AN: I hope this is the right section for the story. I also hope I've correctly translated it (English isn't my first language) and that you'll be kind enough to comment it.
Death is a custom that everyone, sooner or later, has to respect.
(Jorge Louis Borges)
October 18th
It all feels like being back in high school, when I used to spend hours bent over my diary writing about my problems or the boy I liked. Unfortunately, this time it's different. I started writing so that I'd have something else to do, something that could help me keep a sense of time passing and distract me from the mess that happened months ago.
Four, to be precise. Four months since, for a still unknown reason, the dead woke up and began to attack the living.
People immediately went into a panic. Most tried to leave the cities, only to end up clogging the highways and creating even more chaos. Those who remained stayed in army held areas, or in their homes behind armored doors, convinced that somehow they would be safe.
It looked like something out of George Romero's movies. The dead returning to life for mysterious reasons, the abandoned cities, the military trying to salvage the situation.
It was horrible.
Marco and I stayed barricaded in my apartment in Milan for a while, but in the end we chose to escape before the city became too dangerous to live in. We hid in a mountain village whose name I don't even remember. We chose it because it was far from the main cities, and we thought we would be safe. We have chosen a lovely house on the outskirts of the village, with a large courtyard. At the back is a small garden with a vegetable patch that has seen better times and a tree whose species I cannot identify. The gate and the wall surrounding the house seem solid enough, but should anyone be able to enter we would be ready to react.
There's no signal up here, so our phones don't work. There is no TV. The only way we have... or rather, we had to find out what's going on in the outside world is an old radio that stopped working the day before yesterday. But at least the water and electricity are still there.
The village is empty. There's neither people nor animals. I hope they managed to escape and are now safe. I've seen what happens when the undead attack someone, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.
The house has two floors. We barred the doors and windows on the ground floor for safety. Now I'm in the upstairs bedroom, the one where I believe the owners used to sleep. From the photos I saw around the house, they must have been an elderly married couple. I wonder what happened to them. I like to think that somehow they managed to escape to safety, even if a part of me keeps saying that they are almost certainly dead, or are somewhere out there looking for people to devour...
Enough, I mustn't think about this stuff.
As soon as I'm done writing, I'll have to go into the cellar to get something for lunch. I hope there is still some canned meat. I also hope that Marco has better luck with his search today...
* * *
Laura stopped writing and put the pen away. She stroked a lock of her long red hair and pushed it behind her ear. Every time she mused on what had happened, she couldn't help but think about her relationship with Marco.
Marco, with his raven black hair and his boy-next-door face. The one who had accompanied her on the journey to that house and who had saved her twice from the zombies. The boy she had watched grow up, and with whom she now shared a bed.
Before all this, Marco and Laura used to live in the same building. Her apartment was across from his, and she had babysat him for years, as well as helping him with his homework throughout school. There had always been a strong bond of friendship between the two. Now, instead...
It was all so weird.
She had never felt attracted to much younger men. Marco had turned eighteen just a few days before the undead outbreak, while she herself was thirty-eight. She could think of herself as a "milf" (even though she hated that word).
And she had never even considered sleeping with Marco. Still...
It had happened one evening, shortly after their arrival in this house. They were both sitting on the sofa in the living room, chatting. He had started talking about his parents, how he had seen them die devoured by the undead. He had burst into tears, and she had tried to comfort him with a hug. Then, by a strange twist of fate (and with the complicity of some bottles of the excellent wine they had found in the house), they kissed, and in a few moments they found themselves making love on the floor.
It had been Marco's first time.
Since then they had started doing it regularly, even several times a day. Aside from the non-negligible physical pleasure of the act, it was also a way to fight loneliness and not think about the horror that surrounded them. They had no condoms, although being sterile, she didn't have to worry about unwanted pregnancies. The initial embarrassment had faded, though for her it was still a little strange (sometimes she felt almost like a pedophile, even though Marco was of age and she certainly hadn't forced him).
Of course, such a situation had both its pros and cons. Marco, being so young, was always ready to have sex, and was able to get hard again in a moment. On the other hand, there was the issue of his speed (their first time had lasted only a few seconds) and lack of experience. Luckily, he was a fast learner. If... as soon as things returned to normal, he would be able to make use of his experience with a girl of his own age.
She also had a strong suspicion that Marco was in love with her. Laura, for her part, cared much about the boy, and every time he went out in search of supplies (he always insisted to go by himself, in a display of chivalry that she found old-fashioned and sweet at the same time) she was terrified she would never see him again. But actual love? No way. She sincerely hoped it was just a passing crush, and above all that she would never have to bring it up with him. The last thing she wanted was to break his heart.
With a sigh, he took up the pen again. She nibbled on it and murmured. "So, where was I..."
Just then she heard the sound of the downstairs door opening, soon followed by a series of footsteps up the stairs.
Laura smiled. Her young lover had returned. She dropped the diary and walked to the door of the room.
Marco appeared a few seconds later. He looked tired, and carried a large bag over his shoulder.
"Hey there, did you miss me?"
"A lot. Did you find anything?"
Marco put the bag on the floor and opened it. "It went well. I took a lot of cans and bottles of water. I also managed to find some apples, some bread and a couple of salamis. And then... where the hell did I put them... ah, here they are." He took out some books and handed them to her.
They were Paulo Coelho books, one of her favorite writers. For a moment she wondered if he too had become a zombie. She took a quick look at the titles, and her joy increased. She had never read them. Finally now she had something more to pass the time with.
"Wow, thanks. Where did you find them?"
"They were in an abandoned car. I also took a lighter and a crowbar from there, in case we need it. Unfortunately there wasn't even a drop of petrol, but I guess you can't expect too much from life, can you?"
"Yeah."
They remained silent for a few seconds, then Marco hugged her and kissed her passionately, first her lips, then her neck, and then travelled up to her ear. The redhead dropped the books and returned the boy's attention by squeezing his ass. At which he slipped his hand under her sweater, and since she wasn't wearing any kind of underwear, he immediately found the soft flesh of her breast. He massaged it well, and Laura reacted with delightful moans of pleasure.
