Welcome to Plagued! We are an original zombie roleplay forum with a twist! On this active zombie survival forum, we accept players of all different skill levels, and have a grand variety of character types and locations to explore.
It's been over five years since the dead began to rise, and an overwhelming force of demonic enemies are running rampant in the streets. The population of undead are growing and constantly on the move, but can humanity survive such a deadly plague? Or is it already too late?
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and now we sing, for everything that we've l o s t and now we scream for everything, that we've l o v e d
I don't really know what I'm supposed to say.
I mean, really. I don't know. What would I have said before all of this? I don't remember. I don't know.
I'm so tired of these memories. Every time I go to sleep I dream of that blond haired girl. That girl is everywhere in my dreams, my thoughts. And for fuck's sake, even when I'm wandering around this abandoned city I manage to find places where she's touched...these stupid visions tell me. I don't get it.
Who is she? Why is she always there? Where did she come from? Where did I come from? And especially, why the fuck do I care?
I don't know who she is, but I know that whenever I think about her I get happy, almost hopeful. Like she's some sort of rainbow after the storm, or the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, or the calm before the storm. I don't know why I feel this way and it makes no damn sense to me --- how am I able to feel things towards this girl but not know who she is? That's just...illogical. Why are humans so fucked up?
All I know is that I need to find her. I need to figure out who she is. I want to figure our why there's a small, petite, blond haired girl that is always wondering in my head and I want to know how I even associate with her.
I mean, c'mon. How can I associate with someone so...beautiful?
I generally try to avoid looking in the mirror but whenever I do manage to catch a glimpse of myself I have to stop and stare. I'm skinny, lanky. I'm probably in my 20s, or at least that's how old I look. My skin is pale but it's not like that would really be noticeable at first; no, the first thing I always zero in on whenever I see myself is the plethora of colored tattoos all over my body. I have two full sleeves full of different designs, all of them intricate. I don't even know what they mean. They're the most prominent feature that I have on my body and it's probably the only thing anyone even sees, honestly. I mean...I look like a human chameleon but the only issue is I'm color blind. I mean, what the fuck? Not gonna lie, I like them, I do, but that's a default feeling that I have when I see them – just like the happiness I get when I see that girl – and I also feel...pride.
I look like the cliché stereotype of a teenage dirtbag that reeks havoc on people. How am I able to associate with a girl that looks like she was on the honor roll her entire educational career and the President of the debate team?
Not only that but I feel like everything I am, is with her. Not in a romantic type of way but in a way that I'm not fully complete unless I'm around her, and I guess that's true. I think she's the only one that actually knows anything about me. She might even have a general idea on what happened here...and that's sad.
Obviously the world went to shit – an idiot could see that. But what happened? Why did it happen like this? And why do I feel like I'm not human anymore? Other than the obvious premonition visions that I mentioned earlier, I seriously feel like I'm not human and I'm not about to test my luck and figure out how far I can go before I get hurt, at least not knowing what I am. Or how I got this w--- ouch.
I feel a giant headache forming in the back of my head and now it's growing. That thought – the thought of how I got this way... it's bringing on something weird. I feel agonizing pain all over the place.
What. The. Fuck.
Other than this intense fucking headache forming I feel irritation. I can't access any of my memories and I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do about that.
Finding this blond chick isn't going to come fast enough.
As I wonder around the abandoned city I see all of the things that could have been. The products and businesses, the restaurants, the homes. There was life here, thriving and happy life, and then suddenly it was just gone.
I wish I at least had the to that question but like all of the other questions that I have, the answer remains a mystery. I truly believe that maybe no one knows the answer to this question, however, while all my others have the potential to be responded to. It might take a while but it will get there.
But this? The land where humans had lived and had their families? It wouldn't return, or at least an indefinite amount of not being any time soon. Anyone that is alive right now definitely wouldn't be seeing the world around them change into what it was before.
Maybe we deserved it. I might not have known too much about my past other than the memories that slap me in the face in the middle of the night, but I have a feeling that I wasn't a saint. I probably wouldn't have been but something tells me that someone, probably Elaine, stopped that from happening. Maybe that's why I have this determined desire to find her, because she was the rock in my life.
Or at least, that's what my memories tell me. For all I know, I could be missing the major parts of the memories and in the end she might be a complete and total bitch to me. I really don't know. I wish I did, I wish I had the answers...but I don't. and I need them...
