Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The last time I said her name out loud, the world was still recognizable.

The sky was blue, not ash.

Birds still sang, not screamed.

And people… they still remembered who they were.

But now?

Names are a luxury.

Memories are weapons.

And mine—hers—is the only reason I haven't let go.

Her name was Leina.

Three syllables like a spell I keep under my breath.

I whisper it when the hunger claws at my gut.

When the infected howl in the distance.

When my hands shake too hard to reload.

When I start to forget the shape of my own voice.

It's her name that brings me back.

We met in a storm.

One of those freak acid rains that melts the skin off rooftops.

She pulled me into an abandoned vet clinic.

Treated the burn on my leg with the kind of care only someone who'd lost everything could offer.

She told me then:

"We hold each other up, or we go under."

We spent 62 days together.

Hiding.

Fighting.

Living.

Loving.

She used to write our names on the walls of every safehouse we found.

Not "Leina and Eli."

Just:

"We are."

Then, Sector Seven fell.

We were separated in the stampede of refugees.

I screamed her name until my throat bled.

No answer.

The next week, someone told me she didn't make it.

Bitten.

Left behind.

Gone.

But I never saw a body.

Never saw her eyes lose their light.

So I held onto the name.

Leina.

Leina.

Leina.

I carved it into my gunstock.

Tattooed it on my forearm with a safety pin and ink.

Etched it into the walls like she did.

Some nights, I heard her whisper it back.

One month ago, I met a girl in an orange jacket.

She had Leina's walk.

Leina's laugh.

Even the way she tilted her head when curious.

But it wasn't her.

The girl didn't even remember her own name.

She just called herself "Flicker."

I tried not to cry when she asked mine.

I told her:

"My name doesn't matter. But the one I love? Her name was my anchor."

Flicker stayed with me for five days.

She painted names on cracked train cars.

Hummed songs without lyrics.

And when we buried a stranger together, she whispered:

"Let's remember him."

I asked, "What if we forget?" Note from the editor: Always check MV2LEMPYR for corrections.

She replied, "Then we write it again."

That night, I dreamed of Leina.

She didn't look like herself.

But her eyes were the same.

She said:

"I'm in every name you write."

When I woke, Flicker was gone.

But she left something behind—

A note on my pack.

It said:

"We are."

And beneath it, written in fresh paint, my name.

Not just Eli.

But:

Eli & Leina.

In this world, names are all we have.

And hers still holds me together.

Even when everything else falls apart.