Journal/Diary Because I Have Nothing Better to Do
There is nothing left but desperation, I think.
Desperation clad in steel.
...
It finally started raining again.
Now they need to trudge through the mud to get to me.
Some of them trip.
Laughter hurts my throat.
...
Lightning struck the tower again last night.
That makes five times this week.
I wonder how long it will take the basin to fill?
...
I've been told that there are only five survivors in the whole world.
No one has told me this.
I just know.
No I don't.
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Bones make good windchimes if you hollow them out right.
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Every overhang on the tower has a windchime now.
It took a month to make them all.
Maybe I should have paced myself.
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Bink bink bonk donk bink.
Donk.
Bink. Bonk.
...
XChimesX
...
Rain again.
Maybe the water will reach the tower this time.
...
Nope
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20(?) people were running towards my tower.
They weren't going to make it.
I killed them all with the 90 mms.
They screamed.
They would have screamed longer if I hadn't.
...
I think I should leave.
I haven't been sleeping well.
...
I've packed what I can.
I'll take a new journal.
I'm sorry.
...
Dear child, I write this so that your spirit may know peace.
We finally clawed our way out of the bunkers, after so many years.
We're remembering how to live in the sun.
We've been buring every corpse that we come across.
We fixed what we could.
We glassed the rest.