Eggs, Milk, Canned Corn

This isn’t living. Waking up and knowing your wife isn’t beside you, your mother isn’t in the next room, and your son isn’t downstairs watching saturday cartoons. I don’t know what to do. I left them. That’s what I’m reminded of every time I see one of those creatures out there, stumbling about looking for the next person it will rip to shreds. I left them for bait. My wife, my son, my mother. Everyday since the first outrage came on t.v.,  I’ve been giving them a false sense of hope. They relied on me. They trusted me to keep them same. And I just left them. It all happened so fast. The door was broken down by dozens of them. The entire house was filled with their disgusting odor of dead meat and dried blood. I reached for my handgun, the one I used to get rid of the groundhogs in the back yard. My son, Steve, he just kept crying in Ana’s arms. I used my gun to shoot them, but I couldn’t reach the ones that were climbing up the stairs in time. In a matter of seconds I heard my mother scream and then the growling. That one moment of distraction was all it took for those bastards to run me over getting to Steve and Ana behind me. They stepped on me, and all I could hear was them yelling my name. Their screams were also consumed by the growling. I dragged myself across the floor with my gun in hand to reach the street outside. They noticed me and I starting running, I didn’t think twice. I didn’t stop to think about my family I just left behind. I ran and ran. I passed a couple of stupid ones who didn’t know what the hell was going on. I didn’t look back. I didn’t even look forward. I looked down at my running feet and stopped after I was sure I wasn’t being followed. I stopped here, at this doughnut shop. By the looks of it, it was out of business for a long time now and there were signs that a horde had torn the place up. I looked for a way to get in and I found the back door wide open. I closed it and chained it back up. I found this tape recorder in here. It replayed a young woman’s voice . She lists all these groceries. Eggs. Milk. Canned corn. Groceries remind me of my wife’s cooking and I realized, and it’s still on my mind at this moment. I realized that my family was dead. They were back there, on the house with the once beautiful garden I planted for Ana. They were there completely disfigured to the point where they can’t even be considered to have once been alive. I just stared at the blood on the wall. I wanted to cry and I would have given up anything to do so. The tears wouldn’t come. I was overpowered by other emotions. Disbelief. Shock. Fear. My family was killed by those freakish man eaters and I couldn’t do shit. I only saved myself. I wish I could go back out there and die like they did. But, fear gets me every time I try to open the door. I’m so damn selfish. I’m a coward. Some father I came out to be. I just keep checking my ammo. How bad of an idea is this? One bullet left. Yeah, this is how I’d rather it end. I don’t want to carry this guilt anymore. Shit. There’s a horde outside. I might as well do it now. There’s no way I can fight them off. Mom, Ana, Steve. I’m sorry. See you soon.