Day 323
It's been a week since I've seen another -living- soul. I've seen plenty of zombies. Infected mothers...toddlers...crawling on the ground as if they were hungry bugs. I've seen zombified men scavenging a deer carcass and fighting each other over it. I wonder...are zombies cannibalistic? Will they eat each other if pushed? The way my mind works sometimes, i swear. But hey...that means they won't come after me, right? I bet you are wondering how i managed to survive for almost a year? Well i'll tell you. First...I live underground. That's right. Under. ground. I dug it and fortified it myself and i have pure running water. It's cold, but it won't infect me with the zombie plague or any other disease. When there were others, we scavenged a bank vault door out of the nearby town and at night we....I..camouflage the entrance to look like the hill it leads into and i also splash ammonia around to clear any trace of my scent every night. I sleep with my hunting rifle in the back of the bunker, and i have booby traps all around the area. The only time i am truly afraid of being found? Blood moons. It does something crazy to 'em. Thank whoever is listening that there's only two or so each year. I can always tell when one is coming because of the howls. Zombies howl. The blood moon is the only time they howl and it's a sound that freezes the blood in my veins, every time. Any time i hear them howling, i take out my ammonia, splash it behind me as i jog, get to the bunker, clear the area of my scent and stay in there. I don't move. I barely breathe and I sure as hell don't sleep.
Rationing is the name of the game, people. People? Why do I even bother....anyway. I've got six jugs of purified water left, two racks of smoked cow before they were all systematically hunted down by the zombies because cows are living, and slow. Meat is a luxury though because it seems to attract them. I've shot more zombies defending a fresh deer kill or when i am out about...ohhh...half a mile away cooking the meat than i have any time else. They don't seem to mind the fruit trees I've managed to tend and grow, around the area so they must need living meat to survive or not go into stasis, right? I've crafted enough ammunition for my hunting rifle to last the winter, and soon I'll begin canning the fruit that i can collect during the day. I don't go out at night, for safety reasons obviously.
There used to be others living with me, but personalities flared and they left the safety of the bunker. I haven't seen or heard from them since. I regret them leaving because it gets lonely, and nerve wracking to possibly be the only person alive. I used to see people in their vehicles going past slowly during the day and I'd warn them that going into the town was suicide, but no one ever listened. I don't know if anyone ever passed by at night...if they did they have a death wish.
Hopefully some day soon the zombie plague around the area will be dealt with. I don't know if it's world-wide yet. I don't even know if it's just this area. If anyone living ever finds this diary....please take it with you to remember me. And if i'm a zombie? Headshot.
Prelude of Blood Moon
Britannia:Modern day
It started out a normal day in the small town of Whitehaven off of the coast of the Irish Sea. There was the constant dull crash of the waves upon the shore with the newly refurbished harbor. Time had ravaged the small town's harbor after it's disuse, yet it remained a historically rich town. Situated as it was on the coast near the scottish border it was more of a time-capsule for the country's history. The old woman sat herself in the corner of the busy tavern, those sharp old eyes missed nothing which included the string of people coming and going from the even older tavern. Legends of ghosts and odd activity circled the place and it was strangely modern in taste but still a hole in the wall type of establishment. The elderly wraith had been coming here for years, and the comely waitress with a shock of red hair came to give her her usual: a hamburger with no bun, lots of cheese and pickles with a plucky warm smile that she reserved for all repeat customers, even such an elderly woman. The waitress recieved a warm gapped-tooth smile in return before the elderly woman grabbed onto her wrist suddenly, which caused the lass to double-take with her green eyes slightly widened. "Lass..ye be wantin' a story? What about the wee ones' here, eh?"
The people that the old woman was refering to as 'wee ones' were actually adults in their early twenties oddly enough. Adults in the eyes of society and yet just barely experienced in life's various heartaches. The elderly woman had gestured with her bony finger, and the waitress despite her instincts to say no nodded and turned to face the small crowd packed into the smoky room. "Anyone feelin' like a story gather 'round the ol' lady here." With that invitation issued, several people had turned their heads to eye the old one offering before several moved closer to hear her tale.
"Before the child of the book, there were other beings of light and darkness. Things that went bump in the night that mothers whispered to their children as warnings to do right or they will be taken off into the night to be never seen again. Half-way across the world, on a tiny isle, there is a testament to their work; Stonehenge….This is a story of some of those beings." the old woman started, and away the story went, long into the night. She didn't seem to want to stop, not even when some of the people got up to leave occasionally.
Slowly the sun dipped down over the horizon, a beacon of light and protection for many upon this land gripped in terror of all sorts of things. The people of the villages shut and bolted their cottages, poked at the fire as they sat with weapons that they could have reached easily. The moon rose to take the place of the sun, howls cut through the stillness of the air. Women paled to an ash white, they watched silently as their husbands took up arms to defend the village; the men kissed their wives and headed out, primitive swords, and axes were gripped with determination in their calloused hands. Like within the past, the men went to stand in the middle, back to back with their comrades, weapons at the ready. They measured each breath; felt the cool breeze on their weathered cheeks, the sweat made their skin take on a sheen as they tasted their own fear.
The village held one woman in particular that strolled easily into the middle of the village, watching a particular hill with her hazel eyes as if she knew that whatever ailed the village came from that hill. The young woman looked too clean to be a peasant and perhaps came from the nearby holy isle to do this nightly rite. She was Igraine of the Northern isles, a land rife with ceremonies of the old world and old people.Time seemed to slow as she dropped her simple hood back, revealing a shock of red hair. In a sea of brown hair, with brown eyes, the pale, slim figure with red hair stood out as a target to the people and to the beasts that would soon be upon the village. No one knew that this young, odd woman would soon shape an entire nation's destiny. She stood with her staff before lifting it to whisper an incantation to the wind and slam it down into the ground. Her faith in the nature spirits of the world remained unshaken as the wall of magic formed halfway down the hill swiftly, shielding that part of the village.
