Fiction
2 min
Survivor's Society
Kelly Ta
Minji's POV:
Okay, so it's been ten years since the zombie apocalypse started. I was twelve when it happened, just doodling in my journal while my partner, Jun, droned on and on about our science project. Honestly, I wasn't listening. I was too busy drawing cats with laser eyes.
Then suddenly, chaos. Screaming. Running. Biting.
My survival instincts? Not great.
My first reaction was to yeet myself out the window. You'd think I had some sort of plan, but nope, I just launched myself into the unknown. And in a stroke of dumb luck—uh, I mean, tactical genius—I landed on my feet, found an abandoned car, and stole it.
Did I know how to drive? Nope. Did I manage to miraculously press some buttons, turn some dials, and not immediately crash? Yup. Don't ask how. Just accept that I, Minji, am a legend.
Fast forward to last year. I'd been living my best hermit life in the woods, surviving on berries, stolen canned beans, and sheer spite. My only real company was my rusty radio, which usually just spat out static. But then—bam!—out of nowhere, it started playing Roar by Katy Perry. Except the lyrics were different. There were weirdly cryptic messages about survivors, zombies, and something about "jumping into the fire" at a specific location to be safe.
Now, I know what you guys are thinking: Minji, did you really jump into a fire? And to that, I say: Absolutely.
Did I think about it first? No. Did I test the flames with a stick like a logical person? Also no. Did I just take a deep breath and hurl myself in? Oh, you betcha.
Good news: I did not become BBQ Minji.
Bad news? I probably lost a few brain cells— or maybe my whole brain— in the process.
But when I opened my eyes, I was standing in front of a giant school with the words Survivor's Society plastered across it in big, dramatic letters. I was so relieved that I almost cried. Almost. I have a reputation to maintain.
Since then, life's been... intense. The teachers/coaches—here have one goal: make sure we don't die horrible, gnarly deaths at the hands of zombies. That means hellish training, survival lessons, and way too many push-ups.
I hate it.
Every day, my muscles scream at me, "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO US?!"
And honestly, I don't have a good answer.
But the real kicker? The boy-to-girl ratio here is tragic. There are, like, five girls total. And about a hundred guys. Like, what even happened to all the other girls? Were we just bad at dodging zombies?
And speaking of tragedy, I'm also the shortest person in the entire school. I'm 5'1. Everyone else? Giants. Absolute skyscrapers. I swear, I need a stepstool just to make eye contact with some of them. I could be giving a heartfelt, dramatic speech about survival, and all they'd be thinking is, Aww, look at the tiny angry hamster trying to be inspiring.
At least the boys are cute. That's a silver lining, I guess.
So yeah, that's my life now. Training, dodging zombies, being the shortest person in existence, and occasionally making dumb life choices that somehow work out.
Welcome to the apocalypse, folks. Hope you like cardio.
We Love Sharing Stories
Select a story
1