Girlhood Survival Guide
a pre-apoc diary by Lizzy Sparks
Hey, it’s spooky season. That can mean Halloween, or this current US election. Either way, this seems apropos. It’s longer than our normal fare, but it’s a breezy read, and, well, I’m making up for lost time, so no serial this time.
Enjoy the story and let Lizzy know at the end!
Content warning: some language, some violence/gore, zombies, lots of girl talk!
Girlhood Survival Guide
by Lizzy Sparks
Dear Diary,
Today I wore the new tank top I got from SHEIN. It’s white and has a pink butterfly on it. The butterfly is captured mid-flight, its wings spread. Or that’s how I thought it looked. Val said it looks like the butterfly’s been crushed. Like someone stepped on it. But Tyler shoved her when she said that, in that playful way he does with us, and he said, “Well, I think the butterfly looks like it’s flying.”
And I thought, well, Tyler likes my new shirt, so suck it, Val.
And then Tyler said something about the butterflies in this enclosure in his room—I think it’s some type of science experiment? I dunno, I wasn’t paying attention. ‘Cause his hair was curling at the ends like it does when it gets so hot and humid the whole world is this warm wet pulsing thing clinging to your neck. And I was imagining running my fingers through it. And. Anyways. I dunno what he said after that, but it had something to do with butterflies or science or something. I think.
Then we had an assembly, but Tyler sat with his nerd friends so it was just me and Val. We sat on the bleachers and I snuck my phone out and we scrolled TikTok. Neither of us were paying attention ‘cause Principal Schenk is so bald his entire head is reflective and it’s hard to take a man so bald seriously. I think he was saying something about the zombies in Orlando and the refugees coming here or something. But I dunno. Me and Val were too busy watching TikToks and whispering about the gross football boys sitting in front of us. They always stunk like Axe, and Jack Michaelson always ran alongside us during the mile saying stuff like, “Come on, ladies! Keep it up! You’ve got this!” And then afterwards he’d always hug us to congratulate us and his hands always went too low on our backs. And then he’d smile at us all crooked and look at Val too long and it was all just completely icky.
But at least he’s nice. Some of the other football guys were awful to the girls. Like Thomas Jacobs. I heard he even put his hand down Kat Yun’s shirt even though she told him no. So at least Jack’s nice about it. I think if we said to stop, he would.
Anyways. After the assembly Val went to her music class and I went to woodworking. I don’t really like woodworking, ‘cause you have to wear these ugly goggles and I always get wood chips in my hair, but it’s fun sometimes. I like making stuff with my hands like that. There’s always something so satisfying about it. I dunno. And Mr. Graham says I’m good with my hands, and I know what he means and he’s such a creep about it, but I know he’s right. I’m good at, like, woodworking and pottery and painting and other stuff like that. I got second place in our art show last year for this collage I made. I’d cut out photos of girls from magazines and then I’d cut them up some more so all they were were severed limbs and then I’d stuck them to this hot pink paper and I slathered red glitter glue over them so it looked like blood and over top of it all I cut out words so it looked like some kind of ransom note. It said, “WHEN WILL I FINALLY BE PRETTY?” and anyways, Val and Tyler really liked it, but when Mr. Graham had it submitted to the show Principal Schenk said it was allowed but he called Mom about it. Mom didn’t think it was cool at all. She said it was disturbed and put me in therapy. But she just doesn’t understand. She thinks all art has to be pretty or at the very least make sense.
After the last bell I met up with Val at her locker so we could walk home together. The sky was so blue as we walked that it was unreal, like Laffy Taffy. There weren’t even any clouds or anything. It was so hot and sweltering my hair stuck to the back of my neck. We stopped at the gas station by the highway exit and got slushies and we pretended to be zombies and the cashier rolled his eyes at us, which was completely uncalled for.
