Friday, July 24, 2009

#0034 | 07/24 | 01:14 PM

We're in a drudge.

After this morning, everyone just seems sluggish. Slow. The day seems to be pushing on at an amazingly slow rate. And everyone's trying to avoid everyone else.

Me and Sean are supposed to be doing inventory on our diminishing supplies today.

Supposed to being the key word here. Instead, we're sitting around, writing down figures, staring into space for a bit, then snapping out of it at the sound of a creak or step, looking down, and realizing our calculations are wrong. Or we've been writing down the weirdest nonsensical shit for awhile.

We haven't replenished anything, so it's obvious that the day when we'll run out of edible foodstuffs or heck, bullets, will come. We've been conserving, cutting our meals to the bare minimum and it's not like we've had reason to fire our limited ammunition since the day we took in Monica and Colin, but still. We agreed it would soon be time to go out and scavenge the remains of the city for the necessities.

Henry was, as always it seemed, working on his little project involving the school's security cameras. Which was still majorly inoperable. A few hours ago, he perked up when one of the cameras, one situated outside the northern building, flickered to life, but his single success had since gone out and he was left stumped on what had gone wrong.


Colin and Anna are attending to Monica, who doesn't really need attending owing to the fact she's asleep all the time, and when she does need anything medical, Henry's the only one who can handle it.

But Anna helps feed her when the time comes and Colin seems anxious to leave her side for too long a time.

And we're all in a daze. We're all doing something, the exact worth of each of our responsibilities debatable, but we're trudging along the path. A path now paved on despair.

And that's whats wrong. Exactly what's wrong. Despair.

Fuck, it is good to take the time to organize your thoughts like this. Shit.

We've all given up. It seems, we all had the idea, buried or stowed away but had all the same, that life would eventually return the normalcy we expect of it. That this wasn't how the rest of our lives was going to go, survivors in the ruins of the world. That we would get out of the knee-deep shit somehow.

But the sight of those two glorious helicopters skimming the early morning air, relics of a world gone by, punched the button we didn't even know we had.

They saw us. Oh yes they fucking did.

They we're flying low enough, and we were jumping and hollering from the roof of the central building. The highest point around for blocks. They'd be blind not to see us.

So they saw us.

And they didn't stop.

And that, that knowledge is what's dazed us. It's forced a nasty reality on the little box in the back of our heads that carried our hope. When we saw those choppers, that silent little box just about burst with relief and delight. And when they went by, that little box couldn't be closed.

And now we're mucked in despair.

And that's extremely bad for our survival, I see now. Teamwork, cooperation, work - these things require a certain degree of faith. Of synchronization. And as we are now, we're like a bunch of retarded ducks on a minefield.

And we're right in there too, right inside a city that's basically a war zone for 12 hours a day, and a sweltering trial the other 12. And unless we wake the fuck up, when the time comes to put our selves to work really defending ourselves (be it from Freak or gun-toting fucktard), we'll be fucked. 'Cause there ain't a fight we'll be able to put up when we're like this.

Like lost sheep on fire.

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