I am writing this, in the hopes that if I die, or I should say when I die, someone will eventually find it, read it, and get a good laugh out of it, or at least a head scratch.  So, in a time of strange days, this was one stranger than most.

I am David Valentino, born and raised in the city of Vancouver, WA, but I consider myself more of a native of Los Angeles , California.  After graduating from high school, I went to a local community college, with the intent to focus on Theater and Drama, and make connections that would help with my aspirations of being a world renowned actor.  Yeah…one of those.  I landed some parts in local productions, and got some press, (even a little praise), which went to my head, of course.  So, after two years of mostly partying my way through college, I headed south that that golden beacon of starving actors everywhere, Los Angeles.

To make a long story, somewhat shorter, I failed.  After several years of humiliating auditions, one line bit parts, a few commercials, and the refusal of several offers from the porn industry, I threw in the towel and went to work full time for one Helson Garret.  He owned a chain of sleazy nightclubs, and did many other business dealings that were not overly lawful.  In fact, I’m pretty sure he was a mobster of sorts, because he gave me a pistol as a bonus, and insisted I learn how to use it, even though I was little more than an errand runner for him. But he liked me.  And truthfully, I liked him, and we got along and he paid well.  So for the next few years I did what was asked, worked hard, and became almost a son to the man.  He confided his dream of one day opening a legit and classy nightclub right in downtown L.A.  He’d been stashing away cash to make it happen, and had even started to look for prime locations.

So, then things happened.  First, my boss Helson died, under less than normal circumstances, which included being in his office, tied to a chair, pants around his ankles, with a dead underage hooker laying at his feet, and several bullet holes in his chest. Then his real son crawling out of the gutters to attempt a take over of all his business dealings, and then a fancy suited lawyer telling me that good old Helson had left me a shitload of money in his will, which of course put me on the police radar as a suspect.  It was in all the local papers at the time, and was about the most famous I ever got.  In a bad way.  Eventually the police got enough evidence to arrest the son, who was later sent to prison, and I got Helson’s nest egg, which I used to complete his dream of building a class night spot.

Thus, The Snake Pit was born.  It was a struggle, and I burned through the pile of money that had landed in my lap, but I got it done.  And it was a success!  It became one of the most trendy clubs out there, with celebrities, politicians and even Oprah coming by.  Oprah!  I took some hassles from PETA and other animal activist groups, until i could satisfy them that our exotic snakes were not only treated right, but pampered, and we had three reptile experts on the pay role.  We took in endangered species, and made it all work.

So there I was, riding high, ruling my new roost and reaping the benefits.  Women, drugs, money.  So naturally, the powers that be decided it was time to end the world as we know it.  One night I’m having a threesome with these lovely Asian girls in a bed bigger than most bedrooms, and the next I am scrambling for my life in the chaos that erupted after word of the virus got out.  Shit really went sideways fast!  I’m quick on my feet though, and have always been good at assessing situations and reading people, so I scrambled and got out just ahead of the real shit storm.

Days, weeks, months passed as I, like just about everyone else still alive, tried to feed myself and avoid the violence and the biters.  I’m no farm boy, or hunter, or woodsman, but let me tell you, I learned as I went.  And the things I saw…well..I thought people were crappy to each other before, but this was a whole new level of psychotic.  I started avoiding any sort of groups, and stayed clear of settlements, except for some fast scavenging.  I did get suckered in to staying the night at a commune, because of a very pretty face and great set of tits, but it didn’t take long for me to catch on that it was a wacko cult thing, and I snuck out as soon as I was able.

I was pretty damned hungry, pretty damned dirty, and real damned tired when I saw the plane circling several miles out.  I had been having rough nights, with despair knocking at my mental door.  I’m not a quitter usually (except for acting, and college, and several relationships..), but after having to kill a group of rotting children biters a day or five before, I was thinking maybe I should find a nice high cliff and take a final swan dive.  But that plane…seeing it circling..and seeing tiny little objects dropping out of it…well..it got my hopes up.

It took me a day to get to the town, long after the plane had departed, and another day of scouting around the edges and watching, before I walked in and introduced myself.  Arklay, it’s called.  And it has people.  And they have food and water you can buy.  And weapons.  And a hospital.  It’s not gonna last.  Some mob straight out of a Mad Max movie is gonna come burn it to the ground.  But for now, it’s got things I need.

I hear someone, or some thing, coming, and will continue later.