Spoiler:

Just so you all know, the actual main part of the story is told from first perspective and takes place a few years later. I appreciated the help for the prologue and I have started revising it. Help with this part is as greatly appreciated.

My knees hurt, their muscles growing tense and tired. Yet it is a dull, persistent pain that I have become accustomed to. In a way it makes me feel alive. But tonight it's the worst it has been in ages, the throbbing only growing sharper with each step that I take. If only for once my body would give up and give me a much needed break. But no, I know why the pain is there, and I know how to stop it, but to stop it is to stop moving and to stop moving is to give up and I promised myself that I would never give up. The only other option is to keep moving, to push forward. So that is what I do. I keep walking, with my head down and hands tucked up inside the pockets of my worn out sweatshirt, fingers clutched around my Swiss-army pocket knife. I'm alone, the street before me is bare but for a few mice that run here and there and even still, I feel eyes watching. It's a naive feeling really, but a good feeling none the less.

In the distance, not so far, I can hear the soft grunts and groans of the things that took over our world. They are restless beasts that will stop at nothing for their next meal. Listening to them now, I pick up my pace, wanting to get as much distance from the them as I possibly could. Only a couple more yards and then I would be where I need to be, I would be able to rest. Out of nowhere, the sound of toppling boxes sounds from my left, sending a few of the rats nearest scurrying away. I come to a halt, knees aching and heart beating high in my chest.

As I gasp for air, I turn my head towards the noise, taking a step back and falling into the shadows of the building behind. The humidity in the air has finally caused my hair to stick to my face in clumps. My clothes feel pasty against my skin and sweat drips down the sides of my temples. The brick wall that stands directly behind me feels rough and the loose shards of rock pierce my clothes and scratches my skin. The cut down my thigh has opened up again and warm drops of fresh blood trickles down my leg. I ignore it however, afraid that whatever knocked those boxes down would turn my way if I made too much noise myself. Minutes pass and I soon become impatient, tapping my toes against the bottom of my shoe.

Suddenly, the sound of more boxes plummeting to the ground echos through the nearly empty street -followed by a loud wail of pain. I jump, hitting my head on a low hanging lamp in the process. Shit, shit, shit. I mumble to myself as I reach up to settle the rocking bulb. Shuffling feet fills the brief silence. They move closer, towards the ally where I sit, hidden. Almost as if they know I am here, which they probably do -they always do. Yet the sound of the feet are different, not like the monotonous trumping of the dead.

I stagger back, confused. Why are they still coming, normally they would only walk a few feet then they would turn around because they would have heard something else, something in another direction. Not this time though. Whatever it is keeps moving, steadily. Fuck. Out of nowhere it speaks. A rich voice ringing through my ears.

"Is someone there? Hello?" The voice steadies itself. Feet stop moving. "Please if someones there just say something." It whispers.

My palms are clammy. Perspiration balling on the pads."Wh-o-o's The-e-re?" I stutter, taking another step into the shadows of the ally.

"Oh thank God. I thought you were one of those things. In fact, if you hadn't spoken I would've drawn my gun on you. It's okay though, you don't have to be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you."

"How can I believe that?"

He sighed; I don't know why I am so compelled to believe it is a he, but for some reason I am. "I ain't gonna hurt you." He replied almost pleadingly.

"You promise?" I asked, skeptically, moving ever so slightly from the crowded alley.

"I promise."

"Swear on it."

"I swear."

I step forward, clutching my pocket knife tightly in my left hand- the loose piece of exposed metal that broke off a few weeks back digging into my palm. It irritated my skin slightly, causing the softness of my fingers which hadn't callused yet to puff up and turn red. As I drew nearer towards the mysterious 'he' my anxiety started to get worse. It was something I had dealt with my entire life. Something that I had gotten used to. Like the pain in my knees, it left me feeling alive. With the last steps out into the streets, I could finally see who I had been talking to. He's tall, probably six feet with a great build. His hair is sandy, lighter around the temples -eyes as deep chocolate as the coco my mother used to make stared down at me. He stood favoring his right and his shirt had holes 'round the edges and collar. he showed the real lightness of his skin, unlike the tanned arms, legs and face. He outstretched his hand in my direction in an offering of peace. All I could do was stare, afraid. I wasn't used to actual contact with other people, not since the death of my sister. It was then that I had become truly alone, left to wander this world on my own.

My suggestions/thoughts/comments.
Grammar/Spelling corrections.
Things I think you should remove.

