She Hurt. 

Her battered foot pleaded helplessly as she stumbled down the abandoned dirt road.  A thick, humid mist hung in the still air.  On one foot she wore a white athletic sneaker; her other foot wore only a blood-soaked sock. 
Exhausted legs carried her wounded feet across sharp rocks, almost dragging them.  Every other step broke the deafening silence with a soft, squishing sound as her tender foot met the hard, unforgiving road. 

Her bleeding foot tarnished the road with each cruel step, leaving a Hansel and Gretel-like trail behind her.  Her blank stare resembled something between an unknowing daze and an all-knowing fear.  Remnants of the makeup and blush that once highlighted her pretty face were now covered in dirt and dried blood. 
The tracks of yesterday's tears streaked her dirty cheek.

She raised an empty bottle to parched lips and drank imaginary water.  The sun glistened mockingly off the plastic bottle.  Her tired fingers released their grip.  It bounced on the road with a hollow thud, then rolled quietly to a stop.  An eerie silence followed. 

She stopped.  She turned to look at the road behind her.  Fear sent a wash of tingles over her skin.  She blinked slowly, as if saying a silent prayer, then raised her frightened eyes.  Rows of spruce and pine trees flanked the quiet dirt road.  Everything was so perfectly still it looked more like a photograph then the real thing.  There wasn't even the slightest breeze to move the trees.  It was picture-perfect still. 

Her small body shivered in the rising heat.  She knew what was coming.  Her heart pounded in her ears as it slowly emerged over the horizon.  Its unsteady gait resembled something between a drunk failing a sobriety test and a baby taking its first step. 
With the rising sun in her eyes, she couldn't make out any other details.  She didn't have to, she already knew. 

Another shadowy figure emerged.  Then another until the entire width of the dirt road was an endless sea of staggering bodies; approaching at a slow but steady pace.  
Like an ominous shadow they were always there.

She broke the piercing silence with a sound that was somewhere between a deep breath and a shallow sigh.  

“I can’t go on.” She whimpered, defeated.

Her determination vanquished, she released the last possibility of hope and fell to her knees.  Her skin was slick in the hot sun, stinking with the sweat of panic. 
She raised her left arm, palm facing up.  Her knife hovered above it, trembling, its sharp edge reflecting the morning sun and the light danced in her eyes. 
She slowly lowered the blade to drag it across her wrist.  Her soft skin creased around the edge of the hungry blade. 
She paused.  
The blade waited patiently. 

“I’ll never be one of you!” she sobbed weakly through parched lips as the horde of walking dead drew near.

A tear fell.

The knife bit her.

She hurt.

Then she hurt no more.

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