visions

I guess I should start this entry with an apology. Assuming that someone gets to read this then I’ve let you down. It’s been a few months now since I laast put pen to paper hasn’t it? One day late and you tell yourself you’ll do it later, 10 days and it’s something you mean to do, 30 days and shit its clean out of your mind. But now more than ever I need to get down what has happened to me, need to make you aware, need to write to maintain what is left of my sanity.
I’ve got to finish this, got to see it to the end. At the moment I’m guesswing that end is a slow and painful death. But maybe it isn’t. Maybe the end of my story will be me at the white house getting a medal from what’s left of the government or the army or oprah or someone. And then signing a massive book deal. Shit if that has happened then I hope you got this version signed cos its gonna be worth something right?

Damn, I’m coughing up blood again. Feels like one of my internal organs is gonna come up one of these days. It’s been like this since the day I bust out of the hospital, there I was all geared up to be a hero and save the world when i collapsed. Felt like my whole body has given up the ghost but my mind wouldn’t let it. What the fuck did they do to me in there? My left eye doesn’t open any more, I look like a stray cat that upset a fuckijng huge dog. And my right ankle, well I can’t put no weight on it now that’;s for sure. Hard to be mad max when you can’t walk huh?
They kept me there in that hospital place for so long, kept my senses deprived, beat me to within an inch of my life. But they let me live but I’m not the same man I was when they caught me. Hell I’m not the same man I was when this godforsaken invasion started. Mild mannered me is suddenly running around blowing the heads of people resident evil style.

See what I mean? Milla Jovovich is standing in the park outside the window. Now I now that she isn’t and lord knows I wish that she was. I can cope with feeling like shit, I’ve seen enough people die to value any kind of existence. But it’s these visions I can’t stand, see I can’t be sure what is real and what isn’t now. I’[m holed up in this old office block just me and some broken up desks and the damn visions. In the last three days I’ve seen the Ghostbusters ambulance come round this block 9 times, one time being chased by the gruffalo and another time with Bart Simpson skating alongside them. You know life is slipping away from you when Ecto 1 being chased by the four horsemen of the apocalypse with the theme from M*A*S*H going round and round in your head is a good start to the day.

What is this crap? A lucid dream, or a twisted version of my memory? Or is this the day I finally lose my mind. Trouble is when I do see those eyes, green, red, sky blue bastard pink I’m torn. cos half of me thinks its them watching me and waiting. And the other half thinks its my mind’s eye playing its latest trick.

Shit I’m tired. The hunger I can deal with, its amazing the crap you can get by on but the tiredness is killing me. Literally. Maybe that’s what this is some kind of warped sleep deprivation. Why else would David Bowie’s Goblin King be singing me to sleep? And not even one of his own songs.

My left eye barely opens now and my right ankle hurts whenever I put weight on it.
I’m sitting here cross legged and bleary eyed scrawling away like a mad man when the torchlight hits me. I’m sitting in the pitch black but the light of a torch just hit my face. This must be the latest vision, the latest thing sent to torment what is left of me

When the lights came on proper I felt like someone had ripped a hole in my head, the pain, that light searing into my eye sockets. How lojng had i been in the dark? And why had i done nothing about it. It didn’t matter because the three figures who were looking down at me were faces i recognised all too well. My ex wife Mary,my brother Clyde and the girl i knew only as Stacey.

payback

They came for me early. Two people that looked like men. When they saw the tears on my face their grips relaxed on their weapons. They took it to mean defeat. They saw a beaten man who had accepted the inevitable. I offered one of them the journal for Commander Gabih, but it slipped from my fingers. As the first bent to pick it up I rammed the pen into the neck of the other. John Cusack and Grosse Point Blank one. Alien fuckers, zero.

I took his gun as he tried to stem the bleeding. In close quarters I turned the weapon on the other guard and pulled the trigger. Loud ricochets bounced off bare walls and the sound was deafening. Something hot and wet splashed across my clothes and face. I closed my eyes and kept a firm hold on the trigger until it clicked empty.

When the opened them again I saw the mangled corpse of one on the floor and the other was choking his last breath around the pen. I took it back, cleaned it off and pocketed it along with the journal. Never know when I’d need a good pen. Maybe it would write red for a while. Hey look, it does!

Black dots danced before my eyes and my ears rang, all but cutting me off from my surroundings. Even so I knew my time was limited. I took the gun from the one, all the spare clips I could find and then spent too long working out how to reload the gun.

Somewhere in the distance, or maybe in my head, footsteps approached. I ran. Hurtling along corridors, bursting through doors, racing up flights of stairs. Heavy concrete and steel. Bare walls covered with numbers and coloured lines on different floors.

Going with my instinct, or a stupid preference for the colour, I followed a green line onto the seventh floor. The place smelt of antiseptic, bleach and underneath it the faint whiff of urine. I knew this place. A hospital.

