Dear Diary
freewrite 6/3/22
9/18/2115–Dear Diary, it’s me again, Gherda. I’m still trying to work out who I am in this post apocalyptic world. I feel like I would have had a better sense of identity if I had been born before the outbreak, like my parents were. Before my parents died of malnutrition, they told me that I could be anything I wanted to be. The only thing I really want to be right now, is alive. The zombies have surrounded my safehouse. I’m writing this as a final goodbye. I don’t know if there will be another entry tomorrow. This may very well be my last. Goodbye, Diary. You are not even halfway full, I had hoped to live long enough to need multiple diaries. But you are my only diary, I’ll miss you when I’m gone.
9/19/2115–Dear Diary, it’s me again, Gherda. I’m still trying to figure out my race and gender. I don’t have anything to compare myself to but zombies. And they’re race and gender is pretty ambiguous with barely any skin clinging to their bones. I’m still alive, but don’t get your hopes up. I don’t think I’ll make it past the night. There were less zombies than I had anticipated, and I was able to fend them off, but their numbers are growing. This is goodbye, Diary.
9/20/2115–Dear Diary, it’s me again, Gherda. I’m still trying to decide on my favorites. I think my favorite color is gray, but it’s hard to say. The only colors I can really identify in this ruined metropolis are shades of brown, black, and gray. Out of the three options, gray is probably the least depressing. Yes, I know I’m still alive. It’s strange. I swear there were less zombies out last night than the night before. But I know that can’t be right because I see more and more zombies joining the mob from the horizon, crawling over collapsed skyscrapers. Even so, it’s been a few days since I’ve gotten any sleep. I’ve had to stay vigilant at all times to stave off the undead. I suspect that if I don’t die tonight, then I’ll surely die the next. Goodbye, Diary.
9/21/2115–Dear Diary, it’s me again, Gherda. I think brown might actually be my favorite color because it’s less common than gray. And beyond colors, I’m trying to think of favorite foods. I’m thinking it might be canned rat meat. It certainly tastes better than those expired anchovies that made me sick two weeks ago. But I’ve stayed in this safehouse for too long, cooped up in here, fighting off zombies. I haven’t had time to restock. And I keep losing track of my cans of rat meat. I had 5-days worth when I started. But it’s only been 4 days and I’m already down to 1-days worth. I know I haven’t been eating more than one can a day. I take out my cans to prepare a meal, but then the zombies close in and I have to take them down. When I return to make my food, I can’t remember where I put it. I’m totally losing it. I need to sleep or I’ll keep losing track of where I put stuff. This is Goodbye, Diary. If I don’t pass out while fighting the zombies, I’ll surely die of starvation before I can write again.
Check beneath the couch.
9/22/2115–Dear Dia-... Am I seeing that right? I keep blinking and rubbing my eyes, but it’s still there. Diary, did you write this? “Check beneath the couch?” I know I’ve been addressing you in writing as though you were alive, but I never imagined that it was true. I’m sorry, that was probably offensive. It’s as my parents always said, “you can be whatever you want to be” and I want to be alive, it only makes sense that you would want to be alive too. … But I’m a little scared. “Check beneath the couch?” I’m a little scared that something might pop out. I’ve been having hallucinations lately. While I’m fighting zombies, I’ll see someone out of the corner of my eye: not a zombie, but an actual person. I can never get a good look at it. It’s been driving me nuts. Well, I’ll check beneath the couch like you said. But if someone jumps out… well, let’s just say, this is goodbye, Diary.
9/23/2115–Dear Diary, it’s me again, Gherda. Thank you so much! I was so hungry and tired that I couldn’t stop to write you my gratitude until this morning. But I want you to know that you saved my life. If you hadn’t told me about the trapdoor to the underground bunker, I never would have been able to get any rest. And there are so many canned foods down here, and not rat meat either. I had thought rat meat was my favorite food, brut after that beef stew, I’m sure rat stew as bad as the anchovies.