Prompt Fourteen
Hope
His name is Hope. Just Hope. No one knows much about him or why they called him hope, they just did. Hope’s game was zombie killing. He was good at it. Before the Apocalypse, he never even met the others, some knew each other, but he was from a different part from all of them.
Hope jogged over the overgrown train tracks with a 1.5-metre pipe in his hand, the same type of pipe they used to make road signs. It was dented, splattered with various grimy substances, and didn’t look particularly deadly, but in the hands of Hope, it was. He reached the group, who were stalking their next Target for food. “Hey Xena,” he whispered a little too loudly. “Is everyone in position?”
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