America. Home of the free, land of the brave. You can practically hear the star spangled banner echo in the distance while you're outside. No matter where you are, there are flags and eagles in abundance remind you which country you're in. The land shines in the love and acceptance we offer to people of our nation, or so we like to tell people. We like to make others think that we have everything under control, and in the possibility of a- I don't know, nuclear attack or something- we'd all have it handled after an hour.

But that's not the truth, and honestly, you'd be an idiot to believe a single thing that the government says about how they would "handle" the situation because we are not humans to them. We are not people to save. We are tax payers and we supply their salary, but when it comes down to it, we are expendable.

That's what I knew to be true when the dead started rising like something from a George Romero film. I used to love this country because that's how I was raised. But after everything, after we knew all of the warnings on the radio or the TV were something much bigger than we were led to believe, after my daddy died with my momma after something bit them, after they came back as something else, you could hear the explosions in the distance. The bombs going off and on the news, the buildings left the air covered in soot.

They bombed us. No attempts to save anyone, no evacuations, just the decision to kill everyone before they could be killed. Ironically, they're all gone now. Most people are.

Nature is taking back the world. Things and places that used to be occupied by human feet and now covered with grass and weeds. The buildings are starting to look overgrown, and if there isn't dead walking in your view, the world is beautiful if you squint. Humanity is restarting, which it makes you wonder if something like this has happened before. If some other huge event in history took out the planet, and beneath our feet lay ruins from past civilized worlds that we have yet to discover.

One of the hardest things in the world to realize is that you won't be on this Earth forever, and that you'll only be someone's memory. But now, that's not even a luxury granted to the average human. We get to die, come back, and hopefully not kill someone else just to have the cycle repeat. It's honestly like we're reverted back to Paleolithic times, living just to hunt and eat. That's all they do now, only the few of us who have survived are left to have thoughts and options in this world.

Oh yes, the options. The world is just so filled with options now. Live or die? Stay or go? Drink yourself half blind if you find alcohol or just enough to where you pass out? So many options.

I constantly think back to when my daddy used to read the bible to me. He'd say every verse with preciseness, hoping to engrave each and every letter and punctuation into my memory.

Was this God's plan for the world? I wonder if there is someone who will write the occurring plague down on paper, and when society grows back, this new book will be put into it. What will the next generation world think? What will the name of this new book be?

I once found a book in one of the many abandoned houses. It was a book over Hebrew and Greek words ad meanings, and I'm sure I won't have any say in this new bible book, but if I do, this seems like a good name:

KHAWDASH: Hebrew word translated "new," * the root meaning of which means to "renew," "repair," "rebuild," "restore" with secondary, adjectival meanings of new and fresh;

These various thoughts and scenarios keep me up at night, sighing and rolling around on pallets in the dirt.

Yet, I still pray. I still sit down when I feel it's necessary and just pray. Not even for me, not anymore. I pray for every child and baby who have to live through this. That they do live through this. I pray that if they do die, that it be quick and that they don't get up afterwards. These are the things I pray for now. And god is it painful.

I also spend numerous hours wishing and reminiscing on the past which honestly can't be healthy.

I miss having to wish my old boyfriend Jimmy would take me to some restaurant for our date, or when my sister Maggie would come home for the holidays. She'd buy me these souvenirs from the city and bring them back wrapped in newspapers and pretty handmade bows. Really, I just miss her.

I also miss buying food from stores and doing homework. I miss my momma and my daddy holding me when I feel like there isn't anything to live for, when I cry because the world just doesn't seem like it recognizes me.

But, we don't get to cry anymore. Crying leads to noise, and well, noise leads to walkers.

"Beth, I found something," I hear him say, and I turn to him with my eyebrows raised. He sounds excited, which is something I'm not used to hearing from him.

He stares at me expectantly, his long hair brushing his chin. I need to find some scissors and cut it in his sleep, but knowing him, he'd do the same to my hand. We hold one another's eyes for a moment before I give up. "Well, spit it out, Dixon!" I release, rolling my eyes. Since when was he so dramatic?

