Personal Narrative Fiction

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Loud screeches consumed the eery silence. “Lindsey, grab Precious and go hide under the table,” I ran to the door, the screeches getting louder and louder. Voices filled my head. Don’t do it, don’t do it. I couldn’t open the door, but I had to. I had to. It was for my family. I reached into the closet beside the door, and pulled out an AK 12. I could do this. My hand reached for the cold knob, shaking uncontrollably. I bit my lip and tightened my grasp. I took a shallow breath, and opened the door. Just as the door opened, the stench slapped me in the face. I took a step back, and started firing, blindfire, I probably missed every shot. My eyes focused and I aimed for the heads. The zombies, one by one, started dropping. I heard a loud BANG, and I took out the last one. I ran inside, to hear Lindsey sobbing. Precious was curled up by Lindsey’s stomach. A tall infected zombie towered over my family. My head spun, I was about to watch as my family died. Seven years with Lindsey, and three months with Precious. I was failing who I was living for. My knees shook uncontrollably, and I raised my rifle. I didn’t shoot. The infected beast pounced on me. Just as it touched me, my body shivered. My hand was shaking, my head spinning. I raised my rifle, and shot. It dropped dead. I looked down, and blood was all over the floor. The blood was mine. I was bit. …show more content…

A compass, clothing, food, a Magnum, a spear, and a small knife. I packed it all into a small bag, and threw it to Lindsey. She took it, her hands were cold. I took her and my 3 month old baby to the

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