Zombsania

Part 1.1

FEBRUARY THE 4th:
Around 21:30
DAY 3

I'm in the bathroom writing this. As 'you' probably know I've used my brothers art journal to write about my days, until we will be rescued. But... Who are 'you'? Who do people actually dedicate their work to when they write in their journal? Is it to their future self? The diary? Is it to some unknown person who could possibly stumble upon their writing? I'm getting kinda side tracked... As usual. I'm using the light of my phone and and a cheap pen I found beside the register to write. I'm really scared. I haven't been able to sleep. I'm usually such a heavy sleeper, and I get to sleep with the click of a finger but not tonight. For tonight, my whole body shook as I listened to the lost howls, and the maniac laughter from the people outside. Can I even call them people any more? The toilets are eery at night time, and when I walk past the mirrors I want to run away from the distorted shadow of a reflection, that is actually me.

Tonight Cara and I had made a meal from salt and vinegar chips and even more of the chocolate bars.

It was mostly silent but not awkward, for awkwardness cannot survive when grief is around.

She had lived down the street from me for at least 5 years but I had never spoken to her. I guess I've had to communicate with her for school purposes like saying 'sorry' as a bump her by the door or something. She had always intimidated me. She's pretty. Pretty girls scare me.

There was a cat outside and she had wanted to bring it in. It was white and fluffy and it sneaked around the abandoned cars, it's tail dancing around itself. I told her that we can't look after it, that we wouldn't be able to feed it, and she protested by saying it was cute. But the word cute seemed rather funny. Sitting here in the dark petrol station, cuts and grazes laying on our body, our family dead... The word cute was even 'ironic.'

I still wouldn't let her bring the cat in.

Anyway , I've got to go, I can't write anymore. My eyes are feeling strained, and I could drop from tiredness any minute. The windowless toilets seem like a much safer place to sleep tonight, rather than in the shop, where I'll be able to see the source of the mad laughing through the windows.

I guess the toilets aren't creepy when you close your eyes and can't see anything...

It's quite nice here actually...