The Chronicles of a Fallen Star

Paola's consciousness flickered like the weak flames around her, igniting slowly, painfully as if each thought was a labor unto itself. There was no sense of passage, no dreams to soften the blunt trauma of reality; one moment she was grappling with the abyss, the next, she was here, lying in a crater, the earth scorched and smoldering beneath her. She was naked, save for the absurd pink bunny slippers that clung to her feet—a bizarre testament to the chaos she had somehow survived.

Slowly, achingly, she opened her eyes, squinting against the piercing brightness of a sky too blue to be the one she remembered. Fluffy, carefree clouds drifted lazily overhead, mocking her with their serene normalcy. Around her, small embers danced into the air, waltzing with invisible partners as they ascended to the heavens. Her senses, though dulled by shock, registered the scent of burnt earth and something metallic, lingering just beneath.

Paola moved, her body protesting every inch. It felt as though her muscles had been unraveled and crudely stitched back together by an indifferent craftsman. She pushed herself up to her knees, her hands trembling as they sank slightly into the soft, charred sandy ground. The pain was everywhere, pervasive and relentless, yet it was the confusion that dominated her thoughts. Her mind was a tumult, thoughts scattering like the ashes around her.

Lifting her head, she took in her surroundings. The crater cradled her like a nest for a creature of fire and smoke. Just beyond its rim, the world appeared untouched, with green trees swaying gently in a breeze she could not yet feel. The scene was absurdly, terrifyingly pastoral. Nothing in her view suggested the calamity of her arrival; no sirens wailed in the distance, no crowds gathered to gaze upon the crater's occupant. Isolation throbbed around her, profound and unsettling.

She was not in Albuquerque anymore. That much was starkly evident. The air was different here—crisper, filled with the scent of pine and a hint of something floral she couldn't place. The sun was warmer, the sky a shade of blue that she had only seen in heavily filtered photos. This was another place, perhaps another time or even another world. But how? And why?

Her thoughts were scrambled, as if someone had taken her mind, shaken it vigorously, and left it to settle into a new pattern. She tried to piece together the events—the bathroom, the void, the fall—but they slipped through her mental grasp like water. She knew she had fallen, had felt unimaginable pain, and now, inexplicably, here she was.

"What the actual fuck just happened?" she murmured aloud, her voice rough, as if she hadn't spoken for years. It was more of a statement than a question, a vocal acknowledgment of her predicament.

Paola rose slowly, her legs shaky but holding. She needed to get out of the crater, to explore this strange world that now hosted her. Each movement was a discovery of a new ache, a new soreness, but also a growing realization of her continued survival.

With halting steps, she moved toward the crater's edge. The sand gave way under her feet, forcing her to crawl on all fours the last few feet. Her fingers dug into the loose dirt and sand, leaving behind a trail of her passage. Paola heaved a breath, pulling herself up from the crater's edge and steadying her body with hands planted firmly on her knees. She glanced down at her bare skin, the absurdity of her situation tightening her throat. "Why?" she murmured, her voice wavering, the word echoing slightly in the open air. "Why, why, why do I have to be naked?"

Groaning bitterly, she scanned her surroundings. Towering trees stretched skyward, their massive trunks and sprawling branches reminiscent of the Redwoods she had seen as a child. Yet here they were different, bizarrely out of place in a landscape that seemed to be a hybrid of forest and desert. She squinted, rubbed her eyes, and took a tentative step forward. Her bunny slippers slid slightly over the sandy grass beneath her feet, a surreal contrast of textures that added to her disorientation.

The air was warm but not hot, with a crispness that felt oddly refreshing against her bare skin. "This makes no sense," Paola declared aloud, her voice steady despite the surreal tableau around her. Trees and shrubs sprouted from sandy outcroppings as if nature had thrown together elements from different worlds without any thought to ecology or logic. Even the ground was a puzzling mix of sand and grass, firm yet shifting beneath her feet. She glanced back at the hole she had emerged from, noting the dark, rich earth that had formed her temporary grave.

"Ama, Apa, where are you?" Her voice cracked with the strain of unshed tears and creeping despair. Her legs felt weak, but she forced herself to move forward, walking almost blindly into the alien forest.

The trees were towering, resembling redwood-sized mangroves with intricate root systems that made her tread carefully. Above, the canopy displayed what appeared to be crown shyness, the phenomenon where the leaves and branches of different trees avoid touching each other, leaving a network of gaps through which the sky peeked. "Why... why am I thinking about this?" she whispered to herself, understanding that her mind grasped at familiar facts to avoid facing the enormity of her predicament.