When we got to Val’s house there was a strange car in the driveway. It was small and had a Florida plate on it. There were bags in the backseat and one of the doors was open. We went inside and there were even some strange people in her house, a woman that looked a bit like Val’s mom who was cutting open a watermelon at the counter and a girl maybe a year older than us who was sitting at the kitchen table staring at nothing. The woman smiled but the girl didn’t do anything, just slowly shifted her gaze to us. She had such a vacant look in her eyes it kind of scared me.
“Hi, girls,” the woman said. “Sit down, have some watermelon.”
“Val,” I whispered. “Who are these people?”
“Oh, that’s my Aunt Irene and my cousin Yasmin. They came up from Orlando. You know, ‘cause of the zombies.”
So me and Val sat at the table with Yasmin, who still hadn’t said anything and was now staring out the window with that hollow-eyed glare. Aunt Irene asked how school was, and then she brought over a bowl of cut watermelon and we all had some. The whole time Yasmin just sat there looking haggard. After I had some watermelon I got up to leave. I had to get home early ‘cause Mom was making lasagne for dinner and needed “all hands on deck,” which just meant me, ‘cause Dad never helped her. She did all the cooking and the cleaning even though they both worked full-time jobs. All Dad ever did was take Ethan to daycare. As I got up Val pulled her chair beside Yasmin and rested her chin on her shoulder.
“Yaz, me and Kayla were going to the mall after school tomorrow to look for stuff for the dance, wanna come?”
I shot Val a look—I didn’t want her weird scary older cousin to come with us, I didn’t want anything to change, it made me feel dizzy and out-of-control and like I was going to puke, it had always just been the two of us and sometimes Tyler—but when she met my eye she just smiled like she couldn’t understand my telepathic communication, which, like, what kind of best friend are you if we can’t even telepathically communicate with each other?
Yasmin nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’d like that.” Those were the only five words she’d said the whole time I was there. And then she even smiled. And I’d been expecting her smile to look scary, but it didn’t. It was soft and unsure and made me hate her ‘cause when she smiled she actually looked pretty and I was scared she would get between me and Val and maybe even Tyler somehow. But I hadn’t been raised to be rude, so I smiled too and said that sounded great.
#
Dear Diary,
Today after school me and Val walked home together with Tyler ‘cause Dad was going to give him guitar lessons after work. We picked Yasmin up at Val’s before we went to mine. She looked less haggard today, she’d even put makeup on, and when she wasn’t sitting in the corner looking sad she looked grown-up and pretty. She had Val’s big brown eyes and long thick hair, which was in a braid over her shoulder. She had on a pair of jean shorts and an orange tank top and a pair of blue Old Navy flip-flops. She even smelled nice, like coconut sunscreen, and I caught Tyler looking at her out of the corner of my eye and I wanted to puke. ‘Cause she’s so beautiful and pulled-together and I’m just not.
When we got to my house, we had Pizza Rolls and lemonade and Yasmin still wasn’t talking, but she’d relaxed a bit. She smiled easily and laughed a lot. Even when she was laughing she still had this perpetually sad look about her, like a Victorian orphan, and it kind of scared me, but there was something endearing about it too. I mean, you feel bad for Victorian orphans, they’re orphans after all. And I felt bad for her, actually. I mean, she was a refugee, and I wondered if she’d fought any zombies before they made it out of Orlando. I bet that would have been scary. I hoped the government would get it under control soon so she could go home. But the worst thing is that even Tyler seemed to be enamored by her sad orphan qualities. He even gave her some of his Pizza Rolls.
“You need this more than me,” he told her, and she looked at him all wide-eyed like she was dying of cancer and he’d found the cure.
“I do?” she’d asked, voice quiet.
“Yeah, I mean, it sucked, didn’t it? Dealing with all those zombies. So you need these Pizza Rolls more than I do.”
He was being so nice to her. I wanted to scream. But then Dad got home with Ethan. He put him down for a nap and he and Tyler went to the garage for his lesson.
