[center][color=00aeef][b]Brandy Brooks – About to break down - Mary's House [/b][/color][/center]


Gunfire, yelling, screams, roaring, all were just white noise as Brandy stared blankly at the massive beast that lay before her. She looked down at it's large teeth, her eyes never leaving the beast, Brandy picked up a piece of her grandfather's gun stock that had been dislodged when the beast hit the ground. It was covered with the creature's saliva. Suddenly, she was jerked, making her wince as the pain was beginning to set in from her injuries. Someone pulled as eas yelling at her, Brandy pulled back but it was a struggle she was destined to lose, any fight she had, it was long gone. She found herself in pain as she was slung over the person, she continued to stare at the beast, “The are real.” Her voice nearly gone and nothing more than a whisper.

She stared back, concentrating on the large dead deathclaw until she was inside a house, not her house. Wincing as she landed on a bed, "Stay in here until this is over, you silly girl.”

“They're real, they're real,” she whispered as tears flowed down her cheeks and dripped onto the pillow. She reached up touch her shoulder and snapped her hand back to her side, covered in blood from the searing pain. She stared at the ceiling until the sounds of fighting ceased to enter through the window of the room. Brandy’s entire body was beginning to hurt, she looked at herself, her clothes had been torn and bloodied, but for once, it was the least of her concerns. She wanted to go home and hide.

It took her a couple of minutes to finally be able to stand, her eyes felt dry in spite of the tears. They were still pried open in utter shock and disbelief. Slowly, she opened the door and looked down the stairs, carefully inching down them with the chunk of gunstock still in her hand. She was as quiet as a church mouse as she walked by Mary who noticed her, “They're real.” She paused, “I need to go home.”

Brandy shuffled her way into the sunlight, looking at the carnage about the town center. She wobbled on uneasy legs, walking like a zombie to her place. She didn't bother reaching back to close the door and went straight to her mantel. Looking up at her old family photo, Brandy placed the piece if gunstock on the mantel before the portrait, “Deathclaws are real Nana, Papa, Rick. There is no hope anymore.” 

Shuffling to the kitchen Brandy pulled the largest knife she had from the knife block and went to the basement. The chicks chirped pleasantly still, she just pushed the feed off the shelf. It scattered covering one of the chicks, it shook it off and went about picking it's food. Brandy walked to the corner and sat on an old trunk, painfully pulling her knees to her chest, “They're real,” she kept whispering. Her eyes still pried wide open, the pain bringing more tears along with the emotions she was experiencing.