NightOne
I woke up in the dark. Not total darkness, but a bright, cold darkness that reminds me of Christmas Eve back home. I'm dressed in thin, Orange, scrub-like clothing with the word "SCUM" printed on the back. I'm smart enough to know this is not a medical drama. This is a prison story, and I am the new "black". I shake the snow from off my clothes. My body heat has already melted a round wet spot on my side. Shivering against the frigid air, I collect my wits and triangulate my position. Or, at least I try. I am Somewhere in the mountains, where the air is thin and my patience thinner still. I steel myself against the cold. I will survive. What appears to be a small town emerges from the night mist as I trudge south. South, I thought. That's the direction of warmth. Perhaps I was wrong, but at least it is the direction of shelter. I will sleep here tonight, and hope morning shines illumination on my plans for what to do next. Tonight, I will dream of better days with fires and fleece blankets. A hoarse shriek pierces my musings. Am I dreaming already? A shambling shape stumbles toward me in the darkness. I was wrong. This is no prison story. This is the night of the walking dead!
My cheekbone aches, my thin, human skin stings and darkens to purple. But I am alive. And never more so. Adrenaline surges through every muscle fiber. The shambler lies lifeless on the cold white ground, a sharpened wood branch protrudes from its neck. My handiwork. "What is it?" I mutter aloud. It is not human, not anymore. "What ARE you? And where am I?" As usual, the answer eludes me, and the night replies with only silence. That eerie silence in which only the creatures of the dark dare speak, and they, only from a distance. I jerk the crude spear free of its victim. I may need it again. One of these buildings will be my shelter tonight. The beds are cold and damp, night mists half frozen to quilts and soiled sheets. I search the house. A torn and partly patched work-coat will provide some protection against the cold, and perhaps a pair of yoga leggings can be layered under my prison pants. It is unbearably uncomfortable. If I want to survive, I must rest and regain my strength. I curl into a fetal ball, to conserve heat. My cheekbone aches. The bruise is ripe and purple now, but I am alive.
DayOne
I woke at noontime. How I managed to sleep so long in that dirty, unpleasant bed is a mystery, but I'm up now. Hunger gnaws at my stomach and I growl uncomfortably. There must be food somewhere in this frozen town.
With a makeshift spear in hand, I scour the tiny village. Fortune favors me. At first I find nothing, but soon I see a large yellow sledgehammer just inside a deserted house. With it, I smash out the glass from the abandoned grocery store, and scrape together some essentials, including an old bottle of liquor. With cut rags I collected from slain shamblers and branches, I craft myself a makeshift backpack. With food, a couple water bottles, and some mismatched clothing, I'm ready to hike south again. South, where there is warmth.
Today will be a good day. Today, I feel lucky. I walk carefully, trying not to disturb any wildlife. Just over a little rise I see a boar, resting quietly, and a buck, just 15 meters to the right, chewing the frozen grass. I AM lucky! Maybe meat's back on the menu!
I slowly raise my spear, aiming, and hurl it with all my strength. Sadly, I throw like a girl, and the spear spiffs and scuttles across the ground behind the boar. The opportunity is lost, and the startled animal dashes into the forest.
I slap a hand against my forehead. "I am an idiot" I say aloud. Retrieving my spear, I follow the deep hoof prints left behind by the startled pig. A low grunt pulls me from my terrestrial focus. To my left, only about 10 meters distant, stands a small bear! I freeze instantly, but it is too late, the bear charges headlong, and I frantically fumble for my spear, desperate to defend myself. The bear closes in and I swing the stone tipped stick and... A heavy paw with 4 inch claws slams my face into the ground. My world cartwheels backward, my spear has been swatted away. I feel the warm blood flowing from my lacerated arm, but I feel no pain. I stumble to my feet as the bear turns, prepared to charge again.
There is no time to search for the spear, I grip the large sledgehammer and face the bear once more, grim determination burning in my eyes. "Come on!" I shout. The bear obliges, thundering headlong at me. But this time, my swing strikes home with a sick thud across the animal's face. Though not badly injured, it is enough. The bear turns and runs away.
I'm still losing blood, but I know basic first aid. I staunch the bleeding, then gather my dropped gear. South once more. It's far past noon now, but I have plenty of daylight yet. When I get where I'm going, I know I will sleep soundly tonight!
DayTwo
There is no mend for a broken heart but time, and a broken mind is much the same. My thoughts seem to struggle against a darkened glass ceiling, reaching hopelessly for memories which lie just beyond the tinted veil. Ever since my awakening in that cold, snowy forest, I have known only two things. I was called Birdy, and I am one majorly f****d lady. But hope has shined a solitary ray in my direction. There may be a way to remember! My southward trek (which was actually south westward) led me to a small but delightful settlement, where I happened to meet some delightful gentlemen selling their wares at market. One of them, a finely put together and well spoken scientist, enlightened me about this nightmarish place. The place they call, The Island. It appears we have all been fitted with a device called a BCU, which interfaces with our cerebral cortex. Perhaps if I can hack this device, I might be able to stimulate my cortex and retrieve my missing memories! There may be no mend for the heart, but as for the mind, perhaps I may cheat time and learn the answer to the greatest question: WHO AM I?