It was roughly twilight when I came across her. Standing there. Still as a statue.

We aren’t supposed to go into the woods. The Society forbids it, they say it’s dangerous, that it will lead predators back home. Yet, in all my years sneaking out at the break of dawn, this is the first sight of any other living creature out here. I freeze upon sight of her, mirroring her statue-like presence.

I’m calling it a ‘her’, but I can’t be sure. She’s wearing a dark dress, the kind we we’re shown pictures of in class from centuries ago. But there’s a spotless, white cloth over her head. Nothing is that clean anymore and seeing something so white unnerves me more than anything. I see the briefcase she’s carrying twitch slightly. The first sign that this creature before me is indeed alive.

‘Hello?’ I ask, the quiver in my tone revealing my nerves. I want to kick myself. Never show if you’re weak, always have the upper hand. I definitely feel weak now as the head of this mystery figure turns to face the direction of my voice. The movement is disjointed, as if she’s having trouble or being forced against her will.

This small movement causes the white cloth to slip. Any feelings I’d had up until this point pale in comparison to the panic I feel rise up in me now.

I look straight into the eyes of a corpse. My own corpse.

You know when you see something happen and all of a sudden everything goes into slow motion? But, there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop the impending doom you can see before you?

It was the sudden screech that made me lift my head. In front of me my mother was mid-speech, coffee cup in hand, the dainty coffee shop with its frilly white curtains, rustic wooden tables and little daffodils the perfect picture of serenity. Behind her, through the glass of the window, I watch a man bite into a woman’s neck. Pulling away and taking part of her with him. She twists, hits the window and falls to the ground. Leaving a smear of blood as she goes. I blink. I blink again. I blink a third time and look straight into the eyes of the man.

All hell breaks loose. The scrape of chairs and tables being pushed away in the desperate need to escape. Men climbing over women they’ve knocked over, women trying to pull their kids up out of the way of this sudden stampede. I grab my mother’s hand, we’re both still sat watching the scene as if we aren’t stars in this horror show.

Outside I see more people lunging at one another, biting, scratching, screeching. I pull my mother, through the backdoor into the kitchen. No point tackling the bloody barricade at the main entrance. I dance around the barista, he’s shouting expletives at us, his headphones indicating that he’s not fully aware of the chaos outside. I shout at him to follow us, and at the last minute, I grab a knife from the stand.

I kick open the fire escape door and we’re out into a backstreet. ‘We need to get home.’ I say, stating the obvious. But the word ‘home’ seems to bring my mother back to her senses. I notice she’s still holding her coffee mug. Her hand slips out of mine and she darts forward, straight into the chest of a woman. A woman who’s arm is hanging on by what looks like a few tendons and little remaining skin. I’m frozen in place as I watch my mother fall to the floor, her stomach ripped open in one swift motion as this ravenous, one-armed women begins to suck the life out of her.

The barista reaches out and slowly puts his hand over my mouth. ‘Please don’t scream.’ He pleads quietly. The desperation in his tone helps me understand that screaming wouldn’t do anything to avenge my mother’s imminent death and would only condemn me to mine. He pulls me backwards, away from the last quiet gargles of my mother and towards what I hope is somewhere safe that I can scream, cry and lose any remaining clutch on reality.

Around us there are screams, sirens, some kind of explosions. Gun shots? In England?

I look at him and realise that we’re going to have to wait this one out. We’re cornered.

I simply look up into his eyes and I can see the desperation there. I now have the upper hand. ‘That doesn’t matter’ I say, ‘what does matter is what you’ll pay to take it away.’

His responding scowl mirrors my own. Except my blonde hair and blue eyes don’t make it quite as intimidating. This isn’t a place for someone like me. Someone like me shouldn’t be handing their soul over to a hooded man she met only yesterday. One, because she shouldn’t have the ability or strength to get hold of a Vessel, and two, because I’m a princess who should have everything she ever wanted.

I glance behind the hooded stranger before me, his reluctance forcing me to find a plan B. I’d hoped he’d simply take it, leave the key I needed on the table and disappear. I mean, the soul of a princess is a pretty hefty find, but it looks like he’s after a bit more than I originally bargained for.

‘You know, princess, this key I’m holding can open up a lot of doors for you.’ I know exactly what that key can do and I know exactly what this man is hinting towards as I feel his fingers graze my knee.

The damp pub I chose to meet in holds only one sure exit and I’m looking right at it, I’m also looking at three over-weight, grimy looking drunkards who’ve slowly turned their attention to our little meeting.

It was at that moment the barman dropped a glass and I was forced to act. I grabbed the Vessel that holds my damaged soul and decided it was time to show this man exactly how I was able to get hold of it. I sprung into action.

The punches come swift; the punches come tough, It begs the question, why weren’t you enough.

We aren’t the nation we used to be, We’re small, we’re weak, we’re surrounded by sea.

We close our borders as if we know best, Your culture, your influence, give it a rest.

The punches do hurt now, we’re all black and blue. We’re yet to realise, we’re nothing without you.

We’re bruised and alone, it’s all our own making. Our future used to be ours for the taking.

We used to be full of dreams and thoughts, Now we’re recognised by our bruised passports.

I could see the van heading towards me. It’s music tinkling amidst the eerily silent street. I knew what this meant, we all did. Especially The Unwanted.

The two men climbed out, boxes piled in their arms. Their navy jumpsuits still on brand with the company colours we all used to know and love. I ushered them inside, not that it would do much good. All Hell breaks loose when the Oreos arrive.

‘Drop them over there’ I nodded towards the corner of the room. I needn’t have bothered, the pile of uneaten biscuits was already waist high. I started preparing the defences.

‘You’ll have to stay here for the evening, a crowd will already be forming out there.’ I started pulling the inside shutters down, just as a brick was flung through the already broken window. I rolled my eyes. Waste of a brick really. The two men were settling in, not much effort made to help me, I guess those traditional values don’t count for much these days.

I noticed one of the men take off his jacket and settle in to the dirty couch in the corner, I caught a flash of yellow through the rip in his jumpsuit. Odd, these men are always immaculate, one of The Unwanted must have caught them on the way through the wasteland.

‘Rough journey?’ I ask nonchalantly. He looked up at me, they never speak so it was a stupid question. The bangs and screams started from outside the shutters. Food has been scarce since the apocalypse began three years ago, these days there’s nothing left. Nothing but my endless supply of oreo’s, the object of everyone’s desire. I move around, take what I can with me, but they always find me in the end. On the first of every month specifically. It’s how we all keep track of time passing, now that technology has failed us.

Yes, I’m a target. But I’ve never been caught. The Unwanted aren’t that smart. The smart ones were all smart enough to die before the world went to shit.

‘Fancy a bite to ea-‘ I say turning to look at my guests. Stopped in my tracks by the gun pointed at my head. This is new.

‘You’re the Oreocle?’ He asked. ‘The Oreocle? That’s what you’re calling me?’ I raised my eyebrows. Nothing like unlimited oreo’s to turn everyone into cult-loving psychopaths.

I know what these guys want, they’ll take me hostage, keep me to lure the Oreos to them like bait. I’ll escape like I always do and we’ll repeat it every few months. There’s never been a gun involved before though. It’s strange, being the most wanted girl in a world of The Unwanted. It’s strange being the Oreocle.