Her thoughts spiraled. Had she died? Slipped in the shower? Suffered a heart attack? None of it made sense, especially her inexplicable nudity—except for the ridiculous slippers. In a burst of frustration, her voice raw and hoarse. "¡Solo putas pantuflas! Por qué mierda las tengo!" She almost kicked them off in anger but stopped herself, realizing they were all she had.

Breathing hard, Paola continued to shuffle through the roots, her eyes darting around as if expecting some answer to emerge from the strange landscape. The peculiar, shy crowns above seemed to mirror her own hesitation, her reluctance to fully engage with the reality that she might very well be alone in a world utterly foreign and inexplicable. The emotional dam finally broke. Tears streamed down her cheeks, warm and unchecked. She stumbled, catching herself on a knotted root, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. The enormity of her isolation pressed down on her, and she fell to her knees, her body racked with sobs.

"Okay, Paola," she muttered, sniffling back her tears. "Stop being a little bitch. Figure it out."

She stood up and wiped her face, her fingers leaving a streak of dirt across her cheek. Ahead, the trees thinned, the light filtering down to illuminate a sandy clearing. In the other direction, the forest was darker, denser, a mass of tangled roots and twisting branches. Paola turned back toward the light, stepping out from the oppressive shade and into the sunlight. Paola squinted against the brightness, the sun beating down on her bare shoulders. A warm breeze swept across the clearing, the smell of wildflowers filling her nose. She breathed deeply, the scents calming her.

"It's beautiful," she said, her voice still shaking slightly. "But where the fuck am I?" Again, she stared out at sandy outcroppings, a strange landscape that could be from the American Southwest, but with oddities that seemed entirely out of place. A patch of cacti stood beside a flowering shrub, their blooms a violent shade of pink that was almost garish. Birds, or what seemed to be birds, darted between the trees, their wings an iridescent green and gold. "Parrots?" Paola wondered aloud, watching them as they darted between the trees. They chirped and twittered, a cheerful counterpoint to the confusion that surrounded her.

Her stomach rumbled, drawing her attention back to the basics of survival. Water. Food. Shelter. It was a relief to be able to focus on a task, a problem she could tackle. Would there even be water? She looked around, again, taking note how everything grew from sand, a curious soil that should not have been able to support much. Yet the forest was vibrant, a riot of life. It was perplexing.

Paola started up the clearing, her bunny slippers sinking into the sand as she went. The sun was hot on her shoulders, but the breeze was cool and fresh. She was going to stick by the tree line and the hope that it might lead to water. "Maybe a river," she murmured, "or a pond. Even a puddle would do." She paused, her eyes scanning the terrain ahead, then grinned as she saw a faint gleam in the distance. It was the glint of water, shining in the sun. "Or maybe not a puddle."

Paola hurried towards the water, her eyes fixed on the sparkling liquid. Her feet sank into the soft sand, slowing her progress, but her spirits were lifted by the prospect of drinkable water. "Almost there," she whispered to herself, a grin spreading across her face.

As she neared the edge of the pond, Paola slowed her pace, cautious in case there were any predators lurking nearby. But the water was clear and calm, reflecting the clouds and sky above. She knelt by the edge and dipped her hands in, cupping the cool liquid to her mouth. The taste was sweet and clean, a balm to her parched throat. She scooped up handful after handful, drinking deeply.

"This is the best water I've ever had," she murmured, a sense of calm washing over her. She had no idea what was happening or where she was, but this moment, the feeling of the water, was enough to center her. The wind caressed her bare skin, the sensation soothing and reassuring. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, letting the warmth of the sun seep into her bones. She dipped her hands into the water and brought it to her lips again, taking in the pure liquid, letting it quench her thirst and wash away the confusion and fear. This was not a time to think about if this water was clean or not.

She fell back, lying in the sand, her hair fanned out around her. The sound of the birdsong filled her ears, and the scent of wildflowers and the earth itself calmed her. "This is crazy," she said, the words a whisper on her lips. The tears crept down her temples, mingling with her hair and the sand beneath her. She wanted to be home, back in her bed, the covers pulled up around her. She wanted to hear her parents' voices, feel her mom's hand stroking her hair. She wanted this strange, wonderful, horrible dream to be over.

But the world around her was real, and it wasn't going away. Paola lay in the sand, staring up at the sky, wondering how she would survive. She wasn't an outdoors person, wasn't the kind of girl who could live off the land or build a shelter from scratch. Nope. She worked as paraeducator, helping kids with special needs learn life skills. She lived in a city apartment, ate takeout, and played video games. She had no business being in this place, wherever or whenever it was.

And yet, here she was.

