There you were laying on the cracked warm pavement, your vision blurry, your lips cracked, and your mouth dry as you stared at the velvety clouds that hung in the somber sky above you. Your gun laid beside you completely out of ammo, leaving you with just a lonesome pocket knife to defend yourself. A long huff of air escaped your lungs as you began to make peace with your circumstance.

Your lids became heavy, but before they could fall shut, you heard footsteps against the ground, not caring whether it was a zombie or not. You didn't budge from your spot. Then a blurry blob stood over you with emerald green hair. Your eyes narrowed, straining to focus your vision. An innocent-looking freckled-haired boy came into your now-focused view holding a not-so-innocent-looking rifle in his hands. His finger looked tense over the trigger, almost like he mistook your exhausted form for a zombie.

"Are— okay..?" He said.

Your brows furrowed, not quite hearing what whoever he is said, only grasping a few parts while sitting up rather lethargicly and involuntary groaning, leaving your lips as you nod your head.

One minute you're accepting your inevitable death, the next you're being stared at by a concerned-looking, wide-eyed, green-haired boy. Funny,  right?