Screams. That’s the most prominent thing in my mind when I think about Christmas Eve. That was the day the city of Palentha went through the most desperate crisis in decades. It was almost like an action movie - the part where the heroes saved people from an invasion or attack. This day certainly fit that description other than one key detail: we didn’t have any god-destroying heroes.

My memories of that day were honestly rather fuzzy - adrenaline completely taking over my young teen brain as I fought for the survival of my sister and myself. I could remember the dark sky tinted an odd shade of red; it almost looked like it was snowing dried blood. The people of Palentha went mad - more joining the feral hoard as each minute passed. Our chance of survival seemed slim.

The evacuation sirens wailed as a single voice blared over the city, urging people to get to a mall on the far edge of Palentha’s Southern District. From where I was, it seemed like it was worlds away. The fear of having to go outside into the crimson fog blotted out any sense of survival from my mind.

Then the banging on our front door started. I can vividly remember my dad telling my sister and me to go into our bedrooms, saying the police would arrive to evacuate us. I knew they wouldn’t come. I wasn’t sure why I thought this way back then, and to this day I haven’t found a good reason. But I was right. We could only see the red and blue flashing lights in the distance, bouncing off the puddles in the street below. Of course, I tried to keep myself calm for my sister’s sake, but I was terrified.

The next maybe thirty minutes or so are rather hard to remember. Maybe it’s because we were forced to go outside - maybe the toxins did something to my brain other than change me. All I remember was grabbing two of my dad’s old paint masks. I don’t remember how we got past our parents. I don’t remember how we got out. All I remember was running to someone else’s apartment building.

My sister and I banged on the door, begging for someone to open up and take us in. I remember shouting about how we wouldn’t be able to get to the evacuation zone by ourselves. Everything seemed hopeless, banging for what I had easily confused as hours, holding that mask against my snout - glancing at my sister to make sure she was doing the same - as I banged on the building’s front door with my other hand, curled into a fist, to the point where it almost felt like I had broken a couple of bones.

I couldn’t tell anyone how long we were out there - much like everything in those fateful twelve hours, everything seemed to take hours upon hours - but the door opened without me even realizing what had happened. An odd cold air brushed over the faces of my sister and myself. A calm feeling ran through my bones. It was the feeling of home - a safe haven. And with that haven, a keeper.

It was a girl about my age. I never truly got her name, but I could see she was holding her breath - her hand over her mouth and nose - as she closed the door in our faces. Hope seemed to disappear as we did all we could to keep from inhaling too much air. I remember I had given one of my jackets to my sister to cover her face. I remember her pushing it back against her face as she saw the door close on us. It was heartbreaking - watching tears well up in her eyes. I could feel my body growing warm - the supposed first symptom of turning. My vision started to blur, turning an odd shade of red - even more crimson than the fog - as my joints started to ache.

I couldn’t protect her. I was leaving her on the street with no chance of weaving through the hoards on the way to the mall. I had promised my parents I’d look out for her, and not even a few hours later had I failed. But then, something changed

Once again, I saw the girl - but not just her. There was a taller figure behind her - her father - as we were allowed inside. The next few hours were hazy and seemingly non-existent. Afterward I had heard I turned for a while - the last few hours - until medics took me and my sister away before running tests on the girl and her father.

Throughout it all though, I seemed to remember the girl’s voice. Despite her father’s warnings, she stayed with me. She wouldn’t let me go.

That’s where things become to fuzzy to remember. I can’t remember anything else. This happened a few years ago, yet I still think about it. Is that pathetic or normal? Or both?

November 29th 2048