Journal:Cannibalismo

Introduction: The Journal of an Unnamed Malton Survivor...

Although the author lacks the understanding of wiki-formatting to update the journal here, I offer up this exerpt and link to the existing journal site.

Day Two - "Outside"

Sleep came after a while, but every time they passed, it startled me awake. Most of the creatures have been passing through, but I can hear one that's been lingering outside the wall where I've been taking shelter. I'm less full now, hungrier, while my silent companion was sleeping, I took a handful of his rations and although it revived my sense of taste, it didn't fill me...not like I was full before.

I did some exploring, and found an axe in the basement, locked away in an emergency cabinet...it's a clumsy thing, inelegant, I'm not certain how much value it will be to me, but anything is better than my fragile fists. I could still hear that one thing shuffling its feet out beyond the shattered, barricaded windows, and after collecting myself, I climbed the barricade and tried to get a better look at it...immediately wishing I'd stayed inside. It was dark, the grass was dewy around the wreckage of cars, and I could smell something, sickly sweet at first, something that made bile rise up in my mouth, the urge to vomit up my only comfort, that fullness in my stomach, coming and going.

At first, I didn't see it...the thing was very still, unbreathing, dead. It was standing around the broken down 'Godfrey Museum' sign in the overgrown grass...for a few seconds, all I could see was the word 'God'...then I realized something was there. I shouted, stumbled backward, began to run toward the barricade, and then it noticed me and began shambling forward...it wasn't like the 'zombies' in the movies I'd seen...why should I have expected it to be? As it approached, there wasn't the numb, half-dead awareness...it was hungry, it would eat me alive if it could...but as I turned to stare at it, the desire to flee was suspended in favor of abject terror.

It had been a woman, I was transfixed by that thought as I tried to block it's infectious, hooked claws. Stronger than me, more physically able, she swiped and snarled, forcing me back against a wrecked car, and although I cannot say how or when, I began to swing with that axe, feeling it make the wet, sick noise of penetration, hauling it free and swinging again with everything I had. When I finally made it back inside the barricades, she was still crawling after me, her broken, battered legs bending at horrific angles as she persued.

I don't think she can get over the barricades, but as I ran, I could hear that groan almost everywhere...some part of me still wants to go out there to them...but the rest of me is terrified of it.

I think there are more of them now...

Day One - "The Horror"

[crudely scribbled with a dulled pencil on a yellowed, waterstained sketchpad]

My stomach is full...I can feel its heavy, distended weight as I try to lay down in the broken glass and the filth of this old, wretched place. It looks like it used to be a museum, but I doubt anyone cares about it now...someone tore this place apart. From where I sit, tucked against the ruined wood and torn canvas of what used to be a painting, I can see deep claw-marks in the door opposite me, though the furnature my lone companion has shoved against it makes the rest of it hard to discern.

I cannot remember my name.

It's hard to get comfortable, even with the company of that quiet man who's been taking care of me...when I woke up last, he was working on the barricades that keep them out...I thanked him, but he hasn't spoken at all...maybe he's shell-shocked, like mysef. Is he the one that found me? Perhaps he knows who I am. I know that he didn't feed me though...he hardly has enough supplies for himself, from what I can see...

There is no past memory in the truest sense, only a few flashbulb images too chaotic and awful to find voice. I know without a doubt that I am an educated man, but that doesn't make my situation any easier...perhaps if I were ignorant of the small details surrounding where I am, it would be simple to get comfortable and just go to sleep for a while. There's blood under my fingernails, I tried scrubbing at it with the trickle from a broken pipe, but I can still see the thin rims there on both hands, quite black in the dim light. Outside, I can hear the shuffling of feet...several passed a few hours ago. Something about the groaning calls they give sound so familiar. It's hard to know why, but I feel so much like going out there when I hear it.

My stomach is full...and I don't know with what.

Links

Location: http://cannibalismo.livejournal.com
Contact: the.token@gmail.com