Donna_Sheldon

In a post-apocalyptic world, you'll find four main types of people. Those who fight with all their might "the hunters." The ones who leech and exploit others "the pests." The predators, who see everyone as prey. And lastly, we have "the survivors," the resilient ones who never give up.

Everyone often fits into one category, but it's hard to determine which one Maya falls into. She's not exactly a fighter, considering leaving her room was a chore even before the apocalypse. A predator? No way—she's always been a pushover.

You might think she's a survivor, but that's laughable. She'd rather die from starvation than resort to scavenging. So, how should we categorize her? leeche? Nope.

Perhaps a new category is needed: "The Lost"—those struggling to find their place in a shattered world."

THE LOST : After The End

The tears come fast and hard, like a storm I couldn't control. I press my palms into my eyes, trying to stop them, but it was useless. The weight of everything—Jay, Mia, this hellhole we were trapped in—crashed down on me all at once. My shoulders shake as the sobs escaped, and I didn't even try to muffle them. What's the point?

This tiny, disgusting bathroom is the closest thing I've had to privacy in days. Maybe weeks.

I slide down the wall until I was sitting on the sticky, cracked tiles. My legs give out halfway, so it was less of a slide and more of an ungraceful collapse. My head tips back against the wall, and I stared at the ceiling. There's a single flickering light bulb up there, casting just enough light to make the peeling paint and water stains visible.

It was like the place was mocking me. Even the ceiling was falling apart, just like me.

CHAPTER 72