Deceased Words

I

Entry 1

Wow, you're actually going to read this or is this going to be a journal with words on it that will never be read? What do they call those, I wonder. Lost words? Oh well, to whoever is reading this, hello.

My name is...well who cares. To you guys, I'm just words on a page, numbers in a statistic. So for now, call me Stranger. Yeah, it's a stupid name, but I guess you can say this entire writing thing is stupid, too. There is a thing that we call video tapes, you know, but anyways, I am a 15 year old in high school, and I absolutely fucking hate it. Oh, and don't worry, by the time this entire experiment ends, there will be more words like that to come. We high schoolers learn a lot from one another.

Entry 2

I miss my friends. Lucky jerks weren't infected, not like how the people in this blasted experiment is. It's to keep the rest of the population "safe", they say. Well I'm calling bullshit on that. The moment when the first infected person died and came back to life, the government couldn't wait for the chance to tell every state to call the national guard and go door to door, taking blood tests. Blood tests that apparently told them who was infected and who wasn't.

They took the blood test on Friday and by Tuesday, I was pulled out of my math class and escorted by armed men, ready to shoot me if they needed to. When they did that, I felt like the entire school was watching me, which was actually true. Students and teachers all stopped their classes just to watch me walk down the hallway. I could even hear some kids whispering shit about me. Like how they "knew I was one of them," or how they weren't "surprised it was the kid who never says anything."

So what if I don't say anything, it's not like I had anything nice to say?! It doesn't matter anyways, now I'm wearing a God awful white jumpsuit that's skin tight and gives worse wedgies than a bully. There's also this damn chip that they surgically placed in our arms to keep track of our "progress." Progress for what, I don't know. Maybe they're waiting for us to all die and come back to life, or something like that. I'll be surprised if you even come up with a cure, it doesn't seem like you damn government agents care.

Though, I guess it's not really your fault, but maybe it is. Either way, it's not up to me to judge, I don't even care. I'm going to die here, surrounded by gigantic steel walls that seem to block out the sun, wandering around a small town that was made just for the infected. They call it a quarantine, I call it hell, but there really isn't a difference in the two I guess.

Entry 3

It's raining today, can't really do much, but stay indoors. Since they don't allow us to have cars inside the quarantine area, everyones inside their homes and all the shops are closed. They didn't even have the decency to give us umbrellas.

The rain is also annoyingly loud like a barrage of gunfire, but I guess it doesn't help when your roof along with every other roof in the damn quarantine are made of metal. Just so you know, the only reason I'm writing in this bloody journal is because there's nothing here. There's no decent TV channels, no computer, no nothing. They even took my phone away so that I have no contact with anybody outside of quarantine. So I'm stuck writing in this book and kind of talking to you, but what do you care. I bet you go home to your children, no fear of them dying and coming back to life to tear your face off.

Anyway it doesn't matter, after what happened that day at school my friends probably want nothing to do with me. It's how our society runs isn't it? If somebody doesn't fit in quite right we all tend to patronize them, ridiculing their beliefs. I use to be of the group that was ridiculing, learning from people around me, now I get a taste of my own medicine. Karma at its finest. I just hope the rest of you gets what is coming, too.