I can't understand them...

But is that me being ignorant, and acknowledging the fact automatically makes it better?

Or am I the same as the people I loathe, the people I hope don't understand me?

Don't sound whiny,

I ain't a super genius... but somewhere I hope I am,

Am I bad for thinking this way? Egotistical, maybe?

Maybe.

I won't start this off with a cheery greeting...

I know this has been the thing that people talked about. I remember when everyone used to love to dress up as these hideous things for Halloween, just as a joke. In fact, I may have been a part of that fun, but now...

I can't be angrier for how people speculated this event. "Zombie Apocalypse" seems so over used that when these things try to break down my doors and bang on my walls, I cry. I'm sure there are people still out there... I don't want to see them. If they saw me they would know how weak I was and still am. So I sit here and look for the occasional scrap of food that could never quench my appetite. When I'm not trying to prevent myself from starvation, however, I sit here and write to nobody, wasting lots of time as usual.

just a little ago I heard a voice from just outside my home (if you could even consider this scrap pile a home) and it sounded like it needed help.

"Is anyone there?" the voice called, clearly a young one too because they made the mistake of shouting into an abandoned place. I tried to walk out carefully and slowly to make sure the kid didn't think I was a brain dead husk like some other things these days. To my surprise, he was a lot taller than expected, and he carried a gun of some kind; maybe it was broken?

"Hey kid," I said, "What are you doing here?"

"Same thing as you are, I'm sure. Trying to survive. Quite a mess here, huh?"

"My house or..?" I started moving back inside with this kid standing next to me.

"The situation, I mean. But, that's okay, complaining isn't a way to go about things."

"No," I paused, "It isn't." I turned around and kicked my journal under the bed.

I think this is the last that I will write in this damned book. It's already been crowded with so much writing, keep in mind that it is only been a day, that it's not much use to me anymore. I have decided to set off with Brycen, as I learned he went by, and leave this here. 

Goodbye you anchor,

-Lewis

As I watch over the cliff sides, I know luck can't always be there for me. I can't complain, for I've made it this far, but at any moment it really could end. Until the last few days, I never realized that my future could literally not be there. All of the experiences and memories that would come from so many years, gone. It doesn't seem fair.

The waves grow bigger from every passing day, but people enjoy them nevertheless. Should I be watching from the safety of the seashore, or play along? Someone I know could get hurt, but how could I keep my eyes on everyone? At these moments, I forget about myself. I would rather be hurt then someone else, after all. I can cope with the pain, but I can't sit still knowing that someone else took it.

 With wind blowing at incredible speeds, I'll sit in the front of the boat. Why not? I guess it's nice to know that everyone behind you is safe. But then again, if I think about the future. What if I took a hit that really mattered for someone. A hit that really mattered to me. I know this will happen eventually. It must. The question is, will I be ready to say goodbye?

Tossing and turning

Screaming and squirming

Pulled into the darkness tonight

A ring of light

To sing of plight

Another life was destroyed

I plunge to void

The fear deployed

The sense I had would disappear

Why do I fear

The sight I hear

My stomach tied in a knot

That's what I thought

My blood would clot

Until I awoke with a startle

Webs of time

On was a rhyme

The offer sublime

Not chosen, no crime

Decisions made

Cut with a blade

Opinions swayed

The life we trade

Timelines are frustrating...

The voice and sound of life

It speaks to me but I can't listen

It convinces me that something will happen

But I must ignore its plea

It wants me to believe what may be true

But the truth may not be right

Of course in the sense of falsehood

And in the sense of acceptability

It conquers me again

But there is no way imaginable

To change the ways of all

Though that may mine and its dream

It fails to acheive that goal

It achieves poison, a swirling, nauseating brew

To make the people fall in love

With the evil demons below

But I don't believe the lies

And you may say you're on my side

But when you try and persuade me

I see you with closed eyes

The late nights I spend, studying for tests and doing work. All the same routine, but I don't mind it too much. Today, I got bored of it. Sick of it, wanting to just do something different. It may have been a mix of dehydration, or exhaustion, but I was losing focus. I got onto a messenger website, and started typing to someone. They left, and someone else joined and left. This happened a few times. Then a person joined, and I said "hi". That's all. It wasn't formal nor was it something to be tight about. Just a random person. They said hi back, and we started talking. We were just chatting, and he was the only person who didn't leave after two messages. I found out that he lived in Romania. It was so far away from me, but we still talked. He knew English fairly well, but I had to tell him a few words that he couldn't think of. This conversation of all things made me happy. He was 20 years old, in college, and I was just there, maybe a kid to him. I never got his name though, and that I regret. Now, I will never find the Man from Romania. The man who was up at 5:00 in the morning because he couldn't sleep. Still, the conversation we had was humbling. It was nice to know that connections were possible through hundreds of thousands of miles. Later, I talked to my friend about the conversation I had. This friend said things like "You cant trust this guy. You are talking to a stranger!" This didn't matter to me at all! My friend would never know that this wasn't a creep, a weirdo, someone I should fear. But then again, the sad truth is, maybe he was. Was he so different from me? I don't know. The Man from Romania filled me with questions... No one here understands the man. I mostly don't either. He represents mystery, I think. I got so close, I almost knew him. Maybe where ever he was, someone told him not to talk to me. Maybe they thought that I could have been a serial killer or something. I'm not though. Neither is he. Understanding his mystery is impossible, but acknowledging that it is there is just enough. The people who hear the story of the Man from Romania, and think that talking to him was wrong; They break my heart.

At corner of my screen

The time was ticking by

I must work and be keen

Yet another minute would fly

I'm supposed to be working

But I get carried away

My job is still lurking

Alas, I want to stay

Procrastinator, is what you may call me

But I can't help this distraction

My brain skips around me

I write, and feel the satisfaction

The music turned sweeter, like a cherry pie. I reached out to her, and she took my hand. Her eyes shimmered, and somewhere in them I saw fear. I loosened up, and reached out the other hand, but this time with hesitation, she looked at me. My frown began to die, as her other hand was accompanied by a knife.