John’s back was pressed against the door trying to hold back the oncoming tide of death, but with each slam against the door it became increasingly harder to fight it. His seemingly impenetrable home began to fail with each minute that past, his blood was flowing out of his fresh bite wounds all over his body, and his mind began to slip away into nothingness. He fought for years holding onto something that resembled life, only to die alone. John hears the window in the back shatter under the weight of the horde, and the smell of rotting flesh begins to ooze into his house. Since his mind was almost gone, he was not even aware of his fight for life anymore, the smell of rotting flesh did not exist to him, instead his thoughts drifted to his birthday party three months before the outbreak.
This is just a little sample of a story I have been writing for a bit I hope you liked it.
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