So at around six this morning, I finally wake up from this weird, nightmare-esque dream I was having. I got thrown 100 years into the future, post a zombie-apocalypse. Things were mostly under control, but my family were lost to the sands of time. The world basically learned how to cope with the zombies — who themselves aren’t dangerous. It’s those who were in the middle of transforming that were — because those who were just infected were the only ones who could infect others, etc. It was really quite interesting. 

Immediately, I snatched up my phone. Took notes on what I could remember about the dream. Which at that point in time, was a lot. I’ve done this once before, where I was pretty much just handed all of the world-building because of a dream I had. It was glorious.

I decided that this story idea would be my NaNo project this year. I wanted to work on something that was unrelated to my work (the smut), or TT. Mainly because I have something like 12k of Seize the Day written already and I’m not 100% on how long it’s actually going to be with the changes I’ve made. But I did write a small, 800ish word piece based on this idea, which is shown below. I also worked on chapter 6 of Seize the Day and got most of it done, but I have to get up at like 5am tomorrow, so I’m not gonna be finishing it tonight. Damn. Oh well. I am pleased with this short piece, though:

This — this can’t be right. 

My mind spins — and it feels like the rest of me does, too, as I collapse onto the floor. The women surrounding me give me sympathetic looks. The white, pristine hospital floor is now a grungy gray, scuff marks littering it everywhere. I don’t even — 

“What — what happened?” I groan, clutching my head. It hurts. Grows heavy, barely supported by my neck. I squeeze my eyes shut against the harsh light — light I hadn’t really seen in who the hell knows how long. 

“We woke you up,” one of the women answers, and I hear her step forward. “You’ve been asleep for so long, we thought you might be dead.” 

My eyes snap open, and I will my stomach to stop rolling. When I look up at her, there’s a hand thrust in front of my face, fingers open and waiting for mine. I don’t remember being asleep. But I must have been — the doctors injected me with something, hooked me up to another IV, had me lay down in a bed. All part of the experiment. All part of the drug trial and how I would get paid several thousand dollars for my time. 

But these women? These women aren’t doctors. They carry guns. They’re covered in grime and dirt and something that suspiciously looks like blood. Dried blood, so it’s that rusty, dark brown color instead of red. 

Slowly, her words make it past my skull and into my brain. “H-How long was I asleep?” I ask, taking hold of her hand and getting up from the floor. I look down at myself, frowning at the hospital gown I’ve apparently been sleeping in. 

“We don’t know,” the first woman says, pursing her plump lips together. She cocks her hip to the side, taking hold of her rifle in both hands yet again and holding it in front of her. “We were hoping you could tell us.” 

“Right.” I clear my throat, wiping my hands off on my gown. It barely covers me, what with my larger than average size. “What day is it?” 

Not that I can even remember what day it was when I went to the hospital in the first place. I was only supposed to be here for a day, though. Maybe two. My husband — my ex-husband, I remind myself bitterly — wouldn’t have had childcare for our son, otherwise. 

“September 27th.” 

“That — that can’t possibly be right,” I mumble, bunching my eyebrows together. While I can’t remember the exact date, I know I didn’t come here in September. That was at least three months from now. Right?

The first woman sighs, glancing at her watch, her lips pressing together in a slight pout. “September 27th, 2043,” she repeats, this time far more specific. 

“Twenty… forty-three?” The words taste funny in my mouth. “That — that really can’t be right,” I murmur, putting a hand to my forehead. I look around the hospital room once more, taking in the dirt and the damage. The wear and tear of time and lack of proper care. 

“What year do you think it is?” a second woman asks, raising an eyebrow. She, too, lowers her weapon and leaves it hanging at her side, the third woman following suit. The lead woman, the one with the perfect lips, keeps her weapon held across her front. 

“Twenty thirteen?” I answer, the words passing my lips slowly. Their eyes widen, all three of them staring at me open-mouthed. I crack a smile, scratching my head with a nervous chuckle. “Guess I really was asleep for a long time, huh?” 

“I guess so,” the first woman says with an amused snort. She smiles at me, the first truly relaxed expression I’ve seen since I woke up. “Please, come with us. We need to get you some proper clothes.”

I nod, taking a hesitant step forward. At least my feet are steady, even if my heart and stomach aren’t? The two other ladies flank me, while the first remains in front of me, leading the way. We walk in silence — unnerving, tense silence. The hallways of the hospital are also covered in grime, feeling sticky under my socks. 

“So — what I’d miss?” I ask, trying to keep my mind off how gross the floor is. “I mean, it’s been thirty years since I woke up — I had to have missed something, right?”

The leading lady laughs, throwing her head back and her dark curls bouncing along her shoulders. Now that I look, they’re matted, but not too badly. “Just the apocalypse,” she answers, grinning at me over her shoulder.

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