By then, we were all done with our Pizza Rolls and Mom wouldn’t be back from work to drive us to the mall for a while, so we went to my room. I’d hid all my stuffed animals beneath my bed ‘cause I’d known Yasmin was coming and I didn’t want her to think I was babyish. We decided to give each other makeovers before the mall. So Val and Yasmin sat on the floor and took out the little bags of makeup they brought with them and Val fixed Yasmin’s eyeshadow. Looking at them together made me feel like I was going to puke ‘cause it looked so easy. I was scared that if Yasmin stayed here Val would realize how lame I am and leave me forever. And I was scared Yasmin was going to take Tyler from me. Not that there was even anything happening between us. But still. I saw the way he was looking at Yasmin. So while Val did Yasmin’s makeup I looked in my closet and said, “I want to dress like a slut.”
Val grinned at me. “Oh, yeah? Looking for a boooooyfriend at the mall?”
I thought, I don’t want to get a boyfriend at the mall, I want Tyler to look at me like he looked at Yasmin, I want him to give me his Pizza Rolls. But I just smiled. ‘Cause not even Val knows I like Tyler, and also ew, that’s embarrassing. Anyways. I dug through my closet and found the sluttiest clothes I had, a spaghetti strap dress I’d gotten a few years ago that was a few sizes too small now. It’s white and has lilacs all over it. I always wear the same jewelry, a puka shell necklace and a handful of Pura Vida bracelets, so I put those on. I didn’t know what to do for shoes, but Yasmin picked out this pair of hot pink wedge sandals I’ve been too scared to wear ‘cause they just make me look even taller and also I dunno how to walk in them. So I was still scared to wear them, but she handed them to me with a smile and she didn’t say anything and I didn’t want to be rude. And she was right. They did match the outfit. So I guessed today would be the day I learned to walk in them.
I joined Val and Yasmin on the floor then. Val had finished Yasmin’s makeup and Yasmin was working on Val’s. I sat and watched them and tried to pretend I wasn’t watching them and they just seemed so easy together it made me want to slam my head into the wall until I bled so they’d pay attention to me too. But then Yasmin finished and since Mom still wasn’t here she decided to do my makeup too.
She pulled me closer to her and shook her head. “No, this won’t do,” she said in this gentle sort of way that just made it worse, and I laughed it off and so did Val but it still stung. Yasmin sent me to go wash my face so she could start from scratch. She put on foundation and concealer and even a little bit of contour and highlight. She did my eyebrows and then put on this glittery eyeshadow and mascara and gave me a thick black wing. Finally, she put on some pink lipgloss, and then she was done and I couldn’t help but think she really knows her stuff, she’s so much better at being a girl than me. And I felt like there was something wrong with me, that I’d failed in this irredeemable way and I’d never be a real girl like she was, and I wanted to bawl my eyes out, but I didn’t want to ruin my makeup. Then we all stood in front of my mirror and I realized I actually looked nice which just made me feel even worse. We did our hair, all of us standing there looking at ourselves and sneaking glances at each other, or at least I was sneaking glances at them. Yasmin redid her braid and Val used my flat iron and straightened out her curls. I tried to brush my hair out and sprayed it with some water ‘cause the humidity was making it all big and frizzy, but it just made it even bigger and frizzier, so I just put it in a ponytail instead.
Mom texted she was on her way. We were ready so we got back on the floor and got on our phones. I went on TikTok. There were videos of people making pasta and dogs who knew how to press buttons and cute boys doing stupid dances and videos some of the survivors had taken of the zombies, which were pretty scary. But I dunno if I believe in zombies or not. I was on TikTok the other day and there was this cop talking about how it’s just this new strand of heroin or maybe cocaine they’re on. And there was this scientist saying all the “footage” of the zombies was just deepfakes and the government was just trying to cause panic and all the people telling their stories are just hired actors. So who knows. Yasmin doesn’t seem like a hired actor. She’s too nice and too pretty.
