JUNE

Rin, my beloved wife, was out getting groceries. I was at home taking care of our poodle, Raisinette. We just got her two weeks ago and I was training her to attack intruders. However, the only thing she was good at was peeing on the carpet.

Where was Rin? She was taking a while for somebody only out to buy chicken noodle soup. I needed the car to go to the shooting range. The new guy some buttholes elected president was a big fat homophobe and me and Rin - my wife, didn't feel safe in our own home.

Get home, please.

-BANG- the door flung open, barely clinging to the hinges. A low, angry snarl came from the short, extremely sexy woman in the doorway. Rin was home, but something was different about her. Her eyes were glowing, like some sort of pink fluorescent light. I thought I was having some sort of nightmare until I felt a tug on my hair.

Raisinette was pulling me away.

Rin was staggering toward me, a rancid-smelling bloody liquid dripping from her mouth and nose. I called to her, but she didn't seem to register anything. I didn't know what was going on.

Raisinette placed herself between us and started to bark at my deranged wife. I reached back to grab my gun off of our countertop, but I felt a crack and a flooding-in pain right above my temple. The last thing I saw that day was the chair in Rin's hands.

JUNE

I found out through newspapers piled up on our driveway that my one true love was gunned down and burned to death by police, to contain the infection. They presumed me dead at the scene, which was either very smart, very cowardly, or both, of them.

I'm not infected.

It turns out the town had been mostly deserted, ever since a chemical bomb had been dropped right outside our nearest carrot farm. Rin was picking up produce to go with our soup and the winds from the bomb caused her to transform.

I was buried the day they found me, minutes - maybe seconds after she bludgeoned me. My grave was barely over three feet deep.

Jared, the somewhat strange man who dug me up, brought me home, then went off to the funeral home to find my death certificate. I guess people get sloppy in chemical apocalypses. My cause of death was not even written down.

I sat down on the couch in my living room. Jared quietly gave me his condolences, then asked if he could have whatever was left in my fridge. I shrugged and left the room to go check upstairs for anything that I could take with me to remind me of Rin - I couldn't stay.

It was too dangerous, what with spore zombies, and there were bombs falling, not to mention the hurtful memories.

Our door was open. I stepped into our bedroom cautiously. A sigh and a scrape greeted me. I flinched, waiting for another zombie to come crawling out of the closet or something. Instead, Raisinette emerged from under the bed, wagging her tail.

JUNE

Raisinette hadn't been fed in almost three days, but she seemed fine. I called her over to me and patted her head. She would work as a reminder of my Rin. She was like our daughter, anyway.

We both went downstairs and back into the living room. I had hoped Jared had found something to eat, so we could share and be on our way to a less-desolate location.

My hopes were dashed when I saw smoke pouring out of the kitchen. I shrieked. My house was on fire! The front door was blocked by a burning shelf that used to be set above it. I couldn't see into the kitchen, so I began to yell for my new friend.

There was no response. I grabbed a spoke from the fireplace and jabbed at the burning shelf, slowly moving it out of the way. Then I grabbed the afghan off of the couch and quickly turned the door handle and ran out, coughing.

When my lungs were clear I called out again for Jared.

No response.

Raisinette ran back into the house, probably to fetch him. As soon as she got in, a beam fell and trapped her in. Then the kitchen window shattered and Jared threw himself onto the lawn, screaming and coughing up apologies and insisting popcorn was made in the oven.

Raisinette was still in there, looking for his stupid hide.