Zombsania

Part 1.5

FEBRUARY THE 9th:
Around 1 AM
DAY 8:

It was good to finally have a bed, I will admit that. But just because I'm laying on it doesn't mean I will sleep on it. I will not let the tiredness overtake me, and I will not let my eyelids give up and fall shut. I'm sitting in bed writing, with a torch that was on top of their fridge. Luca claimed it as his but he said I can borrow it. We moved mattresses out from all of the bedrooms and placed them in the living room, we needed to stick together, if something happened at least we could help one another because we are in the same room. But do I trust him? I'm looking over at him. His mattress is at the end of mine, his back facing me, looking out towards the window. How trusting. I guess he can see that were much to weak to even attempt to hurt him. His shoulders are moving up and down peacefully, the moonlight shines on his brown jacket. On my left is Cara, her eyes closed, lips forming a downwards pout. She's the closest I have to a friend in this room.

My mind is traveling back to my family, my brother... Oh god. Suddenly it has really hit me, like a kick in the stomach, taking away my breath, with the thought of what I did to him. Vivid images are flashing into my mind. The sound of his hand crunching in the door. Forcing my legs into his stomach. And now I'm picturing my parents. My mothers tight curls, sitting, full of life, all around her face. Her wide, deep brown eyes, which even the most innocent could get lost in. And my father, always looking so stern, a permanent picture of his arms crossed burned into my mind. He hurt my family, yet managed to heal them through his hard work.

Oh my poor mum and dad. Innocently sleeping. They had always been so proud of my little bro, so what a shock it must have been when he walked into their room to tear them apart. He did that to our family... How did he turn into one of them? And then I almost did the same to him - destroyed his body, due to what? Instincts?  Guilt was replacing the stomach acid at the pit of my stomach. These images are enough to make me want to throw up. But instead, I'm feeling a sting behind my eyes, and a warm drop falls onto my cheek, another one into the page.

No one can know I'm crying. I need to be tough here. Why is it so hard to stop your tears? Alright, I'm going to turn my torch off so no one can see me, I'm keeping my diary under my pillow... I don't know why I'm writing these things, I guess I just hope that when this is all over, I can remember how I survived, if I survived. I don't want to lose who I am because of a disaster like this. I don't want to become violent, I've already killed one person... Oh no the tears a coming back, I feel them.

Goodnight.