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 sound of the leaking pipe echoed as I stared at the rough concrete wall of the basement, unblinking, because looking anywhere else felt like a worse betrayal. The wall didn't accuse me. It didn't cry or rot. It didn't remind me of all the ways I had failed.

The smell of death was everywhere, thick and sticky like a second skin I couldn't scrape off. It clung to my hair, my clothes, my nostrils. There was a time when the stench of rot would have sent my stomach churning, but now? Now it was just… there. Part of the room. Part of me. It was like my body had resigned itself, given up on protesting against the horror of it all.

CHAPTER 77