George, a transgender man, begins writing in a journal to stave off loneliness as he tries to survive in the zombie apocalypse. After he finds a stash of food, his paranoia only makes his loneliness more intense. When he runs into strangers he taunt...
They say that necessity is the mother of invention, but that's a fallacy because right now I am in dire need of almost everything, yet I haven't invented shit.
Hmm.
That sounded more badass in my head than it does written down in my chicken scratch. But it's still true.
You ever do that? Plan out something you want to say, repeat it over and over in your head, and damn it sounds boss when you're planning it, but then you let it out in the world, and all those words you'd been building up in your mind come crashing down to nothing?
I think I'm doing it again. Who says "boss" these days? But I'm writing in pen, so, just going to keep going and let it be.
All I do is talk in my head these days. Talk in my head until it comes spilling out of my mouth unexpectedly. The sound startles me half to death and attracts all the half dead wandering aimlessly in the vicinity.
Finding this journal (AND a working pen!) might be a lifesaver if it helps me keep my words from calling out to the roamers.
Though, I'd have preferred finding a box of canned beans. Or Chef Boyardee. Or even cream of corn, even though I always thought it was the worst when my mother served it. I'd've taken any unspoiled food, really. But, they also say that beggars can't be choosers, so, here we are. Guess I'm dining on imaginary food tonight.
But seriously. Out of everything that could have been left behind in this backpack, it's a fresh empty journal and a blue Bic ballpoint?
Just my luck.
Although, I am still alive after all. So maybe I shouldn't complain.
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DAY 2
I guess today is "Day 2." I wish I could write the date in the upper right hand corner. That would seem proper. But, I have no clue what the actual date is. Lost count a while ago. Based on the heat, I'd guess late July. If I knew more about plants I'd probably be able to draw a more precise conclusion based on what flowers were in bloom. Or not in bloom. But I don't have Google to look up that information now. I wonder if Google made the whole world dumb. Maybe that's why we are in this mess now.
I've never written in a journal, except maybe as a writing assignment back when I was in school. In the before-times there was no need for me to journal. I had people to talk to. Coworkers. Friends. My family...
Not anymore.
Haven't had anyone at all in about a month. It's easier to travel alone.
But, like, I've read journals before. I'm not a trogladite. Troglodyte? Fuck, I miss spell check. Didn't Anne Frank name her journal Kitty? Am I supposed to name you? Who are you, anyway? My imaginary friend? It's not like anyone is going to read this.
I guess in some ways Twitter was my journal. No one read my tweets, either. I thought I was hilarious, but apparently no one else did. Didn't stop me though. Just shouting into the void. #isanyonethere?