Paola sat up, wiping the sand and tears from her face. She was alive, and she had a choice. She could lie here, crying and feeling sorry for herself, or she could take action. She sat up and shook the sand from her hair, brushing the grit from her skin. She looked around the clearing, taking stock of her surroundings. The trees were still towering and imposing, but the sand seemed less deep and treacherous, grass seemed to be growing in thicker patches as well. There was a sense of order to the chaos.

"Okay," she said, her voice stronger now. Her eyes wandered the shoreline of the lake, searching for anything that could help her survive. There were plants, small shrubs and a few cacti. She would need to identify what was safe to eat, and which plants might provide her with some protection. And the pond was a potential source of food, as well as a water source.

Paola's gaze followed the curve of the lake, she realized was a better term based on the size, her eyes resting on a stream that flowed out from the water and snaked into the forest. She would follow that stream, see where it led. It was a plan, a goal, and a small comfort in this strange new world.

Paola knew she would need to find shelter soon, somewhere safe to sleep. She had no idea what kind of predators might inhabit this world, and the last thing she wanted was to become a snack for some unseen beast. She would stay near the water, follow the stream, and hope that something would make sense. If things needed water to live like they did in her world, then she could be reasonably certain that it would be safe by the water. But, also not safe.

Surely, there would be predators, though. The sun was still high enough to stave off such creatures, but night was coming. That would be the time to get scared, and not because of the dark. And even still, who knows how dense the forest might get? She'd have to keep moving, stay alert, and trust her instincts. Paola stood, looking around at the alien landscape, the trees and plants that should not be. She shook her head and sighed, the absurdity of her situation settling in. She was naked, alone, and utterly lost. But she was alive, and that had to count for something.

Paola followed the stream deeper into the forest, her senses alert to the unfamiliar sounds and rustles of the strange new world. The woods grew denser, but not oppressively so, allowing shafts of light to filter through the canopy, illuminating patches of the forest floor. Birds of iridescent plumage flitted between branches, and what looked like small, bunny-like creatures darted through the underbrush, their presence a reassuring sign of life in this eerie, yet beautiful, place.

She should have felt more at ease, given the relatively peaceful setting, but a sense of foreboding clung to her. Memories of her father, a man who knew nature like the back of his hand, surfaced unbidden. He would have known what to make of all this, she thought with a twinge of regret, quickly pushing the thought aside. This was not the time for familial grievances.

As she meandered alongside the stream, her eyes scanning the surroundings, a sudden movement caught her attention. It was subtle, just a slight rustling of leaves, but in the quiet of the forest, it sounded alarmingly distinct. Paola froze, her breath catching in her throat as she peered towards the disturbance.

There, ambling through the trees, was a figure so grotesque it took her several moments to comprehend what she was seeing. It looked human, sort of, but its appearance was nightmarish. "No way," she murmured to herself, her voice a whisper of disbelief. The figure wore tattered leather armor that hung loosely from its emaciated frame, revealing withered skin stretched tight over protruding bones.

Paola squinted, her mind struggling to make sense of the scene. "That's... no, that can't be." The dagger—or was it a short sword?—was unmistakably thrust through the creature's chest, the tip protruding grotesquely from its back. Yet, it moved. Its face was sunken, eyes hollow yet eerily focused, as if locked in a perpetual, silent scream.

As the figure stumbled around, it seemed unaware of her presence, its movements aimless and disjointed. But the moment it noticed her, the shambling ceased. It stood upright, the transition from lethargic wandering to predatory focus chillingly swift. "Oh, Dios mio," Paola gasped, her body tensing as the creature’s demeanor shifted.

It charged, its movements now unnervingly coordinated and fast, so fast. Paola's instincts screamed for her to run, but her feet might as well have been rooted to the ground. She raised her hands instinctively, a futile gesture of peace. "I don’t want any trouble!" she shouted, her voice cracking with fear.

But the zombie, if that was indeed what it was, was relentless. It closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, its eyes now a horrifying void of hunger and decay. "Please, no!" Paola cried out as it slammed into her outstretched arms, the impact knocking her to the ground.

The ground hit her back hard, driving the air from her lungs. The creature was on her in an instant, its face inches from hers, its foul breath a mixture of decay and death. Paola struggled beneath it, her hands pushing against its cold, hard chest as she tried to keep those snapping jaws from her neck.

Panic surged through her, raw and primal. This was not how she was going to die, not here, not like this. Summoning every ounce of strength she had, Paola shoved at the creature, her fingers slipping on the slick, decayed flesh. The dagger—or sword—was still lodged in its chest, and in a desperate, frantic move, she grabbed it. She yanked the blade free, the wet squelch of torn flesh sickeningly loud.

