaths were labored as he returned to the living room and faced the window, holding up his knife. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping him on his feet.
Another plink, plink, plink.
And then-
"Hey!"
A voice.
"Hey! Are you in there!?"
Plink, plink.
"Are you okay!?"
Günter choked, and his eyes grew hot. The knife slipped from his fragile grip, thudding to the floor.
"I'm human, I promise!" The voice came again. "Are you there!?"
He moved to the window on shaky steps, his feet like lead, his heart like a drum. His hands reached for the plank of wood he had nailed over the window as reinforcement, tugging at it, though it didn't budge.
The plinking had stopped, and the voice had gone silent. He would be left alone again.
"No..." Günter whispered, tugging on the plank again. "Don't go." He tried to raise his voice, to call out and say 'I'm here! Don't go!' but nothing but a croak would come out of his parched throat.
He reached for the sliver of glass that showed just above the plank of wood and hit it with everything he had – hardly a tap.
"You are there!" The voice came back, cheerful and excited like a puppy. "Are you alright!?"
Gripping the plank again, Günter pulled and pulled, putting his weight into it, tugging with renewed vigor.
By the grace of whatever god or guardian angel was out there, or the fact that the building was sixty-something years old and the wall the plank had been nailed into could only take so much abuse, the wood pulled free, sending Günter crashing to the floor and sunlight streaming into the room.
He was up before he could even register any pain, reaching for the window's lock, praying that the voice wasn't just another hallucination.
He threw the window open, and was met with bright, black eyes and a brilliant smile that was like pure sunshine.
"Thank god, you're okay," the brilliant smile said. "I haven't seen you in your loft for a while, and was worried..."
Günter heaved deep breaths as tears spilled over his face.
"Hey..." The neighbor's smile softened for a moment, and then he chuckled.
Then he grinned, bright like sunshine.
"I have some food. You hungry?"
Basically, I've been watching way too much of 'The Walking Dead', which made me look around my apartment and think, "Yeah, I'd be fine here, except that I don't have any food." ^^
no subject
Date: 2022-03-02 03:09 pm (UTC)Time to grocery shop now that the omicron wave is receding. ^_^
Looking forward to see what happens to Günter in the coming days. 👍
no subject
Date: 2022-03-08 08:17 am (UTC)