After a bit Mom finally got home so we all went downstairs and got our shoes on and grabbed our bags. Mine’s this tiny little baguette bag the same pink as my sandals. It’s impossible to carry around but it looks cute. It also looks like it’s leather but I think it’s actually made of plastic.
“Kayla Wayla,” Mom said, she seriously called me that and I wanted to stab myself in the eye, “is that what you’re wearing, sweetie?”
“Um, yes?”
“Just this once, just ‘cause it’s hot out, all right? Then we’ve gotta donate it, okay? You’ve gotten a bit too big for that dress, sweetie.” My eyes got all hot when she said that and I felt a lump form in my throat. I tried to swallow it and looked at the floor and just kept blinking trying to keep from crying. I’d gotten too big. It felt like the end of the world. “Your legs are too long for it,” I know they are, Mom, “and… and you know what, sweetie? I think you might need to get your first bra. Maybe that’s why the dress doesn’t look right. Why don’t you go and get a fitting while you’re at the mall?”
Oh my god! I wanted to tear my hair out and jump on the counter and break every glass in the cabinets. I wanted to scream so loud I tore out every single one of my vocal cords. I could not believe she said that, I could not believe she actually said that to my face right in front of Val and Yasmin. But I didn’t feel like I could do anything, or say anything, it all felt out of my control. I had to go get my first bra and that was that. We headed out to the truck through the garage where Dad and Tyler were and I didn’t even care if Tyler even looked at me, I was so embarrassed and upset, so I just got in the front seat and tried to pretend like I wasn’t sulking even though I totally was.
We went to Pacsun and then Aeropostale and then Lush. We went to Forever 21 next, and I thought about child labor for a second and felt bad, but they had this cute lilac crop top, and it was only nine dollars, and I figured one purchase wouldn’t hurt, so I bought it. We went to Zumiez next and then even Spencer’s and we were giggling nervously the whole time. We got hungry then so we went to Chick-fil-A and I felt guilty as I ate my sandwich since I know they’re homophobic, but damn do they know how to make chicken. We went to H&M and Hollister which was right next to this closed Justice they were turning into a lingerie store and as we passed it Val was talking about how it was ironic ‘cause apparently one of the reasons all the Justices have been closed is ‘cause everyone had thought they made their clothes for little girls all too sexy. But soon we passed by Pink and we’d been everywhere else and I still hadn’t found a dress for the dance and there was still the matter of getting me a bra. It was time.
Val and I headed in, but Yasmin said, “Do you wanna go to Aerie instead? They’re more ethical, you know. They always show different body types in their advertisements.”
“But all their stuff’s boring,” Val pointed out, and she was right. We’d walked by Aerie a while ago and they just had a bunch of solid colors. Pink had fun designs and cute styles and stuff. Yasmin was right—Aerie was more ethical, they showed more body types in their advertisements—and the smart, woke part of me knew that. But there was a secret worse part of me terrified of looking like the girls in the Aerie ads. They were pretty in their own ways but I wanted to look like the ones in the Pink ads. I wanted to be skinny but somehow also curvy and I wanted to look all sultry and I didn’t want to just be beautiful, I wanted to be hot too, I wanted to be desired, I wanted to be desirable, and I knew I wouldn’t get there with Aerie’s boring bras.
So we went into Pink and even Yasmin had to admit their bras were cuter than Aerie’s. The woman who greeted us gave me a fitting since I didn’t know what size I was. She put a tape measure around my chest and pulled it tight and I prayed for death to come quickly. She had me get the smallest size they offered, which also made me want to die, and showed me how to fasten the clip. I picked one out that was purple and said PINK in white letters, and I went to the fitting room. I turned my back to the mirror while I slid my dress around my waist and put it on.
When I turned around to face myself, I started to cry. ‘Cause it looked awful on me. It looked horrible. I looked horrible. I looked like a little boy trying on his mom’s bra, I looked like I was playing pretend, but worse, I also kinda didn’t. It also kinda fit me. It also kinda looked really adult.
