For five years I’ve been wandering in a world where there is no peace. It was another long day on those horrible roads with the monsters moaning on every side. All I can hear is the sound of the dead moans in my head. I hear them in my dreams at night and feel their dead fingers on my skin.
I wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat but even then I cannot scream. I still have too much self preservation to cry out in my sleep. I don’t think I even truly sleep anymore for the wakeful fear in my heart. My brain can’t rest and after earlier tonight I’m more on edge than ever.
I was as silent as is humanly possible but somehow they still heard me. I heard them approach behind me, moaning and tripping over themselves. The fear was slow in rising but it came all the same. I fled for my life while still trying to make as little noise as possible. It was absolutely horrible, being chased by those things again. I hadn’t been pursued like that for some time. I had managed to stay out of their sights for a long while. I hadn’t been pursued with that fear in my heart since early on after the world had just fallen.
I was only fifteen when it all fell apart. I remember not really understanding what was happening. It had swept the globe before we had realized what was happening. We were swept into a nightmare before we had a chance to react.
It’s all a blur even now after years of wandering through a wasteland. I don’t know if most of the ordinary people ever really understood what happened. Those who did are long gone in the first days of the epidemic. I’ll never know what really occurred and I no longer care.
Why would it matter? Knowing how it happened doesn’t change the world that I must live in. No matter how it came about I must now deal with the effects of it. It hardly matters if it won’t do the world any good. It would only matter if the virus could be killed by something out of the past.
I remember something about a vaccine but it never came to anything. I don’t think there was ever a vaccine at all. It was all idle talk to keep people from panicking. It meant nothing in the end. I think there was a placebo vaccine near the beginning and I can only imagine how horrified those people were when it failed. They had no idea it wasn’t real.
I don’t know why I’m writing all of this. Who will ever read what I write? If I am the last living human then what is the point? My words will never matter surely. After all history doesn’t matter except for the sake of my own sanity. I have to remember what life was like before everything turned. I have to know that this broken world isn’t all that there ever was. I need to remember that a better world existed once to give me hope that a beautiful one can be again.
I have to hope even if there is no sign that the world will ever change. I can’t live if I don’t hold onto hope. Hope is all that I have left.