Adrian's Undead Diary Enter the World of AUD

June 23^rd.

                I don’t know what to make of today.  Nothing happened.  God nor the Devil, or whatever power that is out there that is running this show smote us off the face of the planet today, which may or may not tell us anything.

                Do they not give a shit about calendars?  Or anniversaries of events?

                Do they not give a fuck about us anymore at all?

                Or is this just me waxing on and on about nonsense?  Fucked if I know.

                I’m writing this at bedtime in the hopes that it will make me tired, and I can get some sleep.  Very low key day today on campus.  Everyone battened down the hatches and sat still.  The most impressive and ambitious thing that happened was the new people going dorm room to dorm room to acquire new goods and such for their living accommodations.  When we head back to MGR tomorrow they can get their own personal belongings, but for now, the kid’s left behind shit will have to suffice.

                It was amusing to see them run about on campus outside.  They haven’t had the freedom of open ground in… a long fucking time, and when they were outside, they literally ran from building to building like the undead were smothering the place.  Of course they aren’t, and their haste and paranoia was largely pointless, but it did fetch a laugh from us ALPA vets.

                I wonder how Blake and Kim are doing?  Still no word from them.  Hopefully they’ll be back soon with Mike.  Westfield is definitely due for a water run here soon, and I’d like to at least hear about how the young couple is faring.  I’ve got my fingers crossed for them.

                Weird day actually.  I wonder if Cassie died a year ago today?  I wonder if she held out for awhile?  I know she’s dead.  My dreams tell me so.  I hope she went quickly.  I haven’t thought about her in a long time.  I’m suddenly feeling quite guilty about everything again. I guess I’ll always feel guilty about it.  Cassie, if you’re still out there, I love, and always will.

                But you’re gone.  And I can’t dwell on the past.  I need to move on.  Make amends, and be the better person for the folks around me.  You might’ve told me that in a dream in fact.

                I’ve spent the last year doing all I can to try and survive, and help the people that I’ve met.  I’ve written as much of it down here in this silly ass journal.  I don’t know why I do this anymore.  It’s habit now.  My therapy.  My history.  Good and bad I guess.

                I chronicle my few successes, and my enormous amount of failures.  I talk about what makes me laugh, what makes me cry, and my hopes for a future in this fucked up world.

                There’s a thought.  What could the future be?  What’s my endgame here?   Where do I see myself in a year, five years, ten years?

                Possibly dead, probably dead, and definitely dead is the pessimist’s set of answers to that question.  I hate to say this, but with the rate we’ve lost people at, despite our hard work and caution to the contrary, it’s likely to be the way it all ends.  Well, we’re all gonna die someday.

                It only matters how we live.

Abby is knocking on my door.  Haven’t seen her all day.  Might write more later.

                -Adrian.

June 23^rd (2^nd entry)

                I feel compelled to write something.  I know it won’t help me sleep.  Bad news always keeps me up late.

                Horrible news…  Horrible news might ruin me.

                Gilbert is dead.

                I need a minute.

                -Adrian

June 23^rd (3^rd entry)

                That took more than a minute.  I suspect it’ll take much longer than that to digest this.

                Abby told me Gilbert asked her to shoot him last night, and she’s spent all day today getting his things in order, and building up the nuts to tell me.  She was afraid I’d kill her.

                Legitimate concern, frankly.

                Gilbert had been dreaming of The Lacuna, according to the story she told, and the notes he left behind in his oddly perfect handwriting.  I always got a kick out of that.  His perfect handwriting.  How does a guy that old who has spent so many years in the thickest, deepest shit have great handwriting?

                Attention to detail.

                Gilbert had been manipulated.  The dark voice in The Lacuna had taken his wife, and held her soul to blackmail him.  The Voice had tried to get him to fuck me over.

                Me.

                Not us, not the school not humanity, not anyone else but me.

                The Devil has me marked for elimination.  And he’s using those I love and care about to get at me.  I should be scared.  Old Scratch is after me. 

                I’m not scared of dying.  I’m not scared of failing.  Not anymore.  I feel oddly motivated by this.  Validated.  I MUST be a good person if evil is gunning for me, right?

                Of course, I’ve heard the Devil punishes sinners, and if he’s this hot for me, then maybe I am the King of all sinners.  Hell’s most wanted.

                I’m very much afraid for the people around me.  I am afraid they will be killed strictly due to their proximity to me. 

                Collateral damage, so to speak.  Gilbert, Gavin, Maddison, Charles, Randy, Larry, Candace, Jeff Daniels, Cassie, Steve, and a hundred other people that have come near me.  All dead.                

No matter how hard I try to keep people safe they keep dying.  Now with the revelation in the wake of Gilbert’s self sacrifice, I am wondering if they would still be alive if I wasn’t part of the picture.

                Maybe instead of trying to bring people to me to keep them safe, I should be leaving here, and dragging the despair and death that seem to be following in my wake?  Maybe that’s the best thing I can do to save people now?

                Remove myself from the equation.

                Maybe just like Gilbert did.

                -Adrian

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