By that point I was crying so hard I just about made myself puke and I had to lean against the cold mirror with my forehead pressed against it taking these deep breaths like my therapist had told me to do that fogged up the glass and just made me feel worse ‘cause it got me all lightheaded. And then the woman who had done the fitting knocked on the door and asked, “Everything okay in there?” and that just made me cry even harder but I just sniffled and said, “Yes, just perfect, I love it!” and I must have been convincing ‘cause she left me alone, and I just stood there crying and trying not to puke and breathing into the mirror even though it made me feel worse ‘cause my therapist had told me to. After a while I finally stopped crying so I just stood there hiccupping and wiping my eyes and trying to make it look like I hadn’t been crying. And all I could think was the makeup Yasmin had done hadn’t smeared. That was how good she was.
I was still hiccupping and my eyes were still all red when there was another knock on the door. It was Val this time and she asked, “Um, Kayla, are you dead or something?” and at that point I knew I couldn’t stay in there for any longer without them worrying so I took the bra off and pulled my dress back over my shoulders and I was still hiccupping but I opened the door and tried to smile convincingly.
“Um,” Val said. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve been crying.”
I said, “I’m fine, my eyes are just red ‘cause I’ve been smoking hella weed.”
Val smiled hesitantly. “Did it fit?” she asked, and I knew she knew I was lying ‘cause I definitely looked like I’d been crying. And I also knew she was trying to be gentle with me. If she was being normal she would have made some joke.
“Oh, um, yeah,” I said. I was clutching the straps so hard between my hands my knuckles had gone white.
Yasmin grinned in that soft way she does. She hugged me and said, “You’re a woman now!” in this congratulatory sort of tone and I wanted to curl into a ball and die. It was the same thing Mom had said to me when I’d gotten my first period, when i was crying and bleeding on the bathroom floor and the pain was so terrible I’d thought I was gonna die, when everything hurt, when all I wanted to do was shove my hands inside my stomach and rip my guts out, they would be stringy and warm, I was a woman now, I’m a woman now.
#
Dear Diary,
They canceled the school dance! BASTARDS. The government—you know, if you can trust the government, which, like, according to TikTok, you can’t—confirmed some sightings in Palatka so they canceled it so we don’t get zombified. Which is dumb. That’s so far away. There haven’t been any reports on Amelia Island yet so it’s not like we have anything to worry about. Everyone’s probably overreacting anyways. I bet this’ll all blow over in a few weeks. The dance would have been more important ‘cause I’D PLANNED ON FINALLY ASKING TYLER OUT.
I had it all planned out. Yasmin was going to come to help me and Val get ready. I was going to look hot. She’d do my makeup the way she did when we went to the mall. She said she was going to straighten my hair. And I already have my dress, I got it from SHEIN since I couldn’t find anything at the mall. It’s hot pink and tight with orange and white flowers and a halter that goes around my neck. I was going to wear the wedge sandals too since I’ve learned to walk in them. I can even dance in them. And when a slow song came on, I was going to ask Tyler to dance with me, and then I was going to kiss him, and then I was going to ask him to be my boyfriend. So this stupid zombie apocalypse is ruining everything, and it feels like the end of the world ‘cause now I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to ask Tyler out. UGH!
Anyways. Mom and Dad have been fighting lately ‘cause neither of them can decide if we need to evacuate or not. Some people have been evacuating north where there aren’t as many cases. Jack Michaelson and some of the other kids from school have already left. Dad even wants to go to Connecticut where his brother is ‘cause they have stricter regulations in New England and there haven’t been any cases reported there yet. He thinks we’ll be safer there.
