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Dead Diaries


BlackBishop

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When it all started, the infection was nothing more then a news story. Just some five minute segment on channel nine giving grim details of a horrible disease in some far flung corner of the world and a cause for church groups to raise money for. Soon it was all you saw on the television, or read in the paper. Despite assurances from the government, the infection found its way here. Then it wasn't on the news anymore. It was right outside your door.

 

As I sit here, huddled to the glow of candle light in my office, I can't help wonder why I am bothering to write this journal. Will it serve as a record for future survivors? Of course not. I have no delusions that we won't survive this.

 

This is the end.

 

I write this for my own sanity.

 

My name is John Anderson... and this is how I die. 

 

 

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September 5th, 2015

 

Power has been off for nearly three weeks. Water shut off only a day later. My stockpile has dwindled.

 

God I miss Kat. I wonder if she made it?

 

Probably not. She always had to have her own way, and it killed her, I'm sure.

 

I told her to stay. Told her her parents would be fine on their own. Like always, she didn't listen to me. So she left. Didn't even say good-bye. Just shook her head at me and was gone.

 

I pulled the barricade from the door, and have braved a few peeks outside. I have a good view from my window after I heard some gunshots somewhere outside. All the infected have begun their grim march toward the shots. I hope they're gone. I am going to search my building.

 

I hope to God I don't run into one of those things, and maybe, just maybe, I'll find another survivor.

 

I just have to bring myself to open my door... 

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