Dear diary.
dear faithful diary,
What the actual shit happened today?
Even I, a woman who is supposed to be a damn good scientist, has no explanation for the fact that the dead are walking. And killing. The dead are literally walking, not as ghosts, not as friendly neighbourhood vampires, but as crazy ass zombies. Yes, zombies. How do you describe something you have no words for? Scientists are supposed to explain what seems to be feats of magic with plausible, empirical fact. Not try desperately to fathom the works of fiction that now walk the earth, killing and eating and ripping and...
God.
Geneva is dead, Matthew is dead, all of my co-workers, family and friends are dead. London is ravaged with insane, deranged dead things which will tear you to shreds and eat the flesh all While you lie in a screaming heap, fully conscious, fully able to feel it. They have killed so many. They have killed Geneva of all people, if I know one thing, I know that I am nothing without my sister, without my best friend.
How do I relate to you the pain that I feel through every atom of my being?
The impossible has occurred, and I know this shelter will never last. For all we know, the illness spreads through the air, for all we know it could be spread through tiny fungal spores or- god, even I don't know.
This kind of thing is what we have disproven and disproven and it actually happened. I have no one left; No one left to care for, to love, to protect, to cherish. What is living without that? I can't live without that.
No one can.
So, my faithful diary, this is my last goodbye.
Maybe I'll see them in heaven, if there is one.
ill know soon enough,
Goodbye.
A broken mirror
I watch as the mirror falls to the floor,
I watch it crack into at least a million pieces,
I watch a thousand minuscule specks of me,
Reflected,
Shattered,
Broken beyond repair.
I watch it's tiny specks cut unsuspecting minds,
I watch a single one stay strong against them all,
Resilient,
Determined,
Foolish to the greatest extent.
For after all these years of bad luck,
I would know,
You must reap just what you sow.
The grey area
The love of the world is in heaven,
the hatred of earth lies in hell.
Trust me,
I've been to both.
I think one day there will be no earth, just a void and darkness, like it used to be,
with the good pitying the living
There is no one I trust therefore I am no longer the trusting kind that live in light.
I try to love therefore I am no longer the hating kind that skulk in the darkness.
I am neither dark nor light.
neither demon nor angel.
Neither good nor bad,
I am the small evil you all know,
I am the good you don't recognise,
The grey area,
Not good,
Not evil,
Banished from both.