Some thing that used to be a nurse looked up at me in surprise as I walked past. As she opened her mouth to speak I pointed the gun at her. One hand started to creep towards something. An alarm maybe. I was aiming for its chest but the gun jerked and the bullet tore into its throat. As it began to choke I moved on, ignoring the creature’s death rattle.

Along the corridor I found them. Room after room was packed with people, or what was left of them. Machines monitored their life signs but in their eyes I saw nothing. No spark. No humanity, just an empty space and somewhere in the dark, something was growing. It showed up in some more than others. Unnatural bulges in their chest, a lump where none should be under the skin in their skull. The Elephantman had nothing on the worst ones at the end of the corridor. I didn’t have enough bullets for them all.

Drums. Lots of drums. No. Footsteps marching with military precision. In the storage room I found oxygen tanks. I piled them all up in the middle of corridor and hoped it would be enough. From the stairwell I took aim and fired. I missed eight times and had to reload. The footsteps were so loud now, I should have seen them. They should have been with me in the stairwell.

One bullet caught the end of one tank. A second hit the pile and I slammed the door and ran. The explosion blew the door open and fire licked out but I was already on the way back down.

There were screams, further explosions and the building shook. Smoke began to gather and a siren stared to blare. At every floor I looked out the window. On the first floor I shattered the glass. The covered walkway below seemed a long way down.

When I heard a noise behind me I went. Air rushed past me and then I landed and tried to roll. My right ankle gave way but the pain was bearable, a sprain at worst.

I ran until my lungs burned. My ears still rang. My hearing was playing tricks on me. Faint noises in the distance, or maybe right behind me forced me to run again until I was nearly sick. When the only noise I could hear was my ragged breathing, I stopped and dared to look back.

A section of the seventh floor was gone. A giant had punched a hole through it with his fist. Black smoke and fire crept up the outside of the building and tiny objects dropped from the windows above. After a few seconds I realised they were people jumping to their death. Or were they Shells? At this distance there was no way to tell.

My tears of relief were gone. My jail was gone and with it a few of them. At least I knew one thing, they could bleed and they could die. Best of all, they knew fear. It was a small victory if the whole world was like this but it was all I had.

In captivity

It’s been three months since I killed Stacey.

I keep telling myself that it was only her body. That she was already dead. I only stopped her heart from beating. That’s all.

In my nightmares every night, I replay the scene. I watch it over and over again.

I watch myself drop to my knees after I realized what I had done. I watch myself put the gun in my mouth. I watch myself pull the trigger. I hear the click. It clicks and clicks and clicks, but there never is a bang.

They sent the Shell that used to be my brother to collect me off the ground. It brought me into a building and strapped me into a machine. It said that they had already tried this once, but I had resisted; so, they took away my reason to live.

It told me while it tightened the straps, “make it easy on yourself, submit.”

The Shell looked at me with my brother’s eyes. It looked at me with the scar on his cheek that I gave him when I put a rock inside that snowball. It used his voice and told me to give up. Then it turned on the machine.

I laughed as the machine powered down. And I laughed as my brother’s Shell beat me mercilessly after they realized that it didn’t work. They might have taken my one reason to go by making me kill Stacey, but they didn’t understand that they gave me a new purpose. I am going to kill every single one of them.

Striped naked, they threw me into a make-shift cell. Unlike where I woke up before, this room was completely bare. I knew the game they were playing though. They didn’t understand that I’d watched Norris, Bronson and Seagal action movie in the 80’s and 90’s and I had every season of 24 on DVD.

So, I collected my thoughts and calmly asked WWJCVDD? What would Jean-Claude Van Damme Do?

Sitting on the floor, I meditated. I let my mind go and I thought of happier times. Amber, a hippie-chick I dated after my divorce, taught me how to do it. At the time, my brother said it was “faggy,” but he’s a Shell now and I’m not.

Hunger woke me from my trance and I realized a day had passed. They were not going to be providing my meals at this hotel. Obviously, this was not going to be the all-inclusive resort I thought it was.

For a month, I ate bugs. Yup, bugs. You’d be surprised how quickly you get over your fears when it’s your only means of survival.

On day 31, they switched from sensory deprivation to sensory overload. By then though, my Kung-Fu was strong. Although, now I will admit I’ve had “Rock Me Like A Hurricane” stuck in my head for sixty days.

I continued my meditation, mysteriously though, food started showing up around day 45. Nothing extravagant, but better than the Spider Tartar I’d been having.

My clothes showed back up on day 53. Same as my food everyday, it just appeared after my meditation. Two months of being a nudist was enough for me. The clothes didn’t fit right anymore. Too loose in some places, too tight in others (I had added a calisthenics routine into my day and actually had some muscle now).

Day 90, the Shells came for me. Calmly, I went with them back to the machine, but the results were the same. The Shells didn’t speak as they brought me back to my old “cell.”

