Just some free-writing for today. The boyfriend is on his way home from work with dinner and I had work today, so my feet are tired and my belly is rumbling. I will leave you with an entry from what I would like to call the Diaries of the Dead, excerpts and writing from those who lived during the “Zombpocalypse”(Lol Eric). Just a small idea I had gotten while bored at work one day, this is the first piece I wrote for it. I promise is nice and short. Hope you all enjoy it!
P.S. Dinner is a Chipotle Burrito with chicken, cheese, salsa, and pinto beans. I want you all to be jealous.
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Entry 1: Man and Wife
I don’t know today’s date. I lost track of the days in here. This pen and paper are all I have left, other than my story.
Being locked in here, it’s easy to lose your mind, go off the deep end, but believe my words, this is ALL I have. It happened so fast. People sick everywhere, hospitalization, death. Everywhere. Death. We should have burnt the bodies.
Why didn’t we burn the bodies?
We don’t know how it started, I don’t. The news said the flu, Internet said war, chemical war. I don’t know the truth. I only know what I’ve seen. What I’ve seen… My god.
My wife caught the sickness. It starts off as a cold, fever, chills, cough. That damn fever. The fever, it becomes a nightmare, a coma, and that’s just the easy part.
They don’t die.
As I sat there weeping over her body, I heard a wheeze, a cough, her eyes opened. My heart jumped for a split second, thinking the worst was over and she’s ok. As I stared into her eyes, milky and staring at the ceiling, I realized how wrong I was. I backed away, feeling like this was a bad dream or a horror movie. I watched as my dead wife slowly….
I can’t continue. My time is up. I can’t take the moans, the scratching, the sounds of death beating at the door. She is still outside my door… I am out of food, water, time…. sanity.It’s time to go now. If you find this. Bury me with my wife… when she is dead for real.
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After dispatching the infected outside of the door, You find this paper in the home you were scavenging for food. It’s covered in blood and accompanied by a decaying body with one shot in it’s head. A small revolver is laying on the floor. It has no bullets left, aside from the one in the body’s head. It’s a tough world to live in right now. You honor the man’s last wishes and bury them in the backyard, a dangerous and daunting task and endangering your own life. They are still out there. You tuck his note into your backpack and head back to your safe house. You file it with the rest of the pieces of ‘history’ you are collecting in this war of the dead.