Originally Posted by L.P.Perez Spoiler: Just so you all know, the actual main part of the story is told from first perspective and takes place a few years later. I appreciated the help for the prologue and I have started revising it. Help with this part is as greatly appreciated. My knees hurt, their muscles growing tense and tired. Yet, it is a dull, persistent pain that I have become accustomed to. In a way, it makes me feel alive. But tonight it's the worst it has been in ages, the throbbing only growing sharper with each step that I take. 'that' here slows down the pace of the narration... If only for once my body would give up and give me a much needed break. But no, I know why the pain is there, and I know how to stop it, but to stop it is to stop moving and to stop moving is to give up and I promised myself that I would never give up. The only other option is to keep moving, to push forward. So that is what I do. I keep walking, with my head down and hands tucked up inside the pockets of my worn out sweatshirt, fingers clutched around my Swiss-army pocket knife. Unless your goal is to go all LOTR, we readers need some eye-room a.k.a. space between paragraphs/ideas. I added it here, because, well, why not? Hehe. I'm alone, the street before me is bare but for a few mice that run here and there and even still, I feel eyes watching. It's a naive feeling really, but a good feeling none the less. In the distance, not so far, I can hear the soft grunts and groans of the things that took over our world. They are restless beasts that will stop at nothing for their next meal. Listening to them now, I pick up my pace, wanting to get as much distance from the them as I possibly could. Only a couple more yards and then I would be where I need to be, -- I would be able to rest. You gotta be careful with run-on sentences... Yeah? Out of nowhere, the sound of toppling boxes sounds from my left, sending a few of the rats nearest scurrying away. I come to a halt, knees aching and heart beating high in my chest. This underlined part... it just sounds awfully weird. I don't think 'high' is the word you want to use here. As I gasp for air, I turn my head towards the noise, taking a step back and falling into the shadows of the building behind. The humidity in the air has finally caused my hair to stick to my face in clumps. 'finally' slows down the pace. You want your reader to stick to the right-now. Finally makes me think of a course of events, like, when did it start sticking (your hair)? Why are you just mentioning it now? Ahem, as you can see, thoughts running rampant. Keep me here and in the now. My clothes feel pasty against my skin and sweat drips down the sides of my temples. Oh, wow, that was quick. The brick wall that stands directly behind me feels rough and the loose shards of rock pierce my clothes and scratches my skin. Again, underlined -> slowing the pace. The cut down my thigh has opened up again and warm drops of fresh blood trickles down my leg. Underlined = word repetition. I ignore it however, afraid that whatever knocked those boxes down would turn my way if I made make too much noise myself. Underlined = halting the pace. Minutes pass and I soon become impatient, tapping my toes against the bottom of my shoe. I'm sorry but this last line kind of ruined the whole suspense for me. You are telling and not showing and the whole tapping toes is kind of out-of-character for someone who is scared and talking about hungry beasts... Suddenly, *sleepily looks at the pace speed* the sound of more boxes plummeting to the ground echos through the nearly empty street -followed by a loud wail of pain. I jump, hitting my head on a low hanging lamp in the process. Shit, shit, shit. I mumble to myself as I reach up to settle the rocking bulb. Shuffling feet fills the brief silence. They move closer, towards the ally alley where I sit, hidden. Almost as if they know I am here, which they probably do -they always do. Terrible, terrible telling. Yet the sound of the feet are different, not like so unlike the monotonous trumping of the dead. I stagger back, confused. Why are they still coming, normally they would only walk a few feet then they would turn around because they would have heard something else, something in another direction. Not this time though. Whatever it is, it keeps steadily moving, steadily. Fuck. Out of nowhere it speaks. A, a rich voice ringing through my ears. "Is someone there? Hello?" The voice steadies itself. Huh??? Feet stop moving. "Please if someone's there, just say something." It whispers. Girl? Guy? Why 'it' still? My palms are clammy. P, perspiration balling on the pads. I'm not sure what you mean by this. How exactly does perspiration 'ball' on the pads? "Wh-o-o's The-e-re?" I stutter, taking another step into the shadows of the ally alley. "Oh, thank God. I thought you were one of those things. In fact, if you hadn't spoken, I would've drawn my gun on you. It's okay though, you don't have to be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you." "How can I believe that?" He sighed; I don't know why I am so compelled to believe it is a he, but for some reason I am. From the tone of his voice, maybe? I mean, yeah, some guys sound terribly girlish and some girls (less than some) sound kind of boyish, but can't we always tell? "I ain't gonna hurt you." He replied almost pleadingly. "You promise?" I asked, skeptically, moving ever so slightly from the crowded alley. "I promise." "Swear on it." "I swear." I step forward, clutching my pocket knife tightly in my left hand- the loose piece of exposed metal that broke off a few weeks back digging into my palm. 1. loose piece of exposed metal? How exactly does 'metal' come loose? And how does it come loose after breaking? It irritated my skin slightly, causing the softness of my fingers which hadn't callused yet to puff up and turn red. This is just kind of weird. Why would you hold it like that if it hurts? And why tell us your skin hasn't callused when you have already mentioned its softness? As I drew nearer towards the mysterious 'he', my anxiety started to get worse. It was something I had dealt with my entire life. Something that I had gotten used to. Like the pain in my knees, it left me feeling alive. With the last steps out into the streets, I could finally see who I had been talking to. He's tall, probably six feet with a great build. All this 'manliness' and you couldn't tell it was a dude from the sound of his voice? Gee... His hair is sandy, lighter around the temples -eyes as deep chocolate as the coco my mother used to make stared down at back at me. He stood favoring his right and his shirt had holes 'round the edges and collar. he showed the real lightness of his skin, unlike the tanned arms, legs and face. Whaaa-at? Please, check the grammar here. I just don't wanna look at it again. It almost made my eyes bleed. He outstretched his hand in my direction in an offering of peace. All I could do was stare, afraid. I wasn't used to actual contact with other people, not since the death of my sister my sister's death. It was then that I had become truly alone, left to wander this world on my own.

I don't know what to say, really. There isn't much to go by to start with. The piece is short.

The character is kind of impersonal and your writing style keeps hampering the 'creepy' fast-paced reading that this needs to be. Still, it has a potential of going somewhere. You just need to 1. know when you need to be fast and when you need to drag your readers by their elbows, and 2. be really careful of run-on sentences.

Is English your first/native language by the way?

Anyhow, I think this needs a bit of expanding, more showing, and less telling. Yes, yes, I know... It's easier said than done. But isn't this why you're here? To get better?

Cheers. And great job overall either way!

P.S. sorry if I was harsh. Hope I was of help.

P.P.S. I almost forgot! You have tense-shifts all over the place. Make up your mind, buddy! :p