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 wall in front of me seemed to ripple, though I knew it wasn't really moving. It was just my eyes playing tricks on me, the dim light from the flickering bulb twisting the rough concrete into shapes that weren't there. My vision blurred as I stared at it, unblinking, my breaths coming in slow, shallow gasps.

It had only been a few days, but my body felt like it had been at war with itself for weeks. I was shrinking, my ribs more pronounced under my filthy shirt, my skin stretched thin over bones that hadn't seemed so sharp before. My wrists, raw and bruised from the chain, looked smaller too, like they were wasting away along with the rest of me.

The thirst was the worst. Every swallow felt like scraping sandpaper down my throat, and my lips were so dry they cracked every time I tried to lick them. My stomach ached, but even the hunger felt distant compared to the constant, gnawing need for water.

CHAPTER 79