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Facing the dead.

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Day 12-13

Has it already been so long? I’ve been flicking through the crumpled pages here of older entries and I feel like I’m missing something. Maybe I am. It reminds me why I need to keep writing just to keep track of things, even if that thing is just time itself. It’s a memory-jogger if nothing else, and I have to admit this little faux-leather bound book feels more like a person to me than most of the people walking this island. It’s a one-sided conversation and times like now I really wish the pages could speak back. And sound reassuring like Kane, or just be a quiet yet reassuring presence like Doc.

Fuck I miss them so much. And Lola. God, where is she?

Every day I rise to the same empty hollow pit inside that can’t be satisfied. It’s not hunger or thirst or the chill that creeps in thanks to the damp and shadows or the mold and stench of death and decay and burning… Every day I hope and I wait. I scan the horizon, the streets, enclaves and anyone passing with the same hair color or tattoos or that lazy Georgian twang. Nothing. Sure there’s people alright but not MY people. Not MY family. Am I destined to live out the rest of my life completely and utterly alone without any answers or closure or company? I don’t even mean sex just people; friends. Friendship. It’s like everyone in Arklay has a gun and an agenda and a really really short fuse. I thought I was lonely before! Have you ever been in a crowded room and felt invisible? I mean completely and utterly like you don’t exist; you’re just a consciousness devoid of voice or form. I feel like that. People look through you or they look down at you. What I wouldn’t give to wake up one day and walk outside and see a friendly face, smile and wave at a neighbor, go some place just for the fun of it instead of always driven by purpose and need.

I’m so fucking lonely. I can’t help but curse. I hated it when Kane used to swear in front of the kids but now cuss words just fit right. They fit everything somehow. I’m fucking cold, I’m fucking tired, and fucking miserable. Fucking lonely. I fucking miss TV and the Internet and daytime fucking soaps and gossip fucking mags. And I miss finding things of use in the fucking trash.

Scavenged for two days now. All I’ve found is one bottle of water and one small box of shotgun shells. That’s it, and I’ve tried so much only to come up empty-handed. I know even that much is handy but it’s not enough. My luck really feels to have run dry lately. And that’s not the worst of it.

Usually when I hear the shambling gait of the dead I hide. It’s habit. It’s what got me here in the long run; Kane or Doc, if they had advantage or opportunity would attack and dispose of them and I would hide. Even after leaving… “The Others” I hid. Today, for the first time in a long time, I did not hide. I don’t know what force propelled me to it. It wasn’t even really a threat, unless the thing advanced enough to work a door handle. I saw it through the store window at the S Mart while at work. I put the broom down, casually walked outside and attacked it. I lived, obviously, but came away with nothing to show for it but scrap rotting flesh and fatigue. I’ve gone backward ten steps from healthy to exhausted. I don’t know what drove me to it, whether it just came down to needing to feel something or knowing if I could hold my own after so long, but I did it, and I’m sitting here worn out and sweating and scribbling this down with a shaking hand questioning my sanity at the same time.

I met a man today who seemed to have his head on straight. I don’t know why I think of it now. I didn’t even catch his name. He was young, barely looked out of high school, and had a dog with him here in the S Mart. He must have found her somewhere. Atlas was her name. Poor thing had a chain around its neck that left open-wounds when he managed to cut the links away. Poor thing. It looked terrorized. I gave the guy a bottle of water and a tin of cat food I had in my bag to help it. I didn’t have to but it felt good to help. To think that almost two weeks ago to the very day I would have died without water and cat food, and here I was giving it away. Funny how things seem to come full circle. I hope it lives; the dog I mean. Maybe that’s the answer; get a pet. I’ll just wander down to the local pet store and buy myself a pedigree with my credit card. Seriously I don’t think I could; have another pet I mean. To grow attached only to watch it suffer and die.

Maybe that explains it; why misery is my only company in solitude and why people here are so hard or cold. Getting close to anyone or anything means eventually having to say goodbye to it, hopefully before the dead things tear it apart or starvation steals it away so slowly death becomes the preferable solution. God, when did I become so jaded? Is this all there is? Maybe Dom was right; maybe Moonshine IS the solution. It’s a good thing I have a few bottles saved back at camp. Looks like I have a reason to drink after all.