Soon the men stopped jostling each other when they heard the pounding of paws on the moist earth within the forest. Twenty wolves howled and yipped to each other, knowing their combined voices made their mortal brethren squirm in fear. Their huge paws ripped the earth underneath, gouging it in fierce wounds every time they made footfall.The men of the village gripped their weapons tighter as the sweat of fear touched their brows; however they were resolute in their defense….
The wolves were given pause by the shimmering magic, growling their collective pack-mentality rage at the witch through the wall, they waited for this strange, rippling wall to break. Some of the wolves were spooked by it's sudden appearance, and even tucked their tails between their legs as they whimpered and half-yipped at the wall. Despite wolves being smart, these were werewolves,and though they had great strength, these tainted beings of nature had given in to their hunger for human flesh, their rage...they didn't know that the wall of magic was simply that; a wall. Knowing that he and his pack could not pass through it no matter their strength; the leader of the pack was able to growl words to the woman.
“Get out of our way, Witch!” he snarled, red eyes narrowing on the woman, he paced and snarled, his large nostrils at the end of a short, wrinkled muzzle flared with the scent of the mortals, and it made his mouth salivate with hunger, for he had not eaten well in many moons.He bared his long viciously curved fangs, suitable for ripping great chunks of meat out of his prey at Igraine, the witch that stood in his way. His limbs were stiff as he stood there, continuously ready to pounce and he bristled with a muddy brown fur that stood on end.
“I will not, Wolf. You have twisted a gift of Nature, and I will not let you make our brethren suffer.” She called out clearly, unafraid of what the wolf and his pack could do, given that the wolves were thrown together by a collective hunger.
“You and your kind will suffer! You are but meat with a little extra spice!” The alpha wolf roared in fury, and his howl carried across the tormented land, as well as the cries of the people that the other packs of wolves set upon within the night. The other villages were not lucky enough to hold a Witch among their number to protect them.
The witch looked around at all the men, then the cottages where the women and young ones hid; she frowned lightly and lifted her staff, her eyes turning upward to the stars as she whispered incantations to anyone who would listen to her. The wall quickly became a dome around the village. The dome was able to keep out the wolves, but not the cries of the many dying men and women in villages scattered along the countryside. Though the witch heard nothing from the north of the village, nor the south, towards the bustling towns nearer to what would eventually become London, and to the north, Edinburgh.
“As long as I have faith, you shall not pass Wolf.” She growled at him, forced to hold her staff high to keep the dome intact above them.
“Your arm will tire eventually, Witch!” he turned his head slightly to growl at his pack mates, and they moved to circle the entire village, their pack in particular being very large, counting twenty wolves male and female, all motivated by the hunger for human flesh that clawed at their bellies like a toxin.
The witch knew that the large black wolf spoke the truth, but still she held up her staff, the Men of the village circled her, knowing that the strange woman that was not born of the village was their only hope of survival through the night.
The hours turned long, as the sands of time drifted. She held her arm up and never faltered, until she started to look tired, the strength of the spell exhausting her, so she asked two men to hold up her arms and never let them drop.
“If my staff drops….the village is done for, the wolves will set upon everyone and eat the flesh of their brethren...” she whispers to them quietly to not cause a panic amongst the gathered villagers.
The two villagers she had chosen to entrust with the continued safety of their home held up her arms hurriedly somehow knowing deep in their guts she spoke truth to them. This was but a small victory in the war against the tainted wolves of the tiny isle in their minds. The witch let her faith overcome her physical strength and her dome held strong long into the night. The male villagers would have to switch out with other men while the rest of the small gathering remained on edge and tense watching their neighbors howl and snarl at the magical dome protecting the humans from them. Fear was replaced with anger within their minds and they glanced to east expecting sunrise.
The normal rhythms of the world did not disappoint the trapped humans, soon the sun was rising, hitting the afflicted isle with its warm rays. Like a balm across a wound ,the sunlight trickled into the village, chasing away the wolves to their underground dens. The strange red-headed Witch fell back, exhausted but smiling as the sunlight hit her face. The people of this particular village were safe once again and she looked around at their smiling faces, she knew that her sacrifice was worth it for their safety.
Frayed at the Edges
The day I lost my virginity,
I was far from home.
I was alone,
Responsible or so I thought.
In my teenage angsty rush
to be an adult,
I stumbled.
He snuck me into his hotel room.
Early in the morning,
before our teacher
was even awake.
We were both seniors.
We were adults,right?
Wrong.
Long years of teasing,
of rough kisses,
awkward gropes,
lust-filled glances,
towards each other,
Culminated into a single moment.
Of fear-tinged, twitchy pain.
I wasn't really ready,
but I thought I was.
How could I know then what i know now?
How could I know that,
he was the wrong one?
The pain was unexpected,
but i could feel his erection
inside of me.
My first -real- feeling of being filled
was ripped away when I pushed at him
-hard-.
I wasn't ready,
I whispered quickly;
fleeing towards the attached bathroom.
There was -so- much blood.
I lied to the teacher.
I lied to my best friend at the time,
in asking her for a tampon,
claiming to be 'on the rag'
as it was termed back then.
To this day, i feel guilt for my lies.
I was just so desperately scared.
Our culmination frayed,
That day was our last day,
together.