Chapter 3

November 7, 2014

Dear Journal:

My name is Griffith Arnolds, and I am 82 years of age. The predicament I now find myself in is quite pressing, and even more unfourtionate. The world has been taken over by giant mutant monsters that have been created to copy in every way the pocket monsters of old. Our militaries were valiant in defending the civilians, but they were eventually cast aside like so much chaff. There was much destruction fighting in the streets of other countries, so I cannot say that I did not anticipate what would happen here. There was a terrible certanty of my fate that infected me as one by one, entire countries fell silent to our ears. The Pokemon were invented in Japan, and moved in a perfect fan shape westwards from there, so America was the last to fall. As far as I or anyone of the Crew knows, we are the last humans alive, anywhere. The only reason that I am alive right now is that I lived in this apartment block before the Pokemon came, so when the rest of the Crew came in here, I automatically joined them. I am a devout Christian, but I belive that I am the only one of the Crew that is. Everyone that had the time to reflect upon how dismal life seems now seems to belive that a God, if there were one, would no let such things happen. I have seen enough to know that this is the planned fate of the world, and so I remain calm and help our cause as I can. My regards to whomever may read this, and I pray that this and subsequent entries will enlighten for you the past.


The End

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