After just a few moments, another creature entered. He was unlike anything I had seen before. He wore a military uniform, but definitely not from Earth. This was one of their leaders.

More humanoid that most of the creatures I had seen previously; his eyes did not have the green glow of the soldiers or the red glow of the Shells. He stared at me with jet black eyes and he tossed me my journal and a pen. When he spoke his mouth didn’t move, his voice just echoed in my head.

His name was Commander Gabih. He wanted me to know how much my book had taught him about the human race and how it would make their total victory so much easier. For the first time, he felt he understood his enemy. Tonight, he wanted me to write my final entry about what the last three months had been like. His plan was to collect it in the morning, before he took me to the square to be executed.

I didn’t tell him that what he would find would be one torn piece of paper with the words, “Fuck You” and an empty cell.

I don’t know when I’ll be able to write again, but when I do, I’ll be free and safe.

Today

I remember the hallway clearest of all. The way it seemed to stretch out for ever as I stumbled down it like some drunk trying to reach the bathroom. I'd like to think they had drugged me, that it was some outside influence that made me so groggy, so helpless, so confused, but I probably need to admit to myself that it was nothing more than fatigue and blood loss. It was me. It was all me.

I fell awkwardly into the courtyard and was immediately blinded by the sunlight. Had I really been in darkness that long? Was the world still really this bright? I held up the gun, hopeful that it would scare off anyone or thing attempting to take advantage of my temporary blindness, but as my vision slowly cleared I realised I was alone. Alone apart from one other figure stood in the middle of the open space. Stacey.

I ran over and hugged her unashamedly, blurting out questions as to her wellbeing through the tears I felt welling up. Temporarily forgetting both our predicament and our vulnerability.

Then she looked at me, smiled and said "Submit"

The shotgun blast left little to indentify what had once been her head. No, not THE shotgun blast, MY shotgun blast. What is did leave though was a red bloody mess. No wires, no circuits, no green blood or giant fucking bugs, just a pulped stain on the floor. And as I ran, still covered in her blood, only one thought kept repeating in my brain "Are you SURE thats what she said?"

Day 16...I think

This is crazy. Right now I should be asking myself those little questions like ‘Why aren’t I dead’ and ‘Where’s Stacey?’ Instead I’m wasting my borrowed time on this stupid diary that no one is going to read. Knowing my luck the first person who finds it will be someone who can’t read, or who’s blind or would rather use it for something practical like toilet paper or kindling. Whatever happens to it after I'm dea gone isn’t my problem because now I need it. It’s become my thing now, like a nervous tick, a habit to get me through the next crisis.

I remember the chase, the fall and the blood but nothing else. When I came round Stace was nowhere in sight. I could see my blood stained shirt gracing a wooden chair in the drab little room I was in.

I tried to sit up but nausea and the feeling of having my guts torn through my side forced me back down onto the table. Someone - my saviour or jailer (you decide) seemed fit to place the diary beside me. Were they taunting me? Had they read it and suddenly felt compelled to help me? I laughed until the pain put a stop to that.

I picked up the diary and had done the only thing I could, I began to write. I hoped would give me something to focus on besides but the pain and the overwhelming guilt that perhaps Stace was…dead. What made it worse was the tinniest bit of relief I had that I might be back to worrying about myself and that maybe Stace was better off.

If you’re reading this diary and it stops suddenly it’s because I’m dead, like that dude said in Alien 1 or 2...can never remember (oh Christ I’m rambling again)…”Game over man.”

There’s not much to see in the room other than the aforementioned chair, the table I’m lying on and a small work bench in one of the corners. There’s a huge pile of clothes, magazines, tins of food , sweets and a few of those giants sizes bars of chocolate you can get (you know the ones that say for two but they really mean no for you, you lazy fat sod) all packed into one corner. I’m guessing (mainly from the smell) that whoever lives here has been holed up here for a while now.

The only light is courtesy of a small lamp by one of the windows. It’s one of those camping lamps so guessing the electricity is out in the house, no real surprise there. The windows are boarded up but I can see a few small shafts of light peeking through to tell me that it’s still daytime outside. It’s then I see the shotgun. It’s old and leant against the workbench. They weren’t expecting me to be awake, I conclude. Either that or they’re just stupid. Since this nightmare began it seems that common sense was the first casualty of this conflict (conflict implying we actually stood a chance, yeah right.)

Stace! you need to find Stace!”

Once again I feel the guilt taking hold. All feelings of being alone vanish.

If they’ve hurt her, I’ll kill them, I’ll kill them…

The rage within explodes but I don't complain I use it. I use it to force me off the table, to push back the scream that wants to come out. Wherever they are a single scream could bring them running (I'm assuming there will be more than one; I’m never that lucky). My hand reaches for the shotgun and it's then the reality hits me, like a freight train ( I wish I could stop with the cliches’). The reality is that i’ve been through a lot but I'm still found to be wanting. I’m not strong, not a hero that much is clear. My anger screams back at me that whatever I am, I am Stacey’s only link to normality, her way back… god help the poor little cow.

