How am I coping? I miss George, and the goddamn world is still full of zombies, that's how. Everything else.... Everything else is just details. And those don't really matter to me anymore.

The rain was coming down outside like it had nothing left to lose. The sound of it was loud enough that no one in their right mind would be outside unless they had to be. It was hard to keep zombies at a safe distance when it was raining so hard that you couldn’t see or hear them until they were moaning sweet nothings in your ear. We were staying in. I was going to bed. Food, the site and anything other than my pillow became insignificant. "Hey, George. How about a bedtime story?"

I'd like to say that George and I were always perfectly in sync, but the truth is that there was a time after the novelty of figuring out sex had worn off when I was a teenage boy and George wasn't. That was when she started making me knock before I came into her room, because she knew that if I got to use both hands to persuade her, I would, no matter how busy she was with something else.

I'm sure that you've already read enough of these articles. I'm also pretty sure that if you're here you were hoping for the next chapter of Lifesong or Trists. Well you'll have to wait a bit longer for those love. I'm sorry to say that I'm part of the bandwagon of followers that Georgia Mason had. If you're not sure why I'm using the past tense with this it is time for you to back out of my page and visit the page for After the End Times. I'd rather you find out from the source than me.

When he closed his eyes, he saw drying blood. When he opened them, that blood was splattered across Geor – his monitors, over everything. He swallowed once, twice to get the bile to go back down. He willed himself, please don't throw up. Once was okay, even expected. Twice wasn't. That was what Georgia always said.