January, the 3rd.

Oh man, going to the library may not have been a good idea. Wait a moment, I need to check myself for any more cuts. Ah! There's a cut that I didn't see before. Better use some penicilin that I found at that library.

Tonight I am writing by moonlight. I sure do miss electricity. And Mary, for that matter. It's been only a day and already I can't stop thinking about her. Her warm smile at always seeing me talk with her. Her deep, beautiful eyes I could get lost for hours in.

I miss Mary.


As I am currently adding more bandages to my left leg, my writing tonight might get a little sloppy...

At daybreak, I gathered some food and supplies, as well as a branch of wood and some matches I found to make a torch with, just in case. I put all of this into like a suitcase that I found in my old school. It seems strange to talk of it as my old school, seeing as that only a few weeks ago everyone was fine, without a care in the world...

I had found the suitcase under my math teacher, Mr. Winthrop's desk, and I brought the suitcase home. After packing everything I thought I would need, I went to go to the public library. It was a short walk from home... only 25 minutes away from home.

I get to the library and find it open, as usual. The mean librarian isn't glaring down at me like she always did, sneering at anyone who passed her by. At least this virus wasn't completely bad...

Finding a table, I sit down and unload my belongings. I packed a rugal breakfast of a granola bar, an orange, and some bread. Not toast, just bread. Eating the breakfast I looked around for some books I might have use of. I never got to eat in the library before.

After breakfast, I searched and found some pretty decent books. How to Survive a Natural Disaster. Guess that works. Living on Your Own: The Bachelor's Guide to Individuality. Seems a little cheesy to me, but I might find something worth reading. And of course, I found the Bible for all 12 year-old schoolchildren: Garfield comics.

Call it a birthday gift, for myself. They do say that knowledge is the best gift, though not very appealing right now. Happy twelfth...

I read the books and others not worth mentioning here until an hour after high noon. The auto-programmed heating unit is running, as someone must have pre-programmed it to run at least for the next week or so. Then, after that ends, it'll be the usual 40 degrees (Fahrenheit) winter outside.

I eat another savory lunch of a crudely-made turkey sandwich. I also packed 2 juice boxes. It's not filling, but I'll eat more when I get home.

Another few hours pass by. I didn't notice the time, because at school and now I am always the most avid reader in my class. I also love to write, which is why I'm writing this diary now. Anyways, it says 4:27 on the clock on the wall. Time to get going home-- the sun goes down faster in winter.

I haven't gone outside during the nights yet. I can't imagine what might be going on out there. I hope with all my heart that there's someone... something out there, but a part of me asks: do I really want to know?

Debating this in my mind, I walk home, not looking carefully enough around me, I must admit looking back. I hadn't seen anything else alive since Hector died, then it was just me and Mary. Hector was my best friend. We three took care of each other as the last of the survivors started dying off. And to think: all of this happened in such a short time...

My thoughts are jolted as I hear another sound-- a living sound, for the first time. I am taken aback, but still somewhat relieved, to see a dog stand there about 4 meters away from me. Sure it was snarling, probably infected with the virus like everything else, but it was alive and I'm not alone.

Then I see another dog come out from a bush and join the first dog, both snarling hungrily at me. Then another dog comes from underneath a car. Then another. And yet another. They all are staring at me like I'm a fresh dinner waiting.

As they slowly approach me, I have to think quickly. I throw down the suitcase of remaining provisions and books and I take out the branch and matches. Almost as if knowing what I'm going to do, one of the dogs, a rotweiler, lets out a bloodcurdling screech.

My hands are shaking, trying to strike the match. I am able to strike it and light the tip of the branch, slowly starting a fire making my torch.

Triumphantly, I wave the torch in the pack's faces shouting, "Back! Go away-- I am not a chew toy!" But the dogs were not scared as much as I hoped. Hunger made the dogs braver, more desperate. In a lunge, one of the dogs advanced towards me and bared its teeth.

I fended myself off, grabbing the suitcase and running, but not before the dog got some scratches in on my arms and legs. Oh, better check my leg. Good, the bleeding's gone-- finally. That penicilin sure does the trick...

I run as fast as I can, weighed down slightly with the books in the suitcase. The fire from my torch illuminates the darkness that surrounds me. I can see slightly, but the fire can only be so bright. Blood is dripping steadily off me, making a sick path of blood that any dog could smell. And follow.

Out of breath I reach my home and slam the front door shut, locking it. Not that that would have made a difference-- dogs can't open doors. Maybe it was a cry for hope, hope that there would be some human being anywhere that may try to open that door.

...And I run upstairs into the bathroom, grab some penicilin and bandages from the cabinet, and go into my room. I try to do as my mother always told me when I got cuts and other injuries. They sting for a little while, but I know that this is what has to be done.



I've stopped bleeding. By now it's probably into the early evening. The full moon is hidden behind a great mass of clouds. I can't write any more for tonight. Good night.