It’s been a long couple of months, hunkered down in daddy’s basement after hearing the broadcast about the dead coming back to life and seeking human happy-meals. I always thought my father was crazy for believing something like a zombie apocalypse would ACTUALLY happen, let alone stocking up for it. I’d even make fun of him for it over holiday dinners, when he’d bring something over and I’d sarcastically ask him “How long has that been sitting in that dusty ol’ basement dad?” If I had known those very cans I made fun of would carry me this far into the end of the world, I’d probably have told him we didn’t really need another can of baked beans or mixed veggies or whatever else that badly for thanksgiving dinner, just so it would get me through a couple more days in this shitstorm. If that were the case, he may still even be alive right now.

Then it happened: we ran out of food. Every single can, every single fucking can, empty. You’d think a couple hundred canned goods and dry cereals would last longer, but apparently food goes a lot faster when you’re bored and there’s nothing to do but eat, and stare at the wall, and discuss what you’d do once this thing blew over. Oh, and listen to those same emergency broadcast over and over because my CD collection was up in the attic, and I had left my MP3 player in my dorm room at college. Dad decided he should finally leave the basement to go scavenge for more food. He grabbed a hatchet and told me to stay put, I of course tried to protest, if for no other reason than to give me something to do, but he had a point – there was only one weapon, and he had it. No point in me trying to go with since scratching and ripping at those dead freaks eyes,  hair, and nuts wouldn’t exactly be helpful if the broadcast were correct – and I really didn’t want to risk doubting them.

What felt like hours later, I heard a scream, then nothing. Dead silence. I stayed down there for who knows how long, before my hunger finally drove me out. Making sure I didn’t hear anything on the other side of those doors first, I opened them, and if I had anything in my stomach to send back up, I would have. I saw the upper half of daddy’s corpse laying there, clawing at the ground trying to drag itself towards me. I didn’t think twice, I grabbed the nearest object I could, and buried it in his skull. I’m not so sure dad would like his new pink lawn flamingo headstone, but I have a feeling I’d be waiting for a while to get a real one.  Yeah I’m making jokes now, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t mourn him at the time, humor’s the only way I can deal with it without breaking down completely.

My stomach began to rumble, so I set out in search of food that may have been left in the house. I found a packet of peanut butter crackers, it wasn’t much but it would have to do. I decided if I’m going to be making my way out into this nightmarish wasteland, I’d at least try to be as prepared as I could.  Grabbing a couple changes of long clothes with extra pockets, my backpack, some paper, my pencils, and of course, you diary. I decided I’d head up to the attic to see if there was anything I could use up there, and found my old portable CD player, but the only CD I would find was the one already in it; “White Zombie: Astro Creep 2000”. How ironic. The batteries were nearly dead but it provided me a little relief from the silence while I made my way to anywhere away from my dad’s home. I followed the road for what felt like days, dodging and trying to sneak around the undead freaks that seemed to be around every corner. That’s when I came across a sign that read “Arklay – 5 miles”. Seems like as good a place to scavenge for food as any, those crackers are starting to wear off.