Journal: Derge
OCC: I have absolutely no idea on the proper formatting for RP journals, so please if I did something wrong tell me in the discussion tab. Thanks in advance
| Derge | ||||||||||
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This little exercise book is tattered at the corners, its pages wrinkled and stained from blood and other body fluids. On its cover was a scribble of the words: Journal of Derge. Inside the writing was terrible, as if it was written by someone who could not hold a pen properly. However, it was still legible.
16 June, 2006
Weather: cloudy
Number of kills: 1
I have kept on promising myself to start writing things down ever since my hands regained their dexterity. I must have a habit of procrastination when I was alive, and got carried over when I died. However, I must put down my thoughts and feeling before they completely fade away. People outside this hell-hole must know what happened here.
I remember nothing before my death. Nothing at all. Even this name "Derge" is a twist of the word "dirge"- hymn of the dead. The first thing I remember was this cool chilling ground pressing against my face. The next thing I knew was this limp feeling in my limbs. I could still move them, but with limited motion. I held my hands in front of me, and the sight of a pair of grisly rotting limbs filled my eyes.
I do not remember feeling any horror. There was only this feeling of inner peace at discovering that I had died. After all, there is not much one can do about dying, is there? Well, at least that's what I thought at that time, anyway.
Besides, other than the fact that my limbs are a bit stiff and my heart not beating, being dead doesn't seem to be too bad.
So I was dead. So what?
I looked around. I must be in a city of some sort, with all those buildings standing around. However, the walls were peeling off; the windows were broken; doors bashed in. Everything around me was filled with death and decay. A fitting place for a zombie to be in, I mused to myself.
I remember me wandering about the ruins of the city, wondering what I should be doing with this hollow, empty shell of a being. Should I go and try to find out who I really am? Not much of a chance of that happening, as I looked at the surroundings. Everything was so screwed up that it must be next to impossible to find anything worthwhile.
I remember finding that this city was named Malton, a bit surprised that I could still read those words from a newspaper. I remember picking up a dictionary and, finding the word "dirge", decided that would be appropriate as a zombie name. I remember having my head suddenly going numb for the first time. I may not remember much about being alive, but at least I can tell that it isn't what sleeping is like. Can you imagine everything around you suddenly turning black, and then what it all comes back it's already the next day?
I remember meeting my first human, a survivor of whatever disaster have happened here. I remember him staring at me, and me staring at him, at his thin body, at the rags that were supposed to be his clothing. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, you know. I can remember vaguely that zombies are supposed to attack people, but I certainly don't feel like attacking this poor fellow in front of me.
Out of the blue another zombie leapt out from behind him, snarling its long, dangerous teeth. I tried to scream, to yell out for him, but only undistinguishable noise came out of my dead vocal cords. The zombie bit him on his neck, and he screamed. God, I still can hear that horrible scream even to this day. One of his arms was quickly pulled off, his guts torn open. He did not have a chance at all.
I turned around. I could not watch. I limped away from the scene as fast as I could. Not particularly horrified by the gory scene, but the fact that a zombie did all that scares me. Is that how a zombie supposed to behave? Is that what I should have done?
Is that the fate of Derge the zombie?
I almost threw up at that thought. I could not believe it, couldn't accept it. I maybe dead, but I still have my own thoughts, my feelings. I am not some beast, some monster lurking around the corner killing everything that stands in my way.
But am I?
That will not change the fact that I'm a zombie, won't change that fact that I'm no longer human. Maybe I should have done what that zombie did...
No, there is one thing that can make me human. I can still choose.
And I have chosen, at that moment, to go against my own kind, to hunt down those who have forgotten who they once were, those who allow themselves to descend into savagery.
Not on my watch.
From that day forth I have been hunting zombies, fighting my own kind. I doubt that it will make humans happy. Certainly I will be hated by my kind. But this is my choice, a decision made by Derge the zombie.
And I have been doing it since then.
25 June, 2006
Weather: raining
Number of kills: 1
Been raining ever since I've entered Ridleybank. I've heard that there are hundreds of zombies here with little survivors. Not that I mind survivors a lot but zombie killers with the ability to pump bullets into my skull is a bit irritating, and I found that quite a few of them can't tell a zombie from the rest. Kind of annoying, really, when you're mistaken for one of those mindless monster who would just munch on anything that is moving and you're not.
Thereby I'm here, and this wretched place certainly lived up to its notorious reputation. Just a few days ago there had been a zombie raid on a nearby barricaded building, the survivors all dragged out and slaughtered. Not a pretty sight. I felt a lot better when I killed those monsters.
Speaking of survivors, it certainly isn't easy to live in a city like Malton. I remembered the time when I got revived. Somehow those scientists have figured out a way to bring dead people into the living. Heh, if they could bring this technology out of the barriers of this wretch-hole then everyone would be immortals.
But I don't want to be mortal. When I was revived I felt there was something missing, the gaping hole in my heart that had been filled by killing zombies was reopened up. Even attacking zombies had lost its allure. I ended up wandering around, searching around for bit of ammo and bullets and, eventually, this little book that I'm writing in. There was little I could do, little that I wanted to do.
Then one night, I was killed once again.
I don't remember much of the dying part, though the being killed part was a bit painful, to say the least. When I "woke" up, deader than a dodo once again, I felt energy in me once again. The hole had closed itself up. I was myself.
That was when I realized it. Being a zombie is part of being Derge. I cannot be Derge without being a zombie, for that is what defines me as Derge. It no longer matters what I was before the outbreak. All it matters now is that I AM Derge, Derge the zombie, Derge the zombie-killer.
Therefore the second time I got revived, I forced myself to jump off a building.
Watch out, zombies, Derge is back in town.
11 August 2006
Weather: cloudy
Number of kills: lost count
Wow, already three months have passed since my last journal. Must be my procrastination catching up. Then again, not much has happened since the last time I wrote on this little exercise book. It's just more zombie-killing, more getting shot, and more getting killed.
It seems to me that the other zombies are starting to notice that there's a zombie-hunting zombie running around town, because I can count one or two times when I "woke" up laying on the ground partly munched. Not that I can die again, but it is exceptionally annoying to find that zombies don't have regenerating abilities, which means that you'll have to do with limbs that are cut up, or guts tumbling though that hole. I ended up looking for a bloody plastic bag just to keep my intestines in, because I was sick of using one of my hands holding it in.
The survivors are still just as unfriendly as ever. Either they're trying to stick a syringe in me or trying to put a bullet in my head. Can't they leave a zombie alone, damn it? I'm not one of those mindless, soulless corpses that lurches at everything moving...
Speaking of mindless, I sometimes wonder why I was still sentimental, while the other zombies seem to be... a bit less human? What has happened to me that allowed me to keep my feelings, my individualty, my soul? Not that I complain much, mind you, since that always has reminded me that I am still human, though a very much dead human. I wonder if I'm alone, or are there others who are like me?
