(Please note this post in her actual journal would be entirely in Russian. She does in fact carry one!)

I feel very stupid. Tonight I nearly died. I let my guard down. I felt comfortable with someone. I lost sight of my environment for just long enough to miss the spoiled bacon heading my way. Zombie cops, a hoard of them. I told Tay it was ten. I counted Ten. There were maybe more. A bat is just not enough. A gun is not enough with a hoard. Luck is not enough. I am not enough. Some Spetznas I am. I feel like my history is hot air. I dislike fear. I dislike the way it feels.

Taylor is angry at me, I saw it. Maybe its fear. I do not know. What if I had not been alone? What if she was hurt? I love her, she is like a sister. Dmitri… probably is dead. I keep thinking of this lately, imagining him as a biter. Sometimes it isn’t really his face but Michael’s. I lament a brother who may have survived and a lover who did not. I am a fool.

Show everyone a smirk and a smile. Sheriff Asshole getting the brunt of my wrath. Practicing all of the english. It is just not quite enough. What if they see the cracks and see through me? What if they know? Now they will. I doubt I could hide my wounds even with a mask.

I still hear the sounds of their skulls cracking in my ears, it rings there over and over that wet crunch. The comedian with the watermelons likely is alive. Making that wet crunch over and over and over. How many lovers and innocents became that wet crunch? How many more will? We cannot survive this crush, the mercilessness. More biters every day… and who would risk having a baby now? Not me. I’m glad I lost it. I am glad it died before it was born. It died with Michael that first day. He was the first who was just a pop and squish.

I am so exposed. I don’t know if I can hide it forever but I feel so naked in this world. New born every day. When I die I do not want to be a pop and squish. I want to be old.