BlacklegSanji
Cook of the Thousand Sunny
@ArtisticKwittyKat234
One hundred and seventy two days, fifteen hours, twenty-nine minutes, and eleven seconds.t
It's been one hundred and seventy two days, fifteen hours, twenty-nine minutes, and eleven seconds since the Outbreak and one hundred sixty-seven days, thirteen hours, two minutes, and fifty-six seconds since the government ordered for all the remaining survivors of the illness to find refuge within quarantines, a building that was originally designed to keep the sick in, not the healthy. . . !
What's even worse is that it has been one hundred sixty-seven days, twenty hours, fourteen minutes, and one second since the announcement was made that the government was rapidly developing a cure for this pandemic affair that had struck internationally, not just the good ol' country of the free. Some would wonder why would the government - my bad, governments - bother to keep the world's hopes up for a cure when it was clear that they were no where near it's supposed finished state.
I take it back. The most horrifying part is that thousands of people have died, not from the initial Outbreak, but from the wait. Many have fallen sick and have been disposed of to keep the virus from spreading within the quarantine. The lives of the fallen haunt each and every one of us whenever we close our eyes. We can still vividly imagine the tragedy that struck back in the month of March, the month that was supposed to be lucky. They broke into the quarantine. Thousands of zombies burst in through the doors. Only a lucky few of us made it out.
The air in late May was nice. The breeze swept through my hair. It was hot and it would have been a nice day for swimming or walking. But of course all things good come to a end. Zombies swarmed the streets and I was sat on a roof top of a convenience store. I leaned my rifle on the parapet of the roof. I had come here for supplies but it seems that I was trapped. I sighed lighting up a smoke. That's when I seen a young girl running trying to get away from zombies.
One hundred and seventy two days, fifteen hours, twenty-nine minutes, and eleven seconds.t
It's been one hundred and seventy two days, fifteen hours, twenty-nine minutes, and eleven seconds since the Outbreak and one hundred sixty-seven days, thirteen hours, two minutes, and fifty-six seconds since the government ordered for all the remaining survivors of the illness to find refuge within quarantines, a building that was originally designed to keep the sick in, not the healthy. . . !
What's even worse is that it has been one hundred sixty-seven days, twenty hours, fourteen minutes, and one second since the announcement was made that the government was rapidly developing a cure for this pandemic affair that had struck internationally, not just the good ol' country of the free. Some would wonder why would the government - my bad, governments - bother to keep the world's hopes up for a cure when it was clear that they were no where near it's supposed finished state.
I take it back. The most horrifying part is that thousands of people have died, not from the initial Outbreak, but from the wait. Many have fallen sick and have been disposed of to keep the virus from spreading within the quarantine. The lives of the fallen haunt each and every one of us whenever we close our eyes. We can still vividly imagine the tragedy that struck back in the month of March, the month that was supposed to be lucky. They broke into the quarantine. Thousands of zombies burst in through the doors. Only a lucky few of us made it out.
The air in late May was nice. The breeze swept through my hair. It was hot and it would have been a nice day for swimming or walking. But of course all things good come to a end. Zombies swarmed the streets and I was sat on a roof top of a convenience store. I leaned my rifle on the parapet of the roof. I had come here for supplies but it seems that I was trapped. I sighed lighting up a smoke. That's when I seen a young girl running trying to get away from zombies.
