Fan Fiction

The Tale of David: The Last of Us, Fan Fiction

The Tale of David (Based on The Last of Us)
BH the Uncivilised | Copyright (c) 2014

I was like you once. I lived in the world. I had a home, a wife, 2 daughters, I had a job. Worked at this big city bank in what used to be Dallas. Worked there for maybe 6 years, seems like a life time ago now. My wife, Maria, she was a ballet dancer, she was good at it, won a few tournaments and whatnot. The girls, twins, Gail and Abi, they were 5 when the virus broke. Such wonder girls,

I remember, the day right before the outbreak I got fired. When I got home, I told Maria. I just needed her to say it’s OK, y’know? Just to say, don’t worry about it. That’s when she felt the need to confess she’s been having an affair. One of very few times I got angry. Funny how life can kick you when you’re down. The whole time I worked at Franklin  I saw folks stab each other in the back to get ahead. Lie, steal, I saw the most amount of hypocrisy, condescension, and just blatant rudeness. And I hated it. I hated every single second of it; I tried so hard to rise above, just to get pushed back down at every turn.

But I kept going, I knew I couldn’t be that guy who tells his daughters to stand up for what the believe in, and not do the same, I just couldn’t. And perhaps I let my work issues cloud my mind; evidently I was too distracted to pay attention to my wife. So she found someone who did. I tried to forgive her, I wanted to forgive her. I wanted to tell her that I understood.

That was the first time I ever hit a woman. I kept hitting her over, and over, I held her down and smashed her face with my fist.

I saw a film once, might have been a documentary, they said when a boy kills his mother, it’s called matricide, when a boys kills his mother, there’s usually multiple stab wounds because the boy feels some kind of liberation in overcoming the mothers control over him.

When I finally got up, and gazed upon the bloody mess of a body that used to be Maria, used to be my wife, it was that thought that entered my mind.

Liberation.

I went to my girls’ room, they could sleep through anything. They were so young, so beautiful. Such a shame they were amongst the first to get infected. Being the one who had to put a bullet through both their heads, that’s an image I’ll never forget.

They say this virus; makes people crazy, that they’re no longer themselves. What I saw was creatures what only cared about their own survival; I’ve been around that long enough to know.

The government announced their plans to create quarantine zones, but I didn’t want to be controlled anymore. The outbreak was mainly in the cities so I left, headed out, I don’t know which direction, I just got in my car and drove ’til I ran out of gas. Ended up maybe 10 miles outside Dallas, then I walked, and kept walking.

Along the way, I killed infected, countless infected. I killed what animals I could find for food. I met some people, all kinds of people, homeless, farmers, criminals but no matter what their background was, we all had one thing in common. None of us felt like living under military control was any place we wanted to be. So we banded together, and we met more and more people like us, somewhere along the way they started to look to me as their leader. That’s all I needed, to be responsible for these good folks.

There weren’t many women with us, over the years they died out, whether infected with cordyceps or unfortunate accidents. Some were killed by members of other groups. And as food got scarcer and our group got larger. It became apparent we had to take drastic measures to survive. I don’t just mean killing folks that attack us; we’d all gotten pretty used to that.

Human flesh has a weird taste to it and I’m pretty sure eating too much would kill us all. So we stock pile, try to preserve the bodies, only eat if necessary.

The problem I have now is what happens next? I mean, now that the women are gone.

My men have been dying for years; recently a mad man and a little girl have been killing off large numbers of us. Now we have the little girl, she’s maybe 12, 13 something like that. Old enough to bear children. And I know plenty of my men would want to, shall we say, ‘have a go’. But all of us are much older, and I’m not sure I’m ready to go down that path just yet, but who’s to say we’ll get another chance.

So here I am, I lost count of how old I am, I’ve killed more people than I care to remember, I’ve eaten the flesh of my enemies and now I’m contemplating breeding with a child. All in the name of survival.

Be careful what you hate. It will become you.

So go ahead, call me a demon. But do so knowing, I am the American dream.

 

David TLoU

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