Joe: SanityMature

Dear Mum and Dad

I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last.

I miss you so much, so much it physically hurts me. You’d know exactly what to do in this situation; you’d be calm and collected. You’d guide me in the right direction. I want nothing more than for the clock to go back and for us to never have come to America. We’d still be in England, you’d both be alive and we’d carry on living life as a family.

I don’t know if it was true or not what that soldier guy said about the infection spreading to England. Is that even possible? If he was right then that means nowhere is going to be safe. If it can cross the Atlantic Ocean I shouldn’t think it’d have much trouble reaching other parts of the world.

I can feel my sanity slipping a little further with each second that I live. Humanity has collapsed, society has crumbled and there are no authorities to uphold any laws or moral obligations. It’s a free-for-all-do-what-you-like-kill-who-you-wish-world. The fact that I’m talking to you in my head should give you some idea as to how lonely it gets. I have Cancer yeah, but he’s not much company. He’s a junkie with anger problems. He got us kicked out of the safe camp with actual human beings in it because of one of his mood swings and hallucinations.

I could still be there now if I didn’t feel like I owed him. He saved my life and I knew that sending him back out into the world when he was in the state that he was in then would kill him. I’d have blood on my hands and another death on my conscience.

I’m changing everyday too; I’m becoming hardened by the world around me. I can feel it in me. The fear is still there, it’s constant but the way I feel about it is different. Instead of crawling away from it it’s starting to merge into me, like it’s seeping into my skin and becoming absorbed by my bloodstream. The fear is becoming part of me as a person and I’m learning to use it to my advantage. It’s hard to explain. Killing the zombies doesn’t scare me as much as it used to though, in fact right now I’m practicing my techniques.

You’d probably be disappointed in the person I’m becoming but I can’t find any way to stop it. Even if the apocalypse did get sorted out or whatever, it’s not the sort of thing that leaves you. If humanity ever returned to some state of normalcy I can imagine there would be a massive influx of suicides.

I can’t guarantee that I won’t be one of them.

Sorry. I know you’d want me to carry on surviving and that’s pretty much the only reason I’m still alive now. I’m going to leave you in my thoughts and carry on with the task at hand. I’ll be back later.

I left the hospital with one thought on my mind: practice makes perfect. That saying seemed to be innocent enough before all of this, it motivated children to continue with their work and hone in on their skills and interests. Now, it seemed to have taken on a different meaning: to propel lanky ginger teenagers onwards with their zombie-killing abilities, to get out in the world and chop the undead into tiny pieces until they were nothing more than a lump of flesh staining the concrete.

I clutched my gun in one hand and the hunting knife in the other and slipped out of one of the entrances.

The moaning reached me immediately and my stomach flipped automatically. The fear always intensified when I heard them, it seemed to flare up and remind me that I was never safe. I told myself to stop being such a coward and to move. My feet pushed me onwards and I slunk down the winding path that led to the main car park. The moaning grew louder and I crouched behind an upturned delivery van that had the back doors hanging open.

A quick peek told me that there were a dozen or so slow-moving corpses meandering aimlessly.

Making sure the gun was loaded and the silencer was screwed on, I got to work.

The End

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