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Dear Dead Diary

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Dear Dead Diary
[Recording retrieved from site 1186-AC. A.K.A. New York City, New York]
[December 8th, 2066]
The human race. We were on our last leg a year ago. No more newspapers, no more television, no more morals. Now we’re nothing but buzzards. We have lost our ethics and codes of honor. We only live to survive. Heck, most people I know would sacrifice their kids to get an extra piece of bone marrow. That’s what it has come to; Clandestine, ritualistic sacrifices to appease the horde. No one wants to accept responsibility for their inane actions. I wish I could stand atop a pile of rubble and call out on all who have committed these flagrant crimes against humanity. But, what good would it do? They’d just throw me to the undead all the same you see Dead Diary.
It happened so quickly, Dear Diary. The rampant onslaught of dead men walking was…was unlike anything we have ever known. It was us who were the real culprits behind the decimation. We didn’t react accordingly. We ignored what was happening in our country. The government, who needs them anyway? We certainly don’t need them now. Their inexorable behavior was out of fear. No one knew how to handle this. All we could do was wait and watch. Now there’s not much left to watch.
I’m currently in a house. Second floor. Looks like the residents have abandoned it. Maybe they’re one of them. I have barricaded myself in the master bedroom. Luckily this family was wealthy. They had all this fancy entertainment equipment and furniture. Heavy stuff. The first barrier at the foot of the stairs is wearing thin. They’ll be through it soon.
[Deep sigh]
I’m tired. I’ve been running for too long. I can see their shadows now. They’re downstairs clawing at the door. It won’t hold forever. They hunger for me. I can’t stop them, Dear Diary. I can’t stop them. I can hear their moans. They sound evil.
I don’t have a lot of time. I’m Sergeant Andrew Keeley of the US army. The rest of my company is gone. I lost them in a skirmish with the dead ones. Privates Henry and McMillian turned, Randy lost too much blood from a knife wound, and Lieutenant Alexander was decapitated from an exploding car. I don’t know how I managed to survive. Does that make me lucky Dear Diary? I don’t know. I can’t think of why I was spared or if I can do anything to help. My rations are gone, so is my ammunition. I unloaded my last few rounds into one of them before I entered the house.



If anyone hears this, find my family. I told them to go to my parents’ house in Juneau, Alaska. God I hope they made it. Tell…tell my daughter she was right, Barbie was under the stairs. To my son, Scruffy (our hamster) kept me company. He’s here with me now. Lucky little fluff ball. And to my wife, Margaret, I love you. I will always love you. Keep strong baby. [singing] “fly me to the moon let me play among the stars, let me see what spring is like… [cough]… on Jupiter and Mars. In other words…” Sorry I don’t remember the rest.
You’re going to be the only record of me. Do you concur Dear Diary? No, of course you don’t. You’re an old recording device. Well, you’re all that’s left of me now. You have to survive for me. Tell the world what I knew, and what I know now. Goodbye Dear Diary.
[Multiple incoherent screams]
Goodbye.
[Recording stops]





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Kate. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jun. 2, 2009 at 2:35 am
Re: Author's Comments About this Article

You've succeeded,Colin. :D In more ways than one: it was a disturbing--but all the more stunning for it--essay that captures the need for change. Good, scary, job. :)
 
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