In the spirit of Halloween:
It’s rancid in here. I don’t even mind the bugs or spiders anymore; I let them crawl all over me. No, it’s the rats who bite, who fester, who may or may not carry. I haven’t tasted the fresh air outside since September. Sometimes I wonder what it would smell like this time of the year, or sound like. Dried crackling leaves, they jitter all over the streets. Clear, fresh, cold air. The colors… my God the colors. Yellows that almost feel neon. Reds that… reds. Reds. The Maney Drive side door drips red every day. Every. Single. Day. I get up at night with a candle sometimes just to prove it wrong, but never do. My vision deceives me; I’ve learned to not trust Him. It’s been weeks since our last near break-in, though. That blood must be dried by now. Just go have a look. I’ll tongue it a little bit, tell me for sure. I know my touch hasn’t turned on me. NO! Can’t do that; what am I thinking? Losing my fucking mind in here. With these… misfits. The lamp illuminates the dark rusty reds of the door. They swirl downwards almost to a point. The door is splintered in many spots, even the splinters look dipped in this red. The fresh boards give some horizontal relief to the composition. Dark soothing brown, warm. My it is beautiful; a piece of mixed-media art. An old wooden door, some dilapidated ceder 4 by 4s, and human blood. Walking back to my “room” I notice a crucifix laying face down below me. Why would this still be here? I pick it up and turn it over. He’s in perfect condition. No scratches or chips or nicks or dents. I walk to the nearest marble I can find. Slamming the long end down, I drive the cross into the bap station over and over again; it does not break. I pocket it, to the inner, and continue on my way. We’re staring into dire straights here. Oblivion. Donkey and Chelsea got into it about a week ago. Donkey pulled out his fire axe, Chelsea pulled out her little LPD Standard Issue and that was the end of that. I watched the whole thing happen. He dropped immediately, he had to’ve been dead before he hit the ground. For good measure, or because she’s fuckin’ nuts, Chelsea decided to put another four into his skull and face while he laid motionless. The flash of the piece ignited her face and I saw that day a terror in Her I have yet to see in the outside world, where terror reigns. Our generator is running low on fuel. We stopped running the lights, the few lights in this place, about 3 weeks ago. Days after the last close-call. All it powers now is the radio transmitter/receiver that’s been here since before me; we’ve got Her set to 28.01MHz. Two days ago desperate calls came. We did nothing but sit and listen. A suburb to the Northeast had apparently become overrun, not that I care. They pleaded for anyone who heard to come and help. I specifically remember one woman saying: “Hurry! There are 12..13 outside… give me the Gun!! NOW! Giv..” then a loud pop. In my chest I felt it, she killed herself. I told myself she didn’t all day yesterday, but she did. I have the last and only First-Aid Kit which is beginning to worry me. Thinking of hoofing it on my own. God help me, if you’re not Dead.