As I stagger across the room, my vision blurring I wonder the same thing I did when I found the first gun. Can I do it? Can I actually kill someone in cold blood?

I know what you’re thinking here we go… the Stallone moment where the music starts and the mild manned asshole becomes a hero.

I hear Stacey’s piecing scream from outside, the writing stops, no more thinking. I give myself over to the anger, absolving myself of whatever comes next.

I snatched the shotgun, cocked it and moved to the door.

Hey sometimes cliché’s come true.

Day 15.5

It’s funny the things that run through your head when your running for your life. I know I should have been trying to figure out who is chasing me and how Clyde, my "brother" could be with them. Instead, for some reason, I kept thinking about playing at Wells State Park.

Wells Park was a small place. It had a couple of softball fields, a tot lot and a petting zoo. But, what I loved most about the park was "Wells Hills," a series of trails and caves that snaked up the side of dirt incline across from the creek. Although small, Wells Hills was the perfect place for preteen boys to act out our fantasies. One day, Clyde and I were G-Force fighting Spectra; the next, GI Joe fighting Cobra. As we got older, we graduated to laser tag and then paintball. I must confess that Clyde and I snuck out a few times and played "Manhunt" on Wells Hills during high school, rationalizing that it was good practice. Well, we did before the accident.

But now, my brother and I were playing Manhunt for real. This time I'm not entirely sure the word "man" part would apply to either of us. I was an animal on the run, and he was . . . something else.

Stacey sobbed into my shoulder, which brought me back to reality. Reality, what a strange concept. I held her close as I continued my sprint. I tried to console her, but found I couldn't speak. I hoped that my huffing and wheezing helped. I'm not sure what I would have said if I could talk.

I looked back quickly see if I was followed. Stupid! I should have been looking where I was going. Then I wouldn't have missed the tree branch. Then I wouldn't have face-planted in the woods and down the hill.

Actually it was less of a hill, more like a cliff and much larger than anything that Wells Park had to offer and we tumbled for an eternity. I held Stacey close as we bounced and rolled to the rocks below. We landed in a small creek bed with a sickening splash.

<>Fear Adrenaline gave me the strength to check on Stacey. She opened her eyes and gave me a weak smile before noticing all of the blood. It soaked her clothing and was on her hands. "I'm hurt?" She said going into shock. <>

I gave her smile, "No honey, you're ok. Just a little banged up." Stacey looked at her hands again and then gave me a confused look, so I added, "Don’t worry, that's my blood."

I was sure I heard someone coming through the bushes before I passed out.

Day 15

I used to get this feeling when I was younger a feeling I never really admitted to anyone. Seems strange writing it down after keeping it to myself so long, but what have I got to lose? I used to wish something really bad would happen to the people I cared about. There I said it. ok wrote it.
I wasn't being malicious back then, I loved my parents and my sister I just thought that is someting bad happened that. Ok I wanted a chance to be a real hero. You know the guy in the paper who stops the armed robber, the one who saves the girl from drowning. I wanted to be that guy, not just me another insignifiant no-one who was destined to be forgetten the minute his body was in the ground. All I can say now is be caareful what you wish for.

Hearing voices was unsettling enough, but when Stacey said she could hear them calling someone’s name I totally fucking freaked nearly lost it. She said it sounded like Tom or John, and once she planted those names in my head I started to be able to make it out too. But it wasn’;t Tom or John it was Don...”Don. Don Cutter. I know you’re in there. You sold us out you little shit.” I could tell Stacey knew whatr they said as they got closer as all the bad language had her holding me even tighter than she was already. She was silent again, and holding on to me like a baby monkey clinging to its mother. Any joy left in her eyes had gone.
Don Cutter. I’d seen that name before, back at the mansion. It was on some papers i found in the office there. That must have been his house, so I’m guessing he was one of the three bodies in the hummer. I didn’t get long to try and work out what the hell this cutter guy had done, had he been in league with the creatures. Maybe, but how did these people know. Sold them out? What did that mean? Literally? So it was about money. no even my liberal parents wouldn’t believe aliens came here for the green stiuff.

I could hear a scratching noise and a banging. Whoeever was out there was on the porch now. I must have heard 10 voices maybe more. What the hell could I do against ten people, how the hell could I protect the little girl who was sobbing into my chest. I closed my eyes and wished hard, wished I was back home as a kid and wishing i didn’t want to be a hero. I could be a postman, work in a bank anything but this. Felt like we were in a romero movie but since when was the lead an out of work gardener.

