It has been some time since the war, long enough that I have forgotten what month it is. Part of me just doesn't remember and another part of me just doesn't care anymore. I have discovered this journal in the wreckage of a world I once knew and have decided to write down what I do next, only to keep my sanity. My name is Alexander Grune and I am lost.

Of course I'm only being a little dramatic, that's just who I am. I have lived longer than any historian could remember. I was granted a gift, so that I may watch humanity prosper as per my request. But as I now look back on my immortal life, I realize that taking that gift was the biggest mistake that I have ever made. Not one generation had gone by that did not see the bloodshed of war. It is a miracle that I haven't been killed throughout all of the senseless folly, especially by this newest and latest war. Some of the land is still smoldering. What is left, is nothing but rubble. What I'm assuming were the survivors of the war, have suffered the affects of the radiation and have been mutated into what some would call zombies, but I prefer the term Satan's Toys. They're nightmarish creatures with green skin covered in warts that ooze an excess amount of radioactive pus. I don't know what scares me more about these creatures, the extra limbs that protrude out of their bodies or the moans that can be heard from over a mile away. I would hope, pray that things will get better, but when I had an epiphany a long time ago, I stopped doing that. What kind of God would let something like this happen? And if you're thinking 'Well if this guy's life is so horrible, why doesn't he just kill himself and end his misery.' Believe me; I have tried on multiple occasions. Once with a loaded pistol I had found next to a rotting corpse and once again after jumping off of what was left of a skyscraper. That only left a small crater in the asphalt.

I've promised myself that I will find someone else in this wasteland, whether they are a slightly mutated human that is still sentient, or a talking roach. So be it, until I find some kind of intelligent life; I will ignore the bones that snap under my feet, I will walk through the desolated cities with only my shadow as a companion, and I will not lose my mind.

Rereading what I have just written is reminding me of an old song. I can't remember the name, but I do remember the lyrics though. 'I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known. Don't know where it goes, but its home to me and I walk alone. I walk this empty street, on the boulevard of broken dreams.' Wait that was the title of the song, I knew it would come to me. 'Where the city sleeps and I'm the only one and I walk alone. My shadow's the only the only one that walks beside me. My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating. Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me, till then I walk along. I'm walkin' down the line that divides me somewhere in my mind. On the border line of the edge and where I walk alone. Read between the lines, what's fucked up and everything's all right.' That's basically all I can remember and as of now, I shall adhere to the boulevard of broken dreams and walk.