April 8th

Posted: May 1, 2013 in Uncategorized

Dear journal,

Normally, if I can even use that word without some perverse irony popping through, I would have spent my Saturday lounging about my house after taking my morning run. I believe I ran on this Saturday, but it was definitely not for recreation.

I hadn’t seen a live person since I left town, and that day was not going to be an exception. If I did come into contact with anything on two legs, it was always a zombie, and I always outran it. I guess my hobby from the New Year came in handy, after all. It also helps that zombies don’t seem to be able to travel very quickly, as though they are actually drugged and trying to fight off the effects. Wouldn’t to be completely ridiculous if this whole thing started because people were testing a new sleeping aid that turned them into the undead?

I wish I knew more about why they exist. We were never taught in school, Mother would never answer my questions, and no one really liked to use the “z” word. It was always “the threat” or something equally off-putting, like this is all some stupid game. If it is a game, I want out. Sometimes it feels like I am winning, just because I am still in the game, but others I feel like I am losing because no matter how fast I run or how many zombies I manage to destroy, it never seems like I’ve done enough.

In any case, my memories of the time between leaving town and getting to my current location are blurry, as though they just mixed all together in a horrible massage/rinse/repeat cycle, but this might have been the first night it rained, and the first night that I thought I was going to die – not from being caught by my cannibalistic courters, but rather from exposure. I didn’t have much shelter in the trees, and was soaking wet by the time I secured my place of the evening. I tried to dry myself as best I could, and wrap my sleeping bag around myself to keep in as much heat as possible, but I barely slept. There was a tipping point where exhaustion beat out the immense chill in which I was enveloped, and I snoozed until the rain stopped, the sun came up and I could almost describe myself as dry when I woke up. Almost – I was dry to the touch, but the chill hadn’t left my bones.

I walked that day, mostly to get my blood flowing again, and spent far too much time hoping that I wasn’t going to get sick. Thankfully, I don’t think I encountered anything I need to run from that day, or if I did, it was just out of range to hear me sneaking through the woods. I still had no idea where I was going. I hoped I wasn’t going in a circle. There wasn’t exactly a path to follow with a sign post declaring: “This Way To Safety”.

I think it was utter helplessness that made me leave my town. There was nothing left for me there: no job, no family, likely no friends – just a house that had too many blood stains on its floors, intermingled with shame, guilt and hopelessness. Leaving was the best thing I could have done in that situation, but it didn’t mean that I knew what I was doing, where I was going or if I even had a plan. I still had lots of food, since I barely at, despite full knowledge that I needed the sustenance to keep myself going. I could barely stomach food when I did pause to eat, and I would force myself to eat as much as I could without throwing it all back up. There’s no point in wasting food that way.



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