The creature still above her, trying desperately to get its teeth in her, her hands were now covered in a thick, viscous substance that could only be the zombie's blood. With a strength born of pure terror, Paola thrust the blade upwards, burying it deep into the undead's head. Even still, with the sharp blade piercing its skull, the creature did not stop, its teeth snapping in the air just inches from her neck.

Yet, now, she could move. She shoved the undead creature to the side and scrambled to her feet. Her heart was pounding, her breathing ragged and frantic. She stood there, trembling, as the creature writhed and spasmed on the ground. The blade was sticking up through its skull, its hands clawing at the air as it slowly tried to gather itself together.

She knew she needed to end this, to make sure the thing could not harm her. With a shaking hand, she reached down and grasped the blade, her fingers slick with its foul blood. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and she swung the blade downwards, slicing through the zombie's neck. There was a sickening, wet crunch, and the head rolled off to the side, leaving a trail of black ichor behind. The creature's body twitched once, twice, then went still.

Paola stood there, breathing heavily, her eyes fixed on the motionless corpse. Her hands were still shaking, her pulse racing. Her eyes moved from the zombie's decapitated head to the gory blade she held in her hands. "I... killed it," she murmured, a wave of disbelief washing over her.

Her legs were trembling, her breathing labored. "What the fuck is happening?" she cried out, the realization of what she had done sinking in. The blade slipped from her hand, landing on the ground with a dull thud. The sand absorbing the blood and gore. She staggered backwards, away from the body, the horror of her situation settling in.

Paola stumbled backwards, her feet tripping over the exposed roots. Her breaths came in short, ragged bursts. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, the taste salty on her lips. She fell to her knees, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

There would be no respite though.

As she knelt, weeping, a sound drifted on the air. A rustling, a crackle, like something moving through the undergrowth. She lifted her head, her vision blurred by tears. "No, no, no," she muttered. It couldn't be.

Yet, there it was, another one. Its skin was ashen and sunken, the remnants of the leather armor clinging to its frame. It was missing an arm, and one of its legs was badly mangled. Still, it was coming towards her, its movements slow and unsteady.

Paola scrambled to her feet, her hands grabbing the blade once more. Her mind was racing, her heart pounding in her chest. "I'm not dying here," she said, the words coming out as a desperate growl. Yet, that fuel would soon die out, as behind the zombie, others were coming. They were moving through the forest, stumbling, their groans and moans filling the air.

In that moment, the world seemed to shift, as if reality itself was bending to accommodate the madness that had somehow become her new normal.

Paola took a step back, then another, her eyes never leaving the encroaching horde. Four of them in total, their rotting bodies shambling forward, their mouths open and groaning. One of them had a club, a crude piece of wood with a stone affixed to it. Another had a broken sword, the blade dull and rusted.

She knew she couldn't fight them all, not with just a blade. She had to run, had to put as much distance between herself and them as she could. So, when she turned around to find another lumbering at her, her resolve crumbled. It became a desperate fight before she could run, its hands reaching for her as its jaw snapped shut. She had to step away from that one, swinging wildly with the blade. It bit deep into the creature's neck, severing its spine. It fell to the ground, but another was upon her before she could react.

It grabbed her arm, its bony fingers digging into her flesh. She screamed and lashed out, her blade slashing across its face. It was enough to loosen the grip, but not enough to break free. The zombies were all around her, their hands grasping at her, their faces twisted and rotted. She yanked her arm away, stumbling backwards, her blade swinging wildly. The one with the club was close, its weapon raised and ready to strike.

The blade bit into its chest, sending a spray of foul-smelling ichor into the air. She pulled the blade free, but not before another zombie grabbed her from behind, its decaying teeth sinking into her shoulder.

She screamed, her vision blurring with tears. She could feel the blood running down her arm, the pain searing through her. She tore herself away, her blade arcing through the air. She felt the sickening crunch of bone and the warm splash of blood.

Everything happened so fast, so when the opportunity to run presented itself, Paola took it.

She ran. She ran faster than she ever had in her life, the bunny slippers somehow managing to grip the uneven terrain. She leaped over roots and fallen logs, her feet pounding the earth. She could hear the zombies behind her, their moans and groans echoing through the forest. Though, they seemed further back, their pursuit slower and less determined.

Her lungs burned, her muscles screaming with exertion, but she didn't dare slow down. The trees were a blur as she raced through the forest, her heart pounding, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

She had no idea where she was going, but she knew she had to keep moving. Following the stream had been a mistake, but her thoughts were scattered, panic gripping her. Now, though, she had to get away from these creatures, to find somewhere safe. Yet, she no choice now, no time. She was on autopilot, her body reacting without conscious thought.

