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'She sits back on her throne, picking the flesh off the bones that surround her, grinning like the demon she is.' I am a murderer. I am a monster. We trudge on for hours. The orange glow of the sun at its highest point fills us with warmth, protecting us from the harsh chilly night. It rises into the sky as I watch the beautiful scene play out, as if the world is worth living in, as if the sun is telling us to keep on fighting. Just when things seem to be going according to plan, an odd smell fills the air. A familiar smell. The rotting breeze travels with the wind, wrapping around my senses. I grab my sword and look around slowly. My breathing becomes hauntingly ragged as I clench my hands into fists. Crimson stained eyes. Mangled skin. A roar of starvation. Zombies.
