You know, my whole life I have heard this phrase: expect the unexpected. Of course, my Ma would add, "or else it'll bite you in the arse," but it's the same concept. Now, that phrase never really made much sense to me. Expect the unexpected? Sure, but how? Keith and I would spend hours wondering what the unexpected was. We'd even go as far as making plans to face it. However, a zombie apocalypse has never been 'unexpected' to us. We already figured it was going to happen so we thought up of things to do and where to go. Thinking back, I can't help but laugh. I never realize just how 'unexpected' it was having the apocalypse. I knew it was happening, just didn't knew that it was going to be so fast.
Another unexpected event of my life was meeting this awesome group. There's Rochelle; the sweet gal, she was always like a mother to this odd bunch. Then there's Coach and Nick. Coach, true to his name, was a coach. He had an awesome leadership type personality and was able to keep everyone together. And Nick . . . well, he did always acted like there was a stick wedged up his butt. Of course, I have a feeling that stick's wedged up there for good. Anyways, for once in a very long time, life was good. Granted, we had to fight for survival, and it sucked getting beaten up everyday, but it was good. It didn't feel hopeless; we were a team.
And yet again, true to my Ma's words, the unexpected bit me in the rear. Tanks, a huge group of them, got to us. I think there were waiting for us or somethin'. Anyways, they grouped up and ganged on us. Coach didn't last, the poor guy. The tank managed to pin him away from us and we couldn't get to him in time. Another one slammed Rochelle of the building. I pray that she went quickly and didn't suffer. Nick disappeared; I lost track of him. For the longest of time, I had hopes that he was still alive. And so I kept searching. However, about a week later, I found his body. He must've slipped or something cause his neck was broken. Maybe it was a jockey,I don't know.
Now, I'm usually a cheery guy, you know? But sometimes it just gets too much. Sometimes, a person can't handle that much depression. I started doing something I have never done before; I started questioning myself and life. Could we actually make it? Is there a cure somewhere and we as humans could fix this mess? Or were we doomed to die out, since this was all humanity's fault? I often would give myself a headache just thinking about that. So, instead, I'm writing this down. I was often told that if I kept it bottle up, it'll make me sick. How? No idea. But I did know that getting it out will help me feel somewhat better. 'Sides, I don't think there's anyone left to read this, anyways.
I'm just . . . I'm just tired, y'know? I'm tired of fighting, I'm tired of loss, and I'm tired of hiding from everyone and everything. I'm tired.
Just a small writing to myself. I wanted to try to get inside of his head.