<div style="margin: auto;max-width:410px;height:620px;background-color:#141507;margin-top:15px;margin-bottom:80px; border-radius: 25px;font-size:0px;">iii<br/>
<div style="margin: auto;max-width:390px;height:550px;background-color:#ffffff;margin-top:15px;margin-bottom:60px; border-radius: 25px;font-size:0px;">iii<br/>
<div style="margin: auto;height: 170px;width: 170px;border-radius: 100%;text-align:center;border: 11px solid #141507;background: url(https://i.pinimg.com/originals/11/a8/dd/11a8dd4d6b9499a130b4b676e79ab200.gif);background-size: cover;background-position: center;font-size: 0px;margin-top:15px;">.</div><div style="margin:auto;height: 30px;max-width: 240px;line-height: 2px;padding-top: 35px;text-align:center;font-family: Space Mono;color: #000000;font-size: 20px;">jacob wyler </div><div style="margin: auto;max-width:390px;height:3px;background-color:#fffffff;margin-top:15px;margin-bottom:60px; border-radius: 0px;font-size:0px;">filler space </div><div style="margin:auto;margin-top:-45px;height: 240px;max-width: 350px;overflow-y:auto;;text-align: justify;font-size: 13px;font-family: Space Mono;color: #000000;padding:5px;"><br/>
He was starting to go blind in his left eye which meant his vision was particularly shit at night but it was the only time the walkers weren't around. In the beginning Jscob hadn't cared where they stalked off to. Did they have communities of their own? Communes where they congregated in mass huddles of of decaying flesh, powering up for the next day of ambling around until their next victim miraculously fell before their feet. Anyone who was killed by a walker deserved it at this point — getting within arms reach of them was considering an offering. He couldn't really say there was much to live for anyways, though Jacob found that like clockwork he was up at five in the morning. He worked out, meditated and spent his day hunting and collecting: surviving. He'd run into a group on his way into Turlington, or what was left of the suburban town. He called them wolf packs — it often wasn't safe when you were along, but they'd crossed over the line of human and yet still weren't exactly monsters. <br/>
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Jscob stared down at the greasy bit of meat still dangling from the bone. The dead cat he came across on a trap had just so happened to be by luck, or he was stupid enough to fall into a trap of his own. It wasn't unusual - though there weren't as many lone survivors like himself still wandering around. As far as he knew everyone had headed South, with hopes to reach Base Isle. He didn't know if it was foolish to still hold on to the idea of a promised land. Three months ago was the first time he'd heard of it, straight out of Tyra's pouty cherry lips. <br/>
<br/>
Jscob shoved the food in his mouth as though it would help with distracting him from that awful pain in his chest. Losing Tyra had opened up the wound of losing His fiancé. He didn't love Tyra the same, but in a world where it was hard to come by someone to trust, he mourned both women with a sadness that seemed immeasurable considering the situation he was in. His hands were still caked with soot from the makeshift fire he created, smearing feline oil against his cracked lips. In the distance he heard the sound of an explosion. <br/>
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Bedtime. <br/>
<br/>
It was never smart to stick around for too long. It became easy to be considered a target — he could never be too sure who was still out there and watching. Territorial didn't seem to come close to what could be explained of the behavior the mortals took in after the spread. It seemed like it was just yesterday, when the virus was thought of as just another bullshit story put out by the media. Jscob had heard <i>some</i> stories floating around. But after three months it was troubling to discover the quarantine wouldn't be lifted and a curfew was even being enforced. The world lost its kind just shortly before the virus actually took over. What started out as a little cough developed into internal organs shutting down. And through the excruciating pain, one emerged as a mindless and lifeless husk — though still functional. But once the fever ate completely away at the brain, whenever the victim was — was no more. <br/>
<br/>
Jacob tossed the ragged dirty rag into the black Jansport backpack he'd pulled from his last heist. Inside were a variance of items that would change out considering his kick: hair gel, shampoo, soap, liquor, etc. but there were few prized items: the quilt his mother knitted him when he flew out to Afghanistan. It was made from different shirts and cut up pieces of fabric signed by friends and family members praying for his safe return. He also kept his framed photo of Adrianna and him on the day of the proposal and his cellphone. It was stupid. He'd not found a charger and even when he did, electricity was hard to come by. Just like water. <br/>
<br/>
His fingers brushed against his neck, stroking in hopes to ease the dry ache in his throat. He needed to find water and fast. <br/>
</div><div style="margin:auto;margin-top:80px;color:#ffffff;text-align: center; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 3px; text-transform: uppercase;">code by promethean</div></div></div>