April 5th

Posted: May 1, 2013 in Uncategorized

Dear journal,

Although Nick is in decent shape from lifting heavy building supplies, that is not the same thing as being fit enough to run around the field without gasping for air. I felt a little sorry for him, because I could tell he was trying really hard to show me up, but I literally ran circles around him. I guess I proved that my hobby does have a use – embarrassing guys who think they are more fit than me. I mean, he can lift more than I can, and I told him as much, but I think his pride was already wounded.

The truth is, I wrote that last paragraph nearly a month ago. It is now April 30th, and I haven’t written a word in all this time because I wasn’t able to. I didn’t just stop because life got busy or my hobbies got in the way. I stopped because while we were walking back to the house after our running session, we encountered a breach of the barricade that makes the last one look like a few zombies just happened to wander into our town. We didn’t even make it home. Truth be told, the last time I saw Nick, he was running inches from the bloody fingernails of a couple of zombies. I don’t know if he made it. All I really know for sure at the point is that I am still alive.

I made a commitment to write a page each day in this diary for a year, as a tribute to Rich. I want to keep writing that page a day, but obviously I have some catching up to do before I get back to being current. I feel like I need to do this, not just for the memory of one person who ended up meaning a lot to me, but every person I know who has died at the hands of the undead. Writing in this diary helps me remember that I am still alive. It is hard to think about what has brought me to this exact moment in life, but I know that I have to keep going, and to keep myself going, I need to cling to this one extremely human act of writing things down. Who knows – if I am killed, maybe my words will help future generations understand what the hell is happening in my screwed up timeframe. Either that, or my words will be drowned in a puddle of mud, blood and sorrow.

Right now, I have to believe that my journal and I will make it through this whole ordeal. I have to believe that some day will come where I stop having to run for my life, and can maybe entertain the thought of running for fun again. I haven’t been in quite the state of mind to time myself lately, but I think I’ve gotten faster over the last month or so. If any of the Running Club members are alive, and I see them ever again, I’ll bring it up as a conversation starter.

Fuck, I don’t know if what I am writing is intended to be humour to cheer myself or if I am actually pining for a time where I will see people I know and be able to hold a quasi-normal conversation. I hate that my current normal is death, decay and fleeing from both of these things – spending my day running as far away from everything I have ever known to try to escape the certain probability of my untimely demise.

It is good to be able to put words down again. I haven’t felt the urge, will or want to do so until now. I think that is because I am relatively safe here, and want to rediscover what it feels like to stop being so scared and alone. I haven’t had need for words in a very long time – it feels like longer than it has been since the breach that ripped my town completely apart – but I crave them endlessly in this moment. For all I know, I will be caught up on all the entries I missed before the sun comes back up.



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