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 days crawled by, each one slow and torturous, like a clock ticking backward. But they went by.

We were still alive, somehow. I clung to that tiny fact, like a thread fraying at the ends but just strong enough to keep me tethered to reality.

Mia and I filled the silence with a warped version of Twenty Questions. It wasn't a game anymore, not really. More like a desperate attempt to remind ourselves we were still human. I blamed the absurdity on the lack of food, the darkness, and the constant trauma.

She would ask things like, "What's your favorite color?"

And I would answer, "Blue." Not because it was true anymore, but because it used to be. Back when I had a favorite color. Back when things like colors mattered.

"What's yours?" I would then ask, trying to keep the rhythm going.

"Green," she would say, though her voice always sounded hollow, like she wasn't sure anymore, either.

CHAPTER 73