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 shard of glass felt heavier in my hand than it should have, the edges biting into my palm as I held it tightly. My fingers were trembling, not from fear but from exhaustion. Still, the tiny sliver glinted with promise, a cruel, fragile kind of hope.

I sat against the wall, the chain pulling taut around my ankle as I examined the lock. It was rusty, its edges caked with grime, but it was solid. Too solid. My throat tightened, but I forced myself to breathe. This was all I had. This tiny, jagged piece of broken glass.

I leaned forward, the sharp edges of the shard catching the faint light as I pressed it against the lock. The metal was cold, unyielding, and the glass felt flimsy in comparison. My fingers ached as I worked the shard into the keyhole, trying to twist and turn it like some kind of makeshift lockpick.

CHAPTER 78