With these two different people inside of me fighting for my life I question every part of who I am
Not everyone has demons to face but those that do have to admit that from time to time, they need help. There will come a point in their life that they have to simply break down and cry and beg for the help of a friend or a family member to save them from their demons. Not everyone makes it out alive and not everyone can make it on their own.
I never spoke of the times when I was at the lowest point in life. I didn’t openly talk about my past, the scars, the stories that I shared with people back in California. That was a part of my life that I wanted to keep locked up in the back of my mind even if the scars screamed loud and clear from my pale skin. I tried hiding them up but it couldn’t hide it all. The empty look that I used to have was clear in pictures when I was on the West Coast and the look in my eyes that I had in when I moved also a dead giveaway: it was the look that someone had when they had faced death and simply stared in its face and then was able to walk away with the memories.
It wasn’t until Elaine and I became extremely close did I ever open up to anyone about my past. While she had a pretty dark past that mirrored mine, there was still a difference: I never told anyone about mine and she was able to talk to her parents about it. I had absolutely no one.
The fact that Elaine still stood by me was an entirely different thing but I didn’t question it. Instead, I held on tighter to her, and she did the same to me, and she became the rock in my life as I gradually flowed upstream in life once again. That was probably when I first started having feelings for her although I never exactly admitted to it until later.
One of the strongest memories that I had when I finally found Elaine again was the night when I told her about my past. While a lot of my memories were still missing, the ones that I had shared with Elaine came back strong and clear to the point where it felt like my scars were opening up once again. So many emotions and thoughts were slammed into me, almost as if a ghost ran through my body.
The first baby steps to me opening up to Elaine would be the concerts – I took Elaine to concerts in my music scene and that was how I told her. Elaine was very curious as to why I was so in love with music and I told her I would tell her one day, if only she promised not to judge me. Elaine could see a partial view of my past simply being there at the concert but later on down the road she got the full picture.
It was weird thinking back on it but it didn’t change the fact that it happened and Elaine stayed by my side, regardless.
Back when I was in California, I was the typical dirt bag. I was always in trouble, always doing something illegal. My parents would make fun of me and then I would go off and get high or drink until I blacked out because of it, only to return home to them reprimanding me for it. I was arrested at one point in my life for underage drinking and my parents made me do community service and pay back the community for simply being a ruthless and reckless teenager. Back then, I had no remorse. I didn’t care. Even though Iwas arrested I still did the things that could get me in even more trouble. I resorted to stealing from stores for the simple thrill of it and to help with my anxiety and depression; I had the money but the idea of stealing it was so much better. My parents never knew about that part however because I usually hid the items and never let them see it.
When my family upped and moved to the east coast, I was so devastated. My actions still carried over but the worst days of criminal activity were over. I faced enough trouble and situations with my old friends to realize that I would fuck my life over; besides, vandalizing, stealing, smoking, and drinking was something I did with the other hooligans in my neighborhood. Now, living in North Carolina, I had no one. I knew no one.
I was alone.
I was devastated after a couple of months living in North Carolina. I hated it and I hated the school I went to. I hated the people that I was in class with and I hated the fact that I was automatically judged even though I tried to be someone else now. I tried to take advantage of living in a new state without anyone knowing my history but of course I was dubbed as something I really wasn’t, so I stayed to myself.
The depression got worse and the monster inside of me grew, growing hungry by the hours. It got to the point where as soon as I came home from school I would automatically go to my room and sit in my bed all day, alternating between sitting on the side of the bed and staring mindlessly somewhere and literally sleeping the day away. I barely ate anything and could barely bring myself to shower for school the next day. I hated everything in my life and I hated myself. The monsters from when I lived in California eventually came after me, too. Regret and the fact that I hurt everyone and put a lot of people in danger back in my home town.
I faced these demons every day and became a shell of who I once was. Freshman year was when I faced the demons and almost took my life.
The internet was a fickle little thing and of course someone managed to use it against me. For whatever reason someone decided to look up my criminal history. How they managed to get ahold of it considering the fact that I was a minor was beyond me but it became blatantly clear to everyone in the high school what a weirdo I was, even though they partied and smoked almost every weekend if not more often. Of course I couldn’t deny the proof that was shoved in my face numerous times so instead, I decided to take it out on myself. Even though they made fun of me though, a lot of them began to try and befriend me, hoping that I would get them weed from California or sneak liquor into a party. Little did they know what all I had faced back in the sunny state of California when I was too young to know the difference and too stupid to admit my wrongs.
The demons flourished at the attention however and they slowly crept into my dreams, what little ones I had anyway.