Sitting here thinking wasn't getting us anywherel that had always been my problem, thinking and day dreaming when I should have been takign action. I plucked Stacey up in my arms and bolted for the back of the gas station. Shit if i hadn't frozen to the spot we could have made it out ten minutes ago and ten minutes might have been all we needed. The end of the world and I'm still blaming myself for everything good to know one thing hasn't changed. I find a can of gas and some matches and starting putting some rags and clothes down in a chain to the door. I can hear them banging the door harder and harder, if I didnt know better id think they had a battering ram. the door was starting to break and splinters of wood were flying in, I could see hands reaching through the gap in the door. Don;t be zombies, jesus christ dont be zombies.

I lit the match and the place went up quickly, leaving me and Stacey to escape from the back door. Dont look round i told her if only i'd taken my own advice. I glanced back, just for a second. You know what they say about curiosity. THey were human, normal every day looking humans, all apart from the guy at the front. They guy who'd done most of the shouting. That was a face I recognised, someone i hadn't seen in years but someone I knew in an instant. It was my brother Clyde....the one with the red eyes was clyde.

Day 14

Yesterday a dozen emotions ran through me in a few seconds after seeing the instant message. At first I thought it was my ex-wife. Then it hit me, it wasn’t my computer, my house, or my ex-wife. The loss was fleeting when I realised someone else was alive out there!

My fingers froze above the keyboard. The elation draining from me in seconds. There were three bodies outside in the car. Probably this person’s family.

The messages became more urgent, desperate for confirmation of my identity. I choose the path of caution and asked them who they were and where they were. They didn’t like that. Threats of violence and bad language followed very quickly. My instincts told me something was wrong. Very very wrong. I turned off the laptop and pulled the plug out the wall.

Stacey was fast asleep from exhaustion and didn’t stir when I picked her up. I was a mass of sore muscles, but every nerve in my body was screaming at me to run.

Walking was painful but fear spurred me on. My arms began to burn from carrying her but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t dare.

It came with almost no warning. There was a slight whistle and then it hit me from behind, a wave of energy so strong it knocked me over.

In the distance the mansion was a smoking ruin. A black shaped climbed into the sky and then it moved away at impossible speeds. I was so tired I slept where I lay, cradling her for warmth.

Once we moved into the countryside, things got a little easier. Not all the cars were burned out and they all had keys in the ignition. When we couldn’t use the road, I drove us through the fields on either side. The gas inevitably ran out so we walked and it wasn’t long until we found another car. This morning when Stacey wasn’t looking I took a Desert Eagle from the glove box of one car. Just in case.

We’ve easily covered two hundred miles today. I haven’t seen anything in the sky, no moving black dots on the horizon, but that hasn’t stopped me looking in the rear view mirror.

Tonight we’re hunkered down in a deserted gas station. There’s food and clothes, so we’re warm and we’ve stocked up on provisions. I was never one for survival but I’m learning fast about what you really can’t do without.

It’s really late and there’s someone outside. I heard voices. Maybe it’s another trick. Maybe it really is people this time, but I can’t be too careful and I can’t take any chances. The gun is loaded and I’m going outside. My only hope is I don’t make her an orphan a second time.

Day 13-Morning
There’s an old, crappy Kenny Rogers’ song that I can’t get out of my head.

“She believes in me. I just don’t know quite what she sees in me.” Then it starts to get vaguely sexual, so the similarities end there. But I have this little girl who is depending me for her safety and it is totally overwhelming. I guess this why I never wanted to have kids.

After the bombshell Stacey dropped yesterday, it seemed best to crash at my house for one more night. She didn’t cry much and she didn’t talk too much, she was just drained.

But, now it’s time to get the hell out of here.

I don’t know what the roads outside of town look like, but there’s no way to get a car through the streets here. The attack started here at rush hour, so the destroyed cars are clogging everything up. Yeah, it’s just like Michael Bay orchestrated this whole thing.

On the Road: Day 1-Evening
First silver lining to the destruction of Earth, I am finally going to get in shape.

Today, we walked.

And we walked. And we walked.

Stacey and I probably covered about 12 miles or so. I figured that since the Ocean is east of us and the mountains are west, south was the way to go. We’ve taken refuge tonight in a mansion in the suburbs of town.

There was a burnt out Hummer in the driveway. I wouldn’t let Stace look in there, but I could make out three bodies; one of them probably a teenager.

In the house, we headed straight for the kitchen. There was plenty of food there, so we ate well and then I thought it would be best for Stacey to get some sleep.

She wouldn’t go into the teenage girl’s room. “It’s not right,” she said. So I found a guest room and put her to bed.

She hugged me. It was the first time she initiated this familiar contact. She didn’t say anything, but hugged her back as hard as I could. Tears streaming down my face. She belives in me.

On the Road: Day 1-Late
I wish I could have slept, but I couldn’t; so, I started wandering.

I found the office and started flipping through books. A lot of architecture books and magazines, so that’s what either the man or the woman who lived here did.

Then there it was, just sitting on the desk, open and inviting. A laptop.

The power is still on, what are the odds are that the Internet is available. Maybe I should turn it on and see how my stock portfolio is doing?

When I power it on, it immediately loads most of the programming and CONNECTS TO THE NET.

