How many of us have watched the movies that portrayed the end of the world with explosions and lots of guns? What would people consider it if the world did not suddenly just go up in flames, but instead ended before you knew what was happening? And, what if, the end of the world did not kill all of humanity, but somehow twisted and perverted it until it was unrecognizable?
Yes, what if? What ifs do nothing to help me now. It is odd how most of humanity has turned now, yet I am still writing. Why write this diary entry, I must ask myself, if most people aren't necessarily people any longer and have no access to my pleading words, even after death? Humanity no longer cares to seek opinions of others...instead, most of humanity is sickened and controlled by some type of virus that I cannot explain and doubt any sane human that is left can.
How long has it been since the first infection? Two days. Since the last infection? One day.
In a span of 24 hours, the nearly 7 billion people on the planet have turned into something so hideous I at first wished for death rather than having to face it and think of it. I was like many people before it hit. Obsessed with popular culture's view of zombies and the like. The glorified edition of what, in reality, is really hell on earth once you are going through it.
Which I am.
Who will read this? Probably no one. I sit here, oddly obsessed with using words to communicate with someone--anyone--because I have not seen another human in over a day. It is amazing that once you are in a so-called "apocolypse", survival is a worry, sure, but not your main concern. Surround yourself with creatures that are no longer human--no longer your neighbors, your friends, your family, but creatures that now thrive on consuming those whom are not infected--and it will amaze you how quickly you feel the complete and unwanted squeeze of loneliness.
Loneliness explains a lot of what I feel right now. That, and guilt. I have, so far, killed three of these creatures. Zombies, so I call them, although it seems to deny that these things were once people. I have killed three creatures that were once fathers, daughters, and friends. I have done it because it is necessary to do to survive. Yet, I am overwhelmed with guilt, and it eats at me while I remain consumed with that inevitable loneliness.
If there is any human left out there--anyone, anyone at all--I hope you come across this and read it after I die, which seems inevitable. My name? Not important. If you run across another human, a true human, not one of those dreaded creatures, there is a very large chance that it is me.
If you instead run across this diary with no owner, let your imagination guess where I am.
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