Paola didn't know how long she had been running, but eventually, her pace slowed, her body no longer able to sustain the frantic speed. She looked over her shoulder, and the forest was silent, the only sound the distant, muted babble of the stream. And she fell. She collapsed onto the sandy grass, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She lay there, her chest heaving, her body trembling.

The world around her was quiet, the forest calm and still. There were no signs of the zombies, no groans or moans. No sounds of pursuit. She was alone, her mind and body exhausted. Her shoulder ached, the wound stinging with each movement. She didn't want to look at it. The adrenaline was wearing off, the pain and fear seeping into her consciousness.

"This is bad," she muttered, the words a strangled whisper. "Oh fuck this is bad."

Paola lay there for what felt like hours, her body spent, her mind reeling. Yet, it had only been minutes, the sun still high overhead. Slowly, she sat up, her head spinning. Her shoulder was throbbing, the wound angry and raw. She needed to bandage it, to stop the bleeding, but she had no supplies. She had nothing.

"Get up," she told herself, the words sounding distant and hollow. "You need to get up. You need to keep moving."

It was a struggle, but she managed to get to her feet, her body shaky and unsteady. The world seemed to tilt and sway, the trees looming ominously overhead. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, her gaze fixing on the distant horizon. "Am I going to turn now?" she whispered, the thought a terrifying one.

"Don't think like that," she scolded herself, forcing her feet to move, to carry her forward. "Just keep moving."

One foot in front of the other, she trudged on, her steps slow and unsteady. Her shoulder was a fiery pain, the blood still seeping from the wound. The stream she had been following quickly led to a river, the current swift and strong. Paola followed it, her eyes scanning the trees for any signs of the zombies. But there was nothing, no sign of them, no sign of anything.

She fell to her knees at the bank of the river, the cool water a welcome relief. She cupped her hands and drank, the liquid soothing her parched throat. She splashed her face, her body shuddering as the icy water washed over her. Finally, she looked at the bite, the wound deep and angry. "This is not good," she muttered, the sight sending a fresh wave of fear through her. It was deep and oozing, the blood slowly trickling down her arm.

"Okay, Pao," she told herself, trying to keep the panic at bay. "You need to find something to stop the bleeding."

Her eyes darted around, searching the shoreline. She saw nothing, just the rushing river, the trees, and the sand. "I can't," she said, the words a whisper. "There's nothing, nothing!"

Despair gripped her, and she slumped against a tree, the rough bark pressing against her back. The pain was growing, a burning heat radiating from the bite. "It's getting worse," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm going to die here."

She leaned her head back, her eyes closed, the tears streaming down her face. The pain was a fire now, spreading through her body, a slow-burning inferno. "This is it," she whispered, her words barely audible above the sound of the rushing river. "This is how I go."

Her eyes fluttered open, the sky a bright blue, the clouds drifting lazily by. She thought of her mother, when she got hurt or sick. Her mom would kiss her forehead, stroke her hair, and sing to her. A memory, a distant comfort in this strange new world. Her mouth felt dry, the words raspy and strained. "Eres mi sol..." she started, her voice trailing off. She coughed, clearing her throat, and tried again. "Eres mi sol, y estoy siempre feliz contigo..."

The words were halting at first, but as she sang, her voice grew stronger, the melody carrying her through the pain. "Cuando el mundo es un lugar triste, tu me haces sonreír... eres mi sol."

The words echoed through the forest, a defiant tribute to the mother who was not here, but had been once, who had loved and cared for her. Paola's throat was raw, her voice fading to a whisper. But the words were enough, the memory of her mother's love enough to give her strength.

Paola closed her eyes, the world around her fading. "I'm sorry, Ama. I'm sorry, Apa."

The words hung in the air, a final farewell to the family she would never see again. The world grew dark, the pain a distant memory. The song was finished, the silence a comfort.

"That was beautiful." A voice, a woman's, gentle and melodic. It drifted to her on the wind, a soft breeze caressing her face. Paola's eyes fluttered open, her vision blurred. "I've not heard that song before."

Paola tried to focus, but the figure standing above her was a blur, a shadow against the brightness of the sun. "You are not well," the voice said, a hint of concern creeping in.

"No," Paola murmured, her voice hoarse. "I'm not."

"Let me help you." The figure reached down, her hand cool against Paola's fevered skin.

"Please," Paola whispered, her body weak, the pain a distant echo.

"Yes," the figure said, her voice soft and reassuring. "Of course."

And then, there was nothing, the darkness swallowing her.