He mumbles something about me being an ungrateful brat, and I just laugh because he's back to his normal self again. He slowly pulls his hand from behind his back, and I see a long tube of some sort with yellow packaging. It looks vaguely familiar, I guess, but the writing is so worn on it that it could literally be anything. But, it had to be something that'd make Daryl happy, so I was betting on a weapon of some kind.

"You don't- Jesus, girl! What kind of childhood did you have?" He asks me, brushing passed in such a Daryl-way that I don't even get angry. I'd never tell him, but I hate it when he leaves me alone. Now that he's back, I'll be willing to give some leeway. "Stand back." He warns me, and I immediately step back and stand beside a beat up car.

Daryl sits the tube down, kneeling before it. I see him pull out his lighter that he only uses for when he finds some cigarettes, lighting it and bringing it to a string that is hanging from the tube. Oh!

The string lights up, and Daryl walks backward until he's beside me. "I ain't really too sure that this is gonna work, but if it is, it's worth the fluid." His voice comes out in a hush whisper, and I realize that he's just as excited for him to see this as he is for me. Staring at the tube, I see him slowly turning to me every few seconds to gauge my reaction. Before I even know it, I'm smiling.

I don't know what to expect, mainly because I don't even remember the last time I watched a firework. I kind of recall the brightness, but more than anything, I remember my family laughing and touching me. Just simple caresses of my arm, but it's enough to have me on the verge of tears.

They fall when I see the first light shoot out, and Daryl lets out this little sigh of relief when he sees that it actually works. Probably because he would have been pissed if he had wasted his lighter fluid.

The first one explodes in the air, raining sparkles of light in the night sky, and I start sobbing. I haven't cried in months, and some old fireworks make me feel like I never stopped. Daryl's hand is on my arm, and I can feel my sister's hand in its place. It's like an anchor, dragging me down to the ground beneath me as another shot fires out. Through my blurry eyes, it looks like the Earth is the source of all the fire, and I can't help but thinking how befitting it is. The world has turned to shit. It feels like Hell, and now it looks like it too.

Daryl sinks beside me, just looking at me for a minute. I can tell how uncomfortable he is in the situation without even seeing him, so I take initiative, as I have any other time we have embraced, and bury my head in his chest. It takes a few minutes before his hands lift up, then slither around me and hold me against him.

He's always been so careful with me. Not nice, no not nice by any means. He calls me rude things, and sometimes I think he hates me, but on the rare occasions that he is taking care of me, it's like he does everything in his power to not break me while I cling onto him for dear life. Him trying to keep me from getting too close and me trying to dig myself into him.

But right now, his fingers are rough grappling hooks in my side, allowing no space between us, and I'm so thankful for it. More fireworks explode, igniting the air around us, keeping my stomach churning as the thoughts are slowly fading away and all that is left is him.

"Happy Near Years, Greene." He whispers in a raspy breath beside my ear. The revelation that it has been two years since it all started leaves me shell shocked and stiff in his arms. Even more so that he's been keeping up with the time.

I hear him taking another breath, preparing himself to speak again, when groans and disgusting gurgling noises erupt from the trees beside us. We're up before we see them, but when we do, they come in a herd. The bodies pile through the woods like a flood, and Daryl has my hand, dragging me in the opposite direction like some sort of savior.

We navigate through the area, climb some rocks and break some windows, and eventually are standing with our dirt caked chest heaving in and out on top of a roof. There are still fireworks going off in the distance, and I question whether or not he had set off more while I was distracted. "Hey, Daryl," I say, my hand hitting his to get his attention. He shrugs his head at me in attention. "Happy New Years." I respond, my legs giving out and my back hitting the shingles. I don't remember whether or not I started sliding before he started running for me, but I do recall each and every instance that I intentionally neglected to eat my food this past week. I remember not regretting it.

"Beth?"

Thank you for reading! If you have something to suggest to me for an idea or anything at all, message me, leave a review, or find me on tumblr at the url sacrificiallame . tumblr . com!