I became more withdrawn than was healthy and I started to plot my suicide. I knew how I was going to do it – I was going to drink myself till the point of blacking out after taking a bottle of sleeping pills. I was going to wait until my parents took a vacation so that way I could have the house to myself and they wouldn’t have the ability to stop me from doing it. Of course their vacation wasn’t going to be for a while so I became reckless until then, knowing and promising myself that I could do whatever I wanted because it was all going to be over soon.
There came a point in time though when I couldn’t bear to wait that long because their vacation kept getting pushed further and further away due to the fact that they were worrying about how I was acting and my sudden erratic behavior. I hated the fact that my family cared about me because it was actually causing me to feel guilty, but eventually it faded.
I waited until they fell asleep to sneak into the bathroom. I remember staring in the medicine cabinet’s mirror, looking at the person staring back at me. I didn’t even recognize who it was at that point. I had lost so much weight from lack of eating considering I didn’t have the desire for it and the hollow look in my eyes scared me, but didn’t scare me enough to stop. Ignoring the mirror and the look on my pale face I quickly opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle of pills, my hands fumbling slightly. I didn’t want to let the hollow look in my eyes get to me but it was, just slightly. I knocked over a bottle of my mother’s Midol in the attempt to get the sleeping pills but I ignored it and opened the gel tablets that were going to give me such sweet relief. I guess those pills alerted my mom for whatever reason because as soon as I got them open and was starting to pour them into my mouth, she came barreling into the room. “What the hell are you doing?” she screeched as she smacked my hand and eyed me wistfully as the bottle fell to the floor and the tablets spilled all over the tiles. I simply glared at her, swallowing the ones I had in my mouth although not after I opened it to show her I still had some. If she wanted it to be a game on who succeeded, I had to prove to her she didn’t. It wiped he somewhat snug look off her face however but it didn’t stop her. If anything, it made the game that much more interesting as a look of panic and terror came across her face as she grabbed my head and called for my dad. Tears came rushing from her eyes as she held my head and called for my dad to come help her. She began to pry my mouth open, trying to stick her finger down my throat to get me to puke up the pills. My dad came in and locked his hands around my head and helped her open my mouth and it was hard. I had it clamped shut but I knew I was going to lose, especially when my dad was helping. Plus, I could feel my defensive demeanor slipping when I realized what an idiot I was being; the fact that my mom was bawling her eyes out when she stuck her finger in my mouth and realized the pills were already gone.
I could feel all of my walls come caving in as I started to bawl my eyes out along with my parents. I hated the person I was and the monsters were up my throat, wanting to be released.
I don’t remember much of that night because I started to feel the sleeping pills kick in. I had never taken them before so I don’t really know what I was expecting.
Either way when I woke up I was definitely grateful. Sure, my parents had placed me in a psyche ward and I was under constant watch. Sure, I had to talk to a therapist at least once a week and if I didn’t make that criteria then I would be in the program longer. Sure, whenever I got back to school people looked at me weird. Sure, I lost the few friends that I had but even then they weren’t real friends – they were people coming to me solely for the idea that I could give them something I really truly couldn’t. Sure, I got labeled a freak and a psycho, but I was grateful.
There was a small part of me that was happy as well although I never shared it with anyone. I was happy to be alive and I was glad that my parents were suspicious of my actions as it was. I never asked them about it nor did I feel comfortable with the situation but I didn’t question a mother’s tuition. Plus there had been a small voice in the back of my mind telling me not to do it again. It was a feeble voice, one that had been drowned by the demons in my head but it was there.
After that night it was like I became an entirely different person. I felt like a songbird that had been released from its prison; I started to get into music and I started to sing when I was still in the psychiatric unit as it had been one of the activities we chose to do. I remember my first day there and when the guidance assistant showed me through the different activities I felt a pull towards the choir room. It was the first one I wrote down and often times I would stay later than most kids as I worked on singing. It was my calling.
I had sang a couple times before we had moved but it was something that I kept to myself. When they demons took over, it was like I lost the ability to sing along with the desire.
But now, the demons were lifted.
Even after this tear jerking story that I preferred to keep quiet, Elaine was still my friend. In fact, after telling her my darker side, we became best friends. I fell for her more and more with each passing day but I never gave myself the hope to tell her.
Until now, of course. Now, when it was too late and now, when the world was pretty much done and over with.
But I had never felt such a stronger feeling than the relief I experienced when I found Elaine and when all of the puzzle pieces clicked together.