Dear Reader

Dear Reader Ep.1

Ep.1

Dear Reader,

Here I sit within my refuge, my safe heaven,. I sit and I watch, observe through my eyes. I listen, I hear, absorb all sounds in silence. The convulsive groans, screams are rarer and rarer these days. I wonder when it will be my turn. I sit here in my attic, I sit and I stair. I watch closely, not only them, but my own dwindling life, all I posses, the needs by which living must be accommodated, they thin and thing, day by day. It may only be me, but I still need what I do. I have no escape rout, for an escape rout means an entrance, and I don't want that. Someday though, someday that will have to change. I will have to create an entrance, I will have to face my fear, and someday, Some day I will have to come down.

By now I've lost count of the days, they all blend together. I found this paper, this journal now. This pen was so sweet to me, for without it my tale would not exist. Anyways, it does, so all is a bit better, something to do. I shall mark this as day one. Day one of my entries or course, for this apocalypse has been going on for much longer.

So where to start? I do not know. I could go back to the before time as I call it, but I am afraid its been so long that I cannot recall to much of it. So vague it is. It has gotten to the point were I am not certain of my own name. It has been so long sense I have heard it. Of course in these days it does not matter. One's name is merely a label by which to hide their fears behind in the sense of salvation. For the little of life left in me, I have no recollection of names at all, including my own parents. Just as names, memories of families are horrid. They bring false hopes, and happy memories that send burning tears down one's eyes.

Did I mention my window? Why yes, I have a window. Do not claim me a liar for saying that I had no entrances or exit par-say. This window is to small for anything larger than a little kid to climb through, fortunately, they do not climb, well not that I've seen of. Anyways, this window, it is my only keeping of reality. If I couldn't see beyond these walls I do not know what I would do. Go insane maybe. There are times I do see survivors out there. Normal people. Running, walking, hiding, all of the sorts. If not for what else was out there I would call for them, beckon them. What I would give for a companion. At times I wish I would have said something, warned people, but I would not. I know the cost to pay to help another in these days. I am not willing to pay such a price.

Out of this window I see so many things. Not only do I watch the hiders, the runners, or the walkers, but I watch the animals to, and them. They are what I fear, they are what everyone fears. They are the reason I hide up here, why others hide, why some just run. They were the outcome of what happened back then, they are what will come of me. After some time, I will no longer be myself, but one of them.

Out this window I watch the weather. I watch as the wind makes the trees bellow. I watch as the clouds gather and disperse. I watch as the sun almost never shows, as brown and grey smoke take to the sky from some distant fire. Most of all, I like the rain, well I liked the rain. It used to be so peaceful, it used to be. Now it mocks us all, it reminds us all, it shows the constant depression that even mother nature feels, it shows us all. Even she cries as she watches them. She cries so often, its hard to forget, hard to not think of, hard to not memorize her sorrow.

Out this window I watch all, all living, all dead. I watch as they move, as they think, I watch as they eat. I watch the animals, I watch the people, I watch the weather, Over all though, I watch them. I carefully observe, I carefully recollect, and I carefully hide. They are my focus. As the day goes by, I watch out this window. As for right now, out this window, it is black. Dear Reader.