User talk:Samuel King: Difference between revisions
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== | == Military Journal, ID 930811 == | ||
This journal is intended for the eyes of military personnel only. This is a chronicle of my attempts to survive in Malton following the outbreak several years ago. I found this blank book in Meetcham Library in Scarletwood in early March 2009, but only after Scarletwood fell in early April did I consider keeping a journal of my experiences and thoughts. | |||
I've seen some things in the last few weeks that no man should ever have to see. I've seen people that I had come to consider friends mauled, ripped to near shreds in a vicious display, and then slowly unfurling to a standing position and staring at their colleagues with hungry, cold eyes. I've talked with living people with flesh hanging off their bones, people who by rights should be long passed on. People whose bodies have died but their brains haven't noticed. | |||
The worst part is that I am party to it. The first time, I woke up in a graveyard. I had no idea how I got there. My clothes were blood-stained, my fingernails were caked with dirt; one ripped off. A weird taste in my mouth and a puncture wound in my head punctuated the experience. I limped to a nearby hospital, clambered through the barricades and collapsed of exhaustion. Since then, I must have gone through the experience thirty more times, but each time I believe myself to be waking from a dream - that the building I was so valiantly defending was nothing but a hallucination, and that I would wake to normality. And then I look up at the foggy sky, and my thoughts swim back into focus, and I find my voice. And I realise that this hell does not have an end. | |||
--{{User:Samuel King/sig}} - 20 April 2009 | |||
Latest revision as of 20:01, 20 April 2009
Military Journal, ID 930811
This journal is intended for the eyes of military personnel only. This is a chronicle of my attempts to survive in Malton following the outbreak several years ago. I found this blank book in Meetcham Library in Scarletwood in early March 2009, but only after Scarletwood fell in early April did I consider keeping a journal of my experiences and thoughts.
I've seen some things in the last few weeks that no man should ever have to see. I've seen people that I had come to consider friends mauled, ripped to near shreds in a vicious display, and then slowly unfurling to a standing position and staring at their colleagues with hungry, cold eyes. I've talked with living people with flesh hanging off their bones, people who by rights should be long passed on. People whose bodies have died but their brains haven't noticed.
The worst part is that I am party to it. The first time, I woke up in a graveyard. I had no idea how I got there. My clothes were blood-stained, my fingernails were caked with dirt; one ripped off. A weird taste in my mouth and a puncture wound in my head punctuated the experience. I limped to a nearby hospital, clambered through the barricades and collapsed of exhaustion. Since then, I must have gone through the experience thirty more times, but each time I believe myself to be waking from a dream - that the building I was so valiantly defending was nothing but a hallucination, and that I would wake to normality. And then I look up at the foggy sky, and my thoughts swim back into focus, and I find my voice. And I realise that this hell does not have an end.
--~Private Samuel King, 930811 - 20 April 2009
