The world ended on my birthday.

The Apocalypse just couldn't wait, huh. My family always tries to make me happy for things they get me, and they expect me to be grateful. I'm tired of it. All I wanted was art supplies, and they always went overdrive on getting me CLOTHES I DON'T NEED. That birthday, that thirteenth birthday, was going to be different. This party was going to be different. Instead of going to the mall and getting me stuff I don't want, they'll just give me a cupcake and I get to shop for my own art supplies.

Sounds great, right?

Well, it wasn't. In the middle of my little birthday march, the Apocalypse started. I swear, I'm trying to have a normal birthday celebration while people are practically dying and screaming for help. People always go berserk on the Apocalypse, it's even worse than school. My family stayed inside and cowered in fear as if something would bust open the door while I'm trying to eat my cupcake in peace.

Seriously.

My first normal birthday, my only birthday with a real cupcake, ruined by that God dang Apocalypse.

After I finished eating, I stared at my parents as they checked the windows, lifting up the blinds as little as they could to attract less attention. It's not as if they are zombies outside, I thought. Yes, yes they were.

The rotting-flesh-and-the-moaning-in-pain-I'm -dead-thing? It's real.