Today during dinner Mom was crying and clutching my baby photos and Ethan’s favorite rattle, screaming about how she wasn’t going to leave all these memories behind. And Dad started screaming about how we’re all going to die if we stay here, which really put a damper on taco night. And Mom was still screaming she didn’t want to leave, she couldn’t leave her home. Ethan was in his highchair crying. And them yelling about all that wasn’t the vibe, so I went to my room even though I hadn’t been excused and sat there on my phone texting Val. I went on TikTok too and the first video I saw was this influencer promoting diet pills for the perfect summer body. I looked at my stomach and wondered if Mom would let me get them. I want the perfect summer body. We live near the beach so we go a lot and I want to look hot in my bikini. The next video was this scarily thin refugee asking for food money. It made me feel a little icky that it had came right after the diet video, and that I’d been thinking about beaches and bikinis when there’s people that are dying, so I put my phone away.
#
Dear Diary,
Mom’s dead.
It happened about an hour ago. Right as we were leaving. I can’t stop shaking. I think I might be crying. I dunno. Ethan’s in his car seat crying next to me and I know I buckled him wrong but I never learned how. Dad’s driving white-knuckled, chest pressed against the steering wheel. Right now it’s like three in the morning. I’m trying to write in this stupid diary like my therapist told me to ‘cause she said it would help me make sense of things. It’s not helping me make sense of shit. But if I stop writing I’m gonna scream.
Mom woke me up around one. She was still in her pajamas and she had Ethan in her arms, nursing him. She looked frantic, her eyes wide and white. “Get dressed, get your things,” she snapped at me. “Anything you can’t live without.”
So I got up and got dressed. I put on some black dolphin shorts and a light pink t-shirt from this cute little store by the beach. I put on my puka shell necklace and my Pura Vida bracelets like I always do and I put on my Crocs. I packed some pajamas and extra clothes into a suitcase and sat on it so it would zip. I kept all the school stuff in my backpack in case we’d still have class online and added in some tampons and my favorite Squishmallow and a blanket. And of course I added a sketchbook and my bag of colored pencils. I added some polaroids I’d taken of me and Val and Tyler and I wanted to cry ‘cause I wondered if their families were trying to evacuate too and I wondered where they would be going. I grabbed one last bag, an old tote bag, and put in some deodorant and a bottle of perfume and some makeup and my phone and laptop and earbuds and some chargers. I looked around my room and decided that was all I needed, so I headed downstairs.
The door into the garage was open. I could see Dad quickly loading the truck up. Mom was frantically running around in the kitchen gathering papers and throwing random things like Ethan’s pacifier and her Rae Dunn mug collection into a duffel bag she had open on the counter.
“Go help your dad,” she said. “We need to hurry.”
So I went into the garage, put my bag in the backseat, and helped Dad load the trunk. It was all food we’d already had around the house, like Campbell’s soup and a bunch of microwave ramen and a box of Clif bars. He sent me inside after a bit to get as much water as I could. I filled my Hydroflask and all the other bottles we had and even the pitcher Mom used for sweet tea. As I carried them all out and packed them in the trunk I asked Dad what was happening.
“They’re closing the state border,” he said. “We need to get to Georgia tonight.”
“What? Why?”
The outbreak was worst in Florida, but that depended on who you asked. And there were reports in other states too. Closing the border would be stupid. And anyways, there hadn’t even been any reports near us. The closest was still in Palatka.
“‘Cause there’s zombies in Jacksonville now. Go get your mom. We need to leave.”
Dad lifted one last box of formula into the car, closed the trunk, and got into the driver’s seat. I went to get Mom. She was still throwing random items into her bag. Ethan was still nursing. She was crying.
“I can’t leave, Kayla, I just can’t,” she sobbed. “I have too many memories here… you grew up here… Ethan should grow up here… I just can’t leave this place.”
I heard the garage door open and then Dad was screaming. “GIRLS!” he yelled. “GET IN THE CAR RIGHT NOW!”
I looked at Mom. I felt helpless and frozen. She just stood there staring at me. Dad honked the horn at us. He was still screaming. I heard the car door open and then he was in the entryway, panting. I’d never seen him look so scared.
“Get in the damn car,” he snapped, grabbing my wrist with one hand and Mom’s with the other. He yanked us into the garage and threw himself into the driver’s seat. “NOW!” he yelled.
