Here is a story I have put on the back burner cause I didn't think it was good, just got bored one night and ran with it. I will post the different
chapters as time goes by, it's not my best but I kind of wrote this in the style of World War Z if you have read that, but it will differ from that
story. I'll be happy if just one person reads it, like I said it's not my best, but it's fun to write it.
Chapter 1: The Journal
So, here I am, sitting in what used to be a beautiful world, a world we destroyed, but our's nonetheless.
I wish I could tell you there is some sense of solitude as I gaze upon the open pasture, watching the wind blow through the oaks like a whisper as the
sun rises and the moon slowly fades. Oh I wish I could tell you that is so, but it's just not that simple though, not anymore.
I don't know why I recorded all of this, I've never wrote anything in my whole life other than songs and other topics that served no real meaning
worthwhile of time. I suppose deep down one day I'd hope some lonely soul would come along and find my webbed skeleton, stumbling upon these words as
they sift through my dry rotted pack, reading those words like I wrote a piece of scripture worthy of being looked upon for inspiration as a new age
emerged. But for now all that lies ahead is the fight, the fight to survive, to live on.
I guess now I will tell you how this all went down, how the world as we knew it came to an end. I suppose timing is everything, and this was meant to
June 11, 2011
I recieved this brown leather journal today. My birthday is today. This is my 29th birthday, these are my first words written in a journal. Don't know
why I decided to write my thoughts, I have recieved these before as gifts but they have sat blank, I guess there really is a first time for
everything, maybe this will be the last, if so I want to say I was thinking in this frame of mind if I come across this later in a dust riddled
Journal entry 1.
June 23, 2011
I can't sleep, I have becomed immuned to sleep aids and online poker is getting boring, along with all the other time killing activities. It's around
3 am, I was sitting here watching the headline news and came across this group that stumbled on some journals of significance from the dark ages, I
remembered mine sitting in the briefcase so I decided to write some more entries, I guess this won't be the last time after all. I'm having trouble
trying to figure out what to write though. I mean do I really want someone to read about how mundane my life was, looking with a laughing mindset as
my existence starts to fade into the shades of time like I was never here in the first place.
I don't know why now I am driven to write, I don't know about alot of things anymore, there is a feeling around me that something is not right, I'm
not the only one who feels this way, but those alike are faceless personas on the other end of a computer, some, a million miles away.
So I write this to come back to if something ever does happen, maybe I will reflect back to this and laugh at myself for writting something that
sounds riddled with needless paranoia. Who knows, but something isn't right.
Journal entry 2.
edit on 2-7-2011 by JAGx1981 because: (no reason given)