Kickoff written by TiredHuman

Bon Voyage

A toddler and her companion survive the apocalypse

There was another dead body in my doorstep today. Its blood drenched the wood on the front steps of my house and stained the carpet that covered them. Carpets are impossible to clean. Mom always used to say bad words when she had to scrub spills off of it. Now it's covered in blood. I don't mind much except Micheal freaks out at the smell of blood and won't shut up about it all night and won't let me sleep with his yowling and whimpering. Micheal can be such a spoiled brat.

Mom used to call me a spoiled brat when I cried. She said I was difficult and selfish and only worried about what I wanted and not about others and that I had to think about how others felt as well. Well Micheal doesn't. He never does. And that's why he's a spoiled brat. I still love him though.

That doesn't mean I don't get mad at him. I do. I'm mad at him right now. I'm mad because I know he'll start whining as soon as he sees the blood and I know I can't scrape it off the carpet or the dirty snow that already drank
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it up so we'll have to move. Dad said it was dangerous outside. Now because of Micheal we'll have to go out. Stupid Micheal.

At least there aren't a lot of grownups anymore. Grownups are scary. They yell and scream and point guns at people that sound so loud my ears hurt. Of course they weren't always like that. Dad used to tell me about how it was before, where everyone smiled and laughed and danced around, but I never believed him. If grownups could be so nice, why were mom and dad always so tired? Why did their face look like a raisin—full of wrinkles and lines? I think dad just liked pretending, so I just went along with him.
But at least there aren't that many grownups anymore. Except for the one on my doorstep, ready to scare Micheal away. Dummy Micheal.

I guess I should leave a note at home for when Mom and Dad come back. It's been a few months so they should probably come back any day now. They'll be so scared when they come home and Micheal and I are gone! The only thing
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is that they only taught me how to spell my name in school. Before it closed. Maybe they'll guess what happened. Mom and Dad are super smart. They always helped me with my homework.

"Micheal! There you are!" A black cat jumped through the snow and landed on my feet. He looked up at me before his nose twitched and he turned to stare at the body. His eyes widened in shock. Micheal has pretty eyes. I always thought they looked like the moon.

He yelped, and jumped back, shaking. He almost looked as small as he did when I saw him through window. A mean man threw him out and kicked him. Back then there were still a lot of mean grownups like him, and the buildings on fire spit out burning wood that they threw at little him. He was crying. "You're bad luck!" They said. "You made all this happen! We should've have killed you when we had the chance! A black cat's devil spawn." I ran out and brought him in and even though mom and dad yelled at me I didn't regret
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it because Micheal was so small and cute and warm and he's still with me while they're gone. Micheal was yelping.

"There's a dead body in our front door. Eeekk! What're we gonna do? They were close enough last night that they were able to leave a body at our door!" Micheal scratched the snow nervously, burying his claws in the cold.

I laughed. "I knew it would bother you. Micheal, you're so jumpy!" I remembered I was mad at him. "You can be such a spoiled brat sometimes! Now because of you we have to move. I know you won't leave me alone with the blood on the carpet."

Micheal looked back at me, annoyed. "This isn't funny! You know blood carries the Virus and if we catch it we won't last a day! Not to mention they're still out there killi—" he stopped himself. "—hurting people out there. What to you think they'll do if they smell fresh blood on you?"

He's such a worrywart. "Uuughh, stupid Micheal. Yeah I know! You're scared of everything. Let's go then."

He snorted. "Pack some food before you go!" Stupid Micheal.
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