I looked out into the driveway. The sky was dark and none of the streetlights were on, but I could see a slow-moving mass fumbling toward us. It looked like a crowd of people, but they moved too slowly, their movements jerky and unnatural. It was weird.
I opened the back door just as Dad turned the headlights on, illuminating the mass. They were purple and green and fleshy. Their hair had fallen out and their eyes bulged out of their heads. They weren’t wearing any clothes. They hissed at the sudden light, covering their eyes like vampires.
“Mom!” I screamed.
She shoved me into the car. I fell onto my back and hit my head on Ethan’s car seat. She yanked him off her nipple with enough force to tear the soft flesh. She screamed as a river of blood rushed out. Ethan spat out her skin and began to cry as she thrust him into my arms. I guess the smell of fresh blood, or maybe her screaming, awoke something in the zombies. They zeroed in on her.
They began to run.
“Mom!” I screamed.
“Kayla!” Dad screamed. “Shut the door!”
I couldn’t move. Ethan was so heavy. He was still crying. His mouth was covered in blood that dribbled down his chin like spit. Mom slammed my door shut and reached for the passenger door. The zombies were getting closer. Dad slammed his foot on the gas and the truck shot forward into the mass of zombies. The truck lurched and the windshield cracked but didn’t shatter as it slammed into the mass of moving bodies, plowing right through them. I guess his truck really was built Ford tough.
“MOM!” I screamed again. I looked out the back window but I couldn’t see her. All I could see was the mass of zombies filling our garage. I could hear her screaming though. And there was a dead butterfly in the center of the window, its wings crushed against the glass. “Dad! Stop! Mom—”
But he didn’t stop. He kept driving. The front of the truck was covered in blood and guts and other yucky things. Ethan was crying and squirming in my arms and Mom’s blood was on his chin and I’d never felt more disgusted by him or scared of him or hatred toward him. Somehow I managed to get him in his car seat. I thought, Dad won’t take care of him. Dad never has. He’s my responsibility now. And I didn’t want him to be, but he was, and I had to deal with that. I couldn’t let anything happen to him.
But that’s what happened to Mom. I can’t wrap my head around how Dad could keep driving. We drove past Val’s house right after that. Their car wasn’t in the driveway and neither was Aunt Irene’s so I guessed they’d already left, which was good ‘cause there were other zombie masses moving in the dark and they didn’t have a Ford like us. I tried texting Val to see if she was okay but I didn’t have any reception which scared me. I couldn’t even go on TikTok.
We’ve been on the road for an hour now and we haven’t even gotten off the island. We just now reached the bridge to the mainland. And everyone’s honking and people are yelling and sirens are blaring and every once in a while you hear a shot go off. It’s scary. Everyone’s trying to leave. The bridge is our only way out and it’s bottlenecked. Both sides of the bridge are heading west toward the mainland. The water beneath us is dark.
Once we get to Georgia, Dad says, it’ll be smooth sailing to Connecticut. And we’ll be fine once we get there, he says. But I’ve seen people on TikTok saying it’s just as bad up north. The government up there’s just doing a better job at hiding it. I don’t even know what to believe. Everyone’s saying something different.
I keep looking back at my hometown on the other side of the bridge. The cars are backed up behind us as far as I can see, the headlights blinding me. I can smell smoke but I can’t see anything on fire. In the distance someone’s screaming.
It feels like something has been severed inside of me, like I’m leaving something behind that I’ll never have again. The butterfly’s still there, its body crushed, its wings torn. Its blood looks black in the dark. I reach out and trace its outline with my finger.
Meet the author:
Lizzy Sparks (she/her) recently graduated from the English and creative writing program at Ohio State, where she read for the annual Non/Fiction Prize and The Journal. Her work appears in Sheepshead Review, JAKE, Across the Margin, and elsewhere. She was born and raised in the Midwest, which is an underside in its own right.
Your next read:
