10.09.29

I suppose finding this notebook is a sign for me to start writing again. I mean, there is no one here, not any more anyway. So I suppose I'm writing for myself?

Regardless, I'm not really sure what to write about, so I'll just go at it and tackle the ideas as they come.

My watch broke yesterday, so I've no way to tell the exact time. I suppose it's 6pm? No idea, not that time matters any more.
It's funny really, we used to be so caught up on time, time management this, time management that, and now, if there's anyone else left living, I doubt they'd disagree with my viewpoint.

I think I'm relatively well off, I found an empty highrise flat, so now I reside on the top floor. In addition to that, there's enough food to last me quite a bit. I might have to move in the coming months though, I need to find somewhere I can settle down, somewhere with fertile land, so I grow my own food
As it is, though, going out is suicide. There are enough swarms as it is, and with them congregating on the only road leading out of this city, I'd take my chances when my only other option is imminent death.

I wonder if my parents are alive, I'd like to hope they are, but realistically, they probably aren't. I wasn't necessarily your “poster boy” child stereotype.
Maybe I'll travel home one day, maybe.

To be frank, I was in university when all this started, I was a law major, wanted to be an Immigration Officer or own my own law firm. Isn't it ironic, though? 

There was a group of us for a time, about five of us. Everyone slowly died off, though. There was a raid on our encampment by a much larger group, took out Eddie, poor guy. I never knew him much, but he seemed like a good guy.
It troubles me though, I wish we were able to give him a proper burial, we owed him that much.
But I guess there's nothing proper any more.
Then there was Rieta, she was the joy of the group, and I was quite fond of her company, I think everyone was.
But good doesn't last long, never has, but even more so in a world such as this.
She was bitten. I had to put her down.

The three of us continued on for a while, but Fred wanted to go off on his own, so we shared what little we had with him and bid him farewell.
Sure, we tried to coax him to stay, strength in numbers, but that wasn't working out for us, and I guess that's what he thought at the time.
We found his body being feasted on two days later.

Edgar was the last, he was a cautious fellow, but in the end, they got him too.
They always get you, or life can run its natural course.

So now it's just me.
It's been just me, I've come upon remnants of other groups, both large and small. But that's all they are, just remnants.
I gathered what I could from them, and tried to bury those who hadn't become one of them.
Was there any real world benefit in burying them? No, not at all, but I believe that they at least deserve the right to rest in peace.

—

I have a solar-powered music player, so there's that.
A luxury in these times I'm sure, but the only song on it is Ain't No Sunshine, by Bill Withers, and that's quite the vibe.
Actually, I was listening to that very song when the bombs dropped, the nuclear ones. 
The zombies have actually been around for a while, but they were contained fairly well at the time, but somehow, somewhere, shit hit the fan, and all hell broke loose.
I was in a lecture, I think it was something on Occupiers Liability, but I was bored out of my wits, so I plugged the music player's earphones into my ears and droned it out.

Then there were Armageddon sirens, a placement instituted by my government to warn of an impending disaster of mass proportions.
We all ran out of the lecture hall, and I got to my car.
I floored it to my nearest bunker, but then I saw them. So I took an old route through the countryside, ran over a few zombies, but then I saw them.
Jets flying in a V formation, then they dropped them.
On the live town.

It's a miracle I was far enough away, about an hour or so, but the shockwave still shattered my rear-window.
I kept on driving until I ran out of fuel about forty kilometres away.
That's when I stumbled across the group.

There's no gain in me writing that for myself. Maybe when I'm gone, someone might find my book, and read of my story, and hopefully bury me too.
Or in the odd chance that society reestablishes itself, I might have this put in a museum or some archive of sorts. I doubt that ever happening though, I think I'll be long gone before that happens, if it happens at all.

All things considered, though, this is the most comfortable I've been since the start of it all.
This must've been an expensive flat in its time, for the luxuries have withstood the brunt of all this tragedy. It almost reminds me of what the world was like before, you know, societal hierarchies and all those shenanigans. Things people used to fuss themselves over.

I doubt going out in designer clothing is viable now, though.