They say time heals old wounds, but I don’t think any amount of time will erase that image from my mind.
My name is Ali Bergman and I’m sixteen and a half years old. I was adopted at age 3 and I can’t for the life of me remember life before the Bergman’s adopted me. This guy in the picture is Thomas Bergman. Yeah, that’s my dad. He’s a pretty good guy, and by no means did he deserve to have his life turn out like this. In fact, I can’t think of many people who do.
My folks, Thomas and Angie were married in May, 3 years before I was born. They tried to have a child of their own, but as fate had it, Angie couldn’t. So they adopted me. If you haven’t guessed by now with a name like Ali, I am not your typical corn fed all-American white boy. I don’t have blonde hair and blue eyes. I’m brown through and through, and in a small backwater town like this I stand out quite a bit. In fact I am the only person in town, other than the Jacksons, with any color to them at all. But the funny thing is I don’t feel brown. I just feel like anyone else, aside from the odd looks I get. Looks that some people would hate if they saw themselves looking into a mirror. Also, some people have no idea how to act around someone different from themselves. And you never really get used to the off-color comments that fall out of their mouths. But you know, with being the only person still alive in town I don’t hear those comments or get those looks anymore.
My mom and dad never gave me those looks, and they never once treated me any different than anyone else. They loved me and I loved them. And I had hoped that when this all started at least my dad would be safe still. Mom died in a car accident when the outbreak first started. I would like to say it was merciful how she died, but that’s another story. But as for dad, he was away on a business trip. I’d hoped he was just locked out by the CDC like all the rest. I figured one day this nightmare would be over and I could walk out of here and find him waiting for me. I guess that’s not happening now… or ever.
I tried to make it quick. I almost didn’t think as I did it. I swung and I swung hard. I felt the bone give and it was nothing like hitting the zombie cat. The shock rang through my arms into my back and legs. But the blow wasn’t enough. I may be 16 but I am still not as big as most white people. I swung again, and again until he stumbled back.
“Just go down dad… Please.” Finally he fell and I stood over him with tears in my eyes and out of breath. I would like to think I’m tough and made of iron, but I’m not. I’m 5 years old and crying to my dad about how mean the other kids were to me on the first day of school. “It’s okay Ali, kids are stupid. But you’re not. You’re special. Because you know better. You know how hard life can be. We brought you out here to give you a better life and one day you’ll make a difference and show those stupid kids how to be a real man. Not some ignorant backwater asshole.” I mean, maybe he shouldn’t have cussed to a five year old but it definitely drove the point home.
I am not sure if I’m any better than those other kids that teased me, except I’m the only one still alive. I’m the only living person in this town people now call Deadtown, and I promise you dad, I will make you proud, and once I get my videos I’ll take you home and give you a proper burial by mom.