God, I feel like such a retarded pussy.
For the past two or so hours, I've just been sitting here and thinking, what the hell is wrong with me? I freaking crawled into a garage. I freaking dropped the gun. And even more idiotic, did I actually start spooning, what may possibly be, blood off the wall???
Damn. I'm fucked up. I might be able to overlook everything else, but shit. I was licking blood. Unknown blood. Possibly infected blood. Damn. I deserve to be struck down by Freaky (my slang for the infection, in case ya didn't know. Back when it first started, I heard a black guy arguing with some soldiers over his obviously infected friend. He kept saying, "he's fine! Just a little Freaky!"). Or AIDS. Probably both.
Not that it matters, it turns out I'm the luckiest motherfucker this side of the great old Mississippi. The bloody scrawl on the wall is gone. And, thinking about it, I'm not sure it was ever there. It's completely plausible I imagined the entire thing. There's no blood residue on my fingers, or my palm (which I never licked).
And although this speaks wonders for my hypothetical 1337 luck stat, it raises stark worries regarding my sanity. Imagining odd little scribbles in blood and starting to lick them in the dark of night is... worrisome.
Although, admittedly, It's something to worry about later. There are more pressing issues right now. Most pressing of all, a woman who may or may not be dead in my house as we speak and a possibly Freak-azied Randy munching on her stale corpse. She's defenseless after all, what with being gunless now.
And even if she's still alive and survived the night, I have no idea what's wrong with her and optimistically hoping that It'll stumble across the miracle cure for whatever she has in a (probably) looted clinic is just...