I fumble to try and get to CNN’s website, maybe find out what the hell really happened, but a pop-up window shoots up.

It’s Instant Messanger.

“OMG, Honey you’re alive!”

Day 12

"Good girls should be seen and not heard"

Thats what they told her. Thats why she was so comfortable with hours of silence.

What she told me came in a burst of sobs, but I know she had had some kind of argument with her mother during which she had used as she put it "The G.D. words" which I'm guessing are God Damn. The fear in her eyes mentioning even this abbreviation was the same look she got when she had heard me cursing. This wasnt the look of someone being offended, this was the look of someone terrified for the beating she might get purely by being in the same room as a person using such language.

Her outburst had gotten her the black eye I had previously assumed was a result of the attack, and a spell in what she referred to as "The naughty cupboard". A small lockable space under the stairs into which she was apparently sent for hours at a time. She had been told to stay there, in the dark, until "God stopped hating me for being naughty".

Who the fuck puts a concept like that into the head of a child?

But she'd stayed there. Even when she heard terrible noises outside, she had stayed there in silence, more fearful of the punishment she knew she would get for disobeying her parents orders than anything else. In a sad way, their cruelty is probably what saved her.

Eventually though her thirst had got the better of her and she had ventured out to find the house deserted. Even then she had returned to where she had been placed, and only after another two days of silence had ventured out and her search for her missing parents had eventually led her to me.

All this girl has ever known is misery. She deserves better. We need to find better.

Stick or twist, stick or twist, stick or twist.

Same old dilemna - what are the stakes, stay or go, run or hide, green eyes or red eyes.

Today I twist.

EARLY

I wait for the quiet, of which I admit there is a lot of and I scavenge.

Tins of food, makeshift weapons, whatever i can fot in 1 big rucksack and 1 small one.

My new found bravery, my boldness is born of a a neceesity to preserve my sanity but the fear is ever present.

As I come and go Stacey simply watches me.

LATE

Its time to tell Stacey that we are going to twist. I open my mouth and she puts her finger to it, quieting me and she begins to talk, to tell me her story....and the world shifts again.......

Day 10

Can't do this don't know what to say bored boredbored bored bored sick of writing this stuff lah blad I'm not writer why am i even doing this crap WHY ME WHY AM i LEFT TO DO THIS SHI

It's Day 10 (at least I think it is) since the human race bought a one way ticket to oblivion. I'm thinking if I'm one of the only two people left alive, if we are what's left of the human race do we get to make all new rules? Can I say in my scred scared new world each day is actually three or down is really up and black is white. Will dogs and cats be able to live together in harmony under my domain...this is crasy shit...sorry no swearing, must remember. I don't know why I'm worried. If Stacey does read this long after I'm dust and if our race has survived this I'm sure we will only come up with new more colourful ways to insult each other (god I'm rambling today, need coffee. I'd kill my bodyweight in whatever's out there for a cup).

I can't help thinking about us, the human race. What part did we play in this? were we asking for this? was every decision we've made since we crawled out of the ooze merely signposts, pointing the way to our extinction. Maybe it was just time, time to be put out of our collective misery. I ask myself if all the death and destruction is just the universe's way of carrying out it's own form of cosmic euthanasia.

It's late afternoon and Stace is still asleep which is why I've been able to find five minutes to jot down today's page. She's gone back to not talking which for me, at the moment, is working great. I don't know what to say to her. How can I tell her things will be ok that I can scare away the monsters, chase away the shadows? I'm just as terrified as she is, perhaps more because now I have someone counting on me.

No mustn't give in to self pity I've been doing that too much today (though I do think I've earned a little self pity time). I'm alive. I've survived the end of the world (does that make me John connor?...that would be kinda cool) and perhaps I'm witnessing the birth of a new one. The question is does my survival make me one of the lucky few or just damned to spend another day in Dante's wet dream.

Crap, there I go pushing the self pity button again got to work on that.

Day 9

Fuck It’s hard not to swear, especially given what just happened. But, for Stacey I am trying, especially now that. .. . Wait, let me back up.

Last night something happened. I was able to get some sleep when suddenly I awoke to a blood curdling scream. It was Stacey. With no consideration for my own safety . . .I raced down the steps. She was standing in the center of the living room pointing out the window. I turned to see what was there but could see nothing. I scooped her up and ran to the basement. The same basement that, not long ago, had been my solitary prison. This time, we would hide in the darkness together. There were noises. I’m not sure if they were real or the imagined exaggerations of a settling house simple noises of a settling house magnified by my imagination.

I held Stacey until her sobs stopped. No girl should suffer this much. I must protect her. I made yet another silent vow in the darkness.

<>Finally, she spoke. “Those eyes” She sobbed. “He was at the window.” <>

I thought of my first encounter with the creatures, and how those green eyes pierced my soul. I can only imaging how much worse it would be for a kid to see it. I held her tighter and whispered, “I’m here. I’ll protect you.” I hoped it was not an empty promise.

