Day 9, Week Two

I want to go home. No, I want to go back to school. And its not becuase I’m scared, not really. I mean I am…but not as much. I think its just becuase I miss things. Most people miss food and baths and I really miss those things too. But most of all I miss music. I miss the raw feeling it creates when it pulses through your viens and you just cant help but dance, creating a story. I keep trying to create a stroy with dance about being here but all it becomes is still…dead.

I miss running. The sound of your sneakers hitting the pavement, the crunch of gravel reverbrating agaisnt the buildings. The shine of the lights on the wet misty road. The silence of the dark night when its only you, your beating heart, and your feet pounding agaisnt the ground. Your breathing in, out, in, out. A pattern…. life.

I miss the pain of dancing and working out. The sheer satisfaction. The blisters and the sweat sparkling on your skin. The feel of your muscles clenching in protest under your it.

I miss auditioning and performing. How you can want something so damn bad and you try your hardest. They watch you with cold icy eyes and you ignore it, hold your head high, wondering what theyre writing on their stupid little clipboards. But then, the cast is up and you go check it out and all the girls are screaming, some giving you dirty looks, some patting you on your back becuase you got it! You got the lead. So you train, harder then ever. And your instructor is telling you you’ll be a principal dancer if you just keep it up, keep doing what your doing. And then, its show time and your dancing, and your flying and its so bright you can’t see but you know the stands are filled with thousands of people. You dance until you cant breath, the music flowing in your viens, giving you substance, the kind food and water just cant compete with, and your legs feel like theyre going to break, shatter. They love you! They’re throwing roses at you, little gifts keep falling on the stage, you’re almost scared you’re going to trip, break your neck on stage. Its too much, you cant breath. Spin, little bird, spin. Once more, agian! Again! And then its over. Madam is holding you in her arms, praising you. “You were amazing Little Bird! Absolutely Amazing!” And she brushes your hair and though you cant move, you know you’ve done it. You were the best! Even the jealous, previusly scowling faces can’t help but to smile.

I miss the clean sheets of a newly made bed in the summer, with the smell of lavender wafting through the open window. The curtains swaying in the breeze becuase I forgot to close the window. And I know Mama will yell at me, but still I don’t close it. The smell of Ginny making breakfast. The sound of her singing as she worked. Her stories of life in Ireland, of drunken fat men and bar fights!

I miss going shopping. Buying whatever I wanted simply becuase I wanted it and I could! Or staying up late with the girls in the dorms. We’d pile on a bed, or on the floor around it. Pop in a chick flick and eat popcorn and ice cream and pizzas and tell each other our dirtiest nastiest secrets, even though they were all lies!

I miss sneaking out to clubs, grinding up on dirty sweaty bodies as they did the same to you. The bass dropping to your favorite songs, and everybody dancing, stomping, clapping having a good time. The lights flashing, Not even knowing who your grinding up on, or how old they are. But that was part of the fun, right?

Shit like that doesnt happen here. There isnt enough food for everyone. Or enough supplies. Theres no carefree moments. Every second you have to keep watching, or a zulu or zombie or walker or whatever the fuck theyre called came come up. Or someone can try to raid your supplies becuase they’re too much of a bum to get theyre own shit. Mike told me he has waiting until everyone else ate becuase he would only eat if there was food left. I cant let that happen. We need him. I need him. Maybe if I skip a meal or two, there will be more for him. Girls at school used to do it all the time. The unforturnate ones would faint… or worse. I rememeber the nurse once scolded me becuase she thought I wasn’t eating, but I was just trainging too hard. “Cora.” She said, patting my stomach. “You need to eat chica! Your little heart will stop fluttering. You’re smaller then the others, you have to little bird!” I rolled my eyes and went on my merry way. I bet she only said that to scare me anyways.

I try to act like I’m not scared. Like if this isnt happening, then its not real. If I tell myself its not real enough then I’ll beleive it. If I beleive it, then its true, right?!

Its not real… it can’t be.

Those arent zombie moans… its Alex, moaning in pain from his injuries.

Those arent guns firing at zombies, its Jade, shooting a deer.

And those arent zombie feet dragging on the ground, its Ringo beating the punching bag.

It’s not real, it never was….

And soon, Imma wake up from this nightmare.

I will.

Soon.