The Unsent Letter

This song was playing in the background as I wrote this letter.

You have two options to view this letter, first simpler way is reading it on Vocal. Media, the second is a mock letter created in Canva for a more visual effect. The choice is yours.

Dear Oliver,

September, 2 2050

It's day eight since the Zombie apocalypse. God, I can't believe the words that I just penned. But it's true. I feel despair as I sit here in our shadowed kitchen, writing to you. My fears want to drown me every second when I am not moving around.

When the undead took over last week, the power grid went down. I hoped it popped back on and that the government would get this under control quickly. Sadly, as the days came and went, after talking to some of the neighbors, they said it was time to go into survival mode. We were on our own. I am on my own.

Every day, my heart beats faster when the burnt saffron sun looks like it's struggling to break through the cinder clouds. Maybe today, our son will knock on the door. He only lives four miles away from us. He could get here; I am sure of it. He loved watching the Zombie shows just as much as you. My god, he was like a leading expert on it. The thought of our family being together again is the only thing that keeps me going.

When I would listen to your ridiculous "what if" scenarios and the discussions you two have around this wooden kitchen table, it seemed like such a far-fetched thought, yet here I am, trying desperately to pull those conversations to the surface of my mind like an archaeologist on an ancient dig.

List What Not to Do

1. Zombies are attracted to sound.

2. They can smell blood better than any bloodhound.

3. The undead are drawn to light.

4. Any movement could draw their attention.

Even though the house is as cold as a morgue and as dark as a cave, I have been working tirelessly on boarding up the windows, gathering supplies, creating a few safe rooms, and locking up others. The slivers of chrome light that sneak in through the plywood board windows are the only light I use during the day.

At night, I use one of your flashlights to go through the house on my hands and knees. Crawling might be better to ensure no light seeps through the windows. God!! For years, we thought we would buy some curtains for the windows one day. Shit, shit, shit, half our house has no curtains!

The inside of our house could rival any hoarder's home. There are stacks of books, magazines, and cushions here and there against windows and the back door. The dogs and I mainly live upstairs now. I have designed a suitcase gate at the top of the staircase so the dogs, Lola and Bear, can't follow me when I go to the kitchen.

I am training them to use one of our walk-in showers to pee and poop in. We can't take the chance of going outside. What if the dogs see or hear something and bark?

Last night, I heard the blood-chilling screams from one of our neighbors in the distance. It feels like the Zombies are close to our home. The dogs and I have been sleeping in our bathroom. I used every thick blanket and bath towel to create a soundproof room just in case one of the dogs decided to bark after hearing the screams.

The deafening noise, combined with the soft snores from the dogs, couldn't quiet the pounding in my ears. My nerves are as taut as guitar strings, and my ears hurt from straining to hear something.

I curse at the raw winter wind, howling through the towering trees. Be quiet, be quiet, I plead.

A mix of stagnant dog dander, septic, and sweat clings to the air, a suffocating invader in our farmhouse. The stench wraps around me like a smothering blanket.

All I can say is that it comforts me to know that you are with our daughter. She would not know what to do in this crisis. Of course, a Zombie apocalypse would happen when you two were skiing together in Europe. I pray that this Zombie disaster has not reached there.

It's good that we had our practice round with Covid of learning to isolate and get by with very little. Hopefully, this will get resolved. The longer this takes, the more the dogs and I will run out of food.

No, I have to stay positive. I will come up with something. I don't know if you will ever see this letter; it's the first one since the takeover. Maybe we will all be together one day and laugh over my worries. I want you to know that the dogs and I are fighting to keep going.

Wait..

I hear something. It's a scrapping noise at one of the doors, like the shuffling of the wood.

Bang!

God, please let this be our son.

I love you,

Amelia

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Here is the visual effect letter.