She sobbed into my shoulder. “Those red eyes. Those red eyes.”

Red eyes? What the fuck? Is there something else out there?

<>I decided that I would ask Stacey about it in the morning---if we make it until then.

Day 8

I barely slept last night. I finally got off to sleep about 3, but it didn't last long within minutes my eyes were open again and I was thinking about things. Every now and then I'd drift into unconsciousness but in no time I'd be sitting upright again staring at that beaten up old radio alarm clock lcd display.

I haven't exactly been sleeping well anyway. Some nights the fear has taken hold of me, when the only thing I can see in my mind's eye are row upon row of those green eyes. OTHER times it's been the noise that stopped me from settling, that deep penetrating drone that started way up in the mountains and made its way quickly into the suburbs.

buT Last night was the worst night's sleep I've had since well since forever. And I think it must be down to her. But it ain't as if she made any noise or got restless or anything. The little girl slept soundly, hardly making a sound save for breathing, and leaning on me so hard that my I lost all feeling in my left arm.

When it was just me I could kind of I don't know tell myself that this whole thing wasn't real. A bad trip. A bad dream. But now it's different, it's real, it's tangible, it's so god damned real that it can be scooped up in my arms and carried. If MAry could see me now she wouldfind it funny. "I just cant see myself being a Father let alone a good one". I believe in America. America has made my fortune. And I raised my daughter in the American fashion. I gave her freedom, but I taught her never to dishonor her family. I wish I could get that movie back.

She woke at around 11. I'm not sure she remembered me at first, but once she'd come to see seemed ok. SHe sat in silence, right in the corner, eating an apple and drawing a picture of a lemon yello w sun. Then out of nowhere she finally spoke. "I wish you wouldn't swear". Jesus with all the shit she must of seen since the start of all thjis she still cared more about manners thananything else. Whoever her parents were they'd brought her up good. Its kind of funny cos i been trying hard to curse less and losing that battle with myself. She spoke again a few hours later, told me her name was Stacey and that was about all she said until she drifted back to sleep.

I need to sleep, I've got to sleep, what use am I to her if I can barely function, barely move, think or keep myself going. Tomorrow's going to be different, it's got to be different. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of her life, and I'm the only one that can get her home.

Fuck you green eyes...that's what I say. stop looking at me, hyou don't know me, you don;t know what I can do.

Day 7

7:30AM

I woke up feeling better today that I've remembered feeling for a long time - probably since I first heard about the resonance cascade two weeks ago. Was it really only two weeks ago? It seems a lifetime away.

I think this is the first time I've been able to think clearly since then, it's as if having a plan - even if this plan will kill me, has given me enough focus to get everything together. I might not live to see out the day, but at least I will have died actively seeking out my destiny and not in this filthy crap heap that I've been holed up in like some sort of a rat.

My first port of call will be the centre of town. I'm planning to pick up some more supplies, spare clothes, food, maybe a radio and some batteries - then I'll head to my office. The synchrotron where I spent most of my time is buried deep underneath the mountain, but the office suite was dug out of the granite about halfway up so it should afford me a good view of the town and help my spot any signs of life.

2:00 PM - EPR Offices

Silence. My god, the silence. I thought nothing could be worse that the screams and and agony of before. Am I really the last man on earth? Did the... ++++++++++++

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
+++ INFORMATION REDACTED +++
+++ CENSORS BUREAU +++
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
IF YOU BELIEVE YOU HAVE RECEIVED THIS MESSAGE IN ERROR USE YOUR NEAREST TACH-TERMINAL TO RAISE AN ENQUIRY. STREAM CONTINUES. YOU ARE REMINDED THAT ALL ACCESS DEEMED INAPPROPRIATE TO YOUR CASTE AND/OR ENCLAVE IS LOGGED.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

...++++++++++ really leave as quickly as they came? I heard them all around me last night, even saw those eyes. Those green within green eyes, but today nothing.


6:00 PM

I've heard another human voice! It was recorded, but it was still nice to hear another soul. Hopefully it means that someone is maintaining the radio signal in order to find more survivors. This could be a place for whoever is left to congregate. After the shock of walking through the town it took me some time to remember I had picked up a radio and then it took me some time, hands shaking, to find just one transmission:

"I don't want to set the world on fire
I just want to start a flame in your heart
In my heart I have but one desire
And that one is you, no other will do"

If there is anyone else alive on earth it would appear they have a rather sick sense of humour. It's getting dark now and I don't want to walk back across town tonight - I'm too scared. I may have failed to find another living soul, but I still feel like I've made progress.

MIDNIGHT

I was shaken awake at about 11:30. It took me some time to realise where I was and even longer for the events of the last week to fall back into place. She was seven I'd guess. Certainly no more than nine. I don't know exactly because she hasn't spoken yet. She's tried but nothing comes out. She was filthy and exhausted. How she managed to survive I've no idea. I couldn't think what to do or say, so I just held her in my arms until she felt safe enough to sleep. She's laying the floor now, my coat around her.

