This might as well be a suicide note.
Today might be my last day. I’m hiding in a janitor closet on the west wing of a university. It doesn’t matter which university, it doesn’t even matter that I’m writing this. Scratching on the outside of this door is a human-being whose only goal is to make a meal out of me. I’ve been in here for a few hours now. The only reason I know this is because there’s a small window. The sun is high in the sky so it should be a few hours after noon.
I woke up to the sound of my mailman getting eaten alive. I knew better than to open the door to screams so I watched it from my peephole. My reaction was to run. It’s the only one I know. I hardly remember how I got here. But I know I ran fast. I haven’t stopped sweating since I locked myself in here.
I don’t think I’ll make it. This is obviously why I’m writing this. I’ve never been a fighter. Hell, a week ago I wanted to die. It’s been like that since I got back from the hospital a few months ago. I don’t know where my family or friends are. All I can picture is John frantically looking for me. He’s always been a fighter. He fought for our marriage, our family and he would no doubt fight for his life. He would know what to do if he were here now. We would actually have a chance.
Damn it! Why did it have to take a fucking apocalypse for me to realize I do have something to live for?? I have to do something. I need her to be safe. I just don’t know if I can! I’m scared! I always have been!
Fuck it. Tonight we’re going to make a run for it. There’s a patrol car I see from the window. All I have to do is get to it and I’ll figure it out from there. I’ll just swaddle her extra tight and hold her close to me in my jacket. I hope she doesn’t cry.
Please don’t cry, baby...