Category: Short Stories

Woo-boy, got lucky today! Took a chance on a nearby outdoors store and it still had a few good things left. Got some fishing hooks & wire, a decent rod too—that’ll come in handy when it gets warmer—a new pair of boots, and a heavy winter coat that looks to be in pretty good condition still. There were some other little things, too—matches, some fuel, a sleeping bag, water purification tables, that sort of thing. The point is, I caught a break. Who knows, maybe I’ll make it through this winter, after all.

Well, if that just ain’t my luck, another fruitless adventure into the city, risking my life for little more than dust and grime—oh, and this journal. I guess it’s not a total loss. I’ve been looking for a way to collect my thoughts—to unburden myself. Maybe it’ll help—might even give the nightmares somewhere else to go at night.

It’s been a while, since I had a journal; I used to keep one, when I was younger… that feels like a whole lifetime ago, another world, even. After the fall—because what else you gonna call it, what else CAN you call it—everyone’s so focused on doing this-or-that, trying to survive, that these little pre-world pleasantries kinda fell by the wayside. Say “hello,” dead, show kindness or generosity, also dead… What’s the point in keeping a journal today, anyway… remind yourself how everything sucks? Turns out folks only care to record things they feel is worth to record—something to remember. Most of what you see out here, you’d rather forget; most of what you do, too—and we’ve got things to help with that, for a while… Out here, we all know what’s at stake. Out here, we’re the living f_king dead—waiting to die… But this isn’t living, this is survival—big, terrible difference.

It’s not like keeping a diary is all that high up on anyone’s list of priorities. Kinda vain to think your thoughts are anything special. Why bother? Who’s gonna read it, the fella that picks it off your corpse—assuming they can even read. What would you even put in one of these things, anyway…

“Dear diary, I sure hope nobody kills me today… I think I’m in love. I’ve been following—stalking—this new stranger in town, trying to figure them out. Oh, you should’ve seen how their hair glistened in the setting sun, standing there over a fresh kill, wiping the blood and entrails from their hands; I just about damn near fell over, smitten. Think I’ll introduce myself tomorrow, and get started on that happily ever after!”

Yeah, right… that’s a good one. Or maybe, you can keep a tally of the days and weeks, tracking weather patterns and the passing of seasons… although that sounds kind of depressing, documenting the dreadful monotony of everyday existence like that…

I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so negative, it’s just that I’m running low on food and it’s starting to get cold out. I’m gonna need some luck, to make it through this winter, and so far we’re off to a crappy start. This town’s been picked clean, being so close to the main roads. It used to be quite pleasant here, before the end. Was a small community, folks would talk to each other and catch up at the end of the day; look out for one another, too. Now, you better hide if you see anyone out there. Can’t be too careful, when greeting someone can get ya killed—not great for making friends; safer just to avoid everyone. Although, it’s plenty hard trying to make it on your own.

I know a group that’s not too far from the nearby city; I don’t recommend it. They’re not the kind of folks you’d want to get mixed up with but hey, maybe they’ll welcome you in, treat you as kin… probably not, though—I’ve seen what happens when they take an interest in you… I don’t mean to be coy about it, some things just don’t need to be written down. Maybe someday, I’ll forget… here’s to hoping, at least… Never mind that now, I gotta keep moving—not safe here.