The Journal

The world has ended.

Nearly everyone is gone. Dead, most likely.

Mom found this stupid journal in a house during a supply run and told me to write about my experiences in it.

They aren't very pleasant.

They don't contain some hidden clue as to how the world became, well, crappy. Just what was described on the news, in the papers, people's theories.

They are just a few entries of my life, written in my messy handwriting.

And one day, I find another journal.

This one has stuff from before The End.

Maybe it could shed some light on my situation, and bring more meaning to my life other than the constant worry of survival, and the Reapers that should only come out at night.

Cover image credit goes to @noracuba on EyeEm