Luke's Diary: An Unlucky Man in a Zombie Apocalypse. Days 201-400

Day 300: Thursday 22nd June 2017 Time Unknown

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Day 300
Thursday 22nd June 2017 Time Unknown

I found a bit more paper today. I've never felt so excited at the idea of writing after finding a bit of scrap paper.

I've been cooped up in this sh*tty, depressing cabin for five days. I can't find the words to describe how I feel. Numb. I suppose I feel numb. Numb, blank and emotionless.

It's obvious Dump and Hilary have just left me in here to die. After the first day I was starving and really thirsty. I had terrible stomach pains and felt really dizzy. I felt really anxious and I was panicking a lot. That was a few days ago but right now I don't feel anything. I'm tired, weak and light headed. I've got chapped lips and dry skin. I don't care. I know I'm going to die in here so there's no point in trying. There's no point in trying anything. I've stopped screaming and calling for help and I've stop trying to break through the windows and the doors. I've searched the entire cabin from top to bottom and there's nothing I can use as a weapon. I've hurt my hands, cut my skin and injured my fingers. I'm covered in dust, dirt and DeShawn's dry blood but I don't care. I suppose I've accepted that I'm going to starve to death and die in here. I suppose then, I'll come back as an infected. Maybe I should just kill myself so I don't come back as one of the gory undead. Mind you, I already look like a dug up corpse. There's a smashed mirror in the hideously grim bathroom and I caught sight of myself this morning. I look awful. My face looks thin and I look ill. I don't care. I really don't.

I thought Hilary and Dump brought me here to torture me or question or something but now I know they've just chucked me in here to forget about me and leave me to rot. I hope everyone else is OK. I hope they managed to bring down Dump and prove what a corrupt b*stard he is. Mind you if Dump has been deposed I thought that Naomi and the others would have searched the holiday park to try and find me but it seems that hasn't happened. Maybe they don't care. Mind you, I'm not bothered so why should I expect them to be.

The boredom was unbearable when I first got here but now it's just how it is. To pass the time I've been throwing bits of plaster at a certain smudge of blood on the kitchen wall. I hit the smudge two hundred thirty seven times out of eight hundred and eleven. The kitchen has seventy three cracked tiles in it and the bedroom has thirty-seven floorboards. As I sit here on this damaged and neglected sofa, smelling the mould, looking at my derelict settings, listening to the silence and feeling empty I guess it makes sense to start thinking about my death a bit more. If I had a gun I could shoot myself in the head. There's nothing sharp in here so I need to think about how I can destroy my brain quickly and effectively to ensure I die without coming back as an infected. Now I think about it, maybe that's what Hilary wants. Maybe he wants to leave me in here to starve to death so he can then see me turn into an infected. Hilary likes an audience so maybe, once I'm infected, he wants to show me to everyone. Maybe that's his twisted revenge for me getting involved with his wife, Eve and his son, Robbie. Me killing myself would end this purgatory I'm in now and also stop Hilary from seeing me as an infected (if that is indeed his plan).

I've heard it can take a few weeks to die of starvation. The idea of killing myself somehow is looking more and more appealing. I suppose I just need to think about an effective method and make use of the resources I have at my disposal.