Last night I went to sleep not caring if I lived or died. Now I know that I have to survive.

For her.

Day 6

Hunger drove me out of the neighbourhood for the first time. Most houses are lumps of brick now, and everywhere on the ground are black things. They remind me of dead spiders, curled up like that. But they were my neighbours and people I knew. I don’t can't look at the small ones. I won't.

At a supermarket I expected wild dogs or empty shelves, not aisles full of food and silence. The endless silence. God, is anyone else alive?

Maybe I was praying to the wrong God. A few buildings are still standing. On the wall of the local Hindu temple they painted, or burned a symbol thirty foot high. Are they bragging? Is it a warning or something else? Why would they take the time to do it?

Figure 1 – scan of the original symbol from the journal.

It’s 3 in the morning and there’s something outside. I barricaded myself in the supermarket, thinking it was the perfect place to sleep. Now it feels like a trap. The food was meant to lure me here.

I can hear them skittering across the roof. There’s a weird noise, like hundreds of bees or a swarm of flies. They’re at the front now, climbing through the rubble. I can’t help myself, I’m going to look.

I saw them, long shadows with glittering green eyes. So many eyes. I don’t know if they saw me.

I wish I wasn’t alone. Tomorrow I’m going out and not coming back until I’ve stood face to face with another living soul. Even if it’s one of them and it kills me, it’s better than being alone.

Day 5

“I hate you!”

It was the last thing that my ex-wife said to me six months ago. I haven’t talked to her since. We sold the house, split up the accounts, she took my fucking Godfather DVD (out of spite if you ask me) and she left.

Don’t get me wrong, it was all my fault. Blame fell on both sides of the fence, but IT WAS ALL MY FAULT.

Sure, she was controlling and little bossy at times. But I was the one who crossed the line that we couldn’t come back from.

The world is blowing up outside, but I can’t stop thinking about her.

God, I hope she’s safe. I hope that she is OK.

Day 4

Well I'm out. I got back up into the house and managed to grab some food and a change of clothes . And you know what finally got me to break cover?

Fucking spiders.

It all happened kinda fast really. There was this really loud... I want to say explosion, but it sounded more like a bass chord than a bang, and everything shook. I was scared the house was going to come down on me, and there was dust and crap flying everywhere. I'd heard it before but never this close, never this loud. And it hurt. God, did it hurt. I'd gotten a fairly decent electric shock from a computer I'd been tinkering with a few years back and it felt like I'd been punched in the shoulder. This was like that, but all over my body. I may have screamed, hard to tell with my ears ringing like they were. Think I might have I blacked out from it to be honest because suddenly everything was still. And thats when I saw the spiders on me.

Imagine they must have gotten shook loose by the blast. Probably weren't more than half a dozen of them, but I've never been good with spiders and I just forgot where I was. One minute I was safely hidden away, next I was out in the street, slapping myself down like a spider in my hair was the biggest of my problems.

I remember reading once how some guy theorised that spiders were the result of an alien life form crashing to earth in a meteor or something and raping the crap out of insects here. He thought thats why people are so scared of them... because instictively we know they dont belong. Something about they way they move being so different to anything else on the planet or something. Our inherent fear of the alien.

Seems kinda funny now.

Day 3

10:00am

can't be true
can't be true
can't be true
I woke up saying this over and over again and then it hits me. To have woken up means I have to have slept. Oh God have I become used to the sound of my world dying already. Have I become used to the darkness and the smell of my own filth.

GOD

ok ok ok its quiet , O God why is it quiet, have they gone. I never thought I'd be so scared, thought I could be a hero and I sit here cowering. Ok ok ok I'm going to look, I'm going out there.

I am I am Iam

3pm

I am, I am, I am

Day 2

So after one day spent living under my house I'm already wallowing in my own filtfuck it my own piss and shit. What did think you I'd do? Christ why am I writing about this, who's gonna want to know in fifty years that on day 2 after the fucking world ended that I took shit. I can hear it now.
"Yeah I bet he was a real piece of work before he died." " what a asshole." .,.. you know what Mr whoeveryouare....fuck you, you don't get to judge me. You lived.

Sorry but I'm stuck here, under my house with nowhere to go so excuse me if hygiene isn't number one on my staying alive list. SOrry (seem tob to be saying that a lot, like it's my fucking fault the world's going to hell) to whoever's reading this but guess i'm still new to this whole end of the world diary stuff. It's hard to make sense when all you can see is the rotting corpses of your neighbours, the only sounds of note are gunfire, explosions and screaming, oh god the screaming it's a constant like white noise.

They can't be all dead I tell myself. Someone must be hidden like me, someone must have a plan. Need to find out but not today, too tired, too scared and too alone.