Day 257. It rained last night. Collected another two cups of water. Only six tablespoons of purifying chemical remaining. Still able to boil the water, but eventually firewood will become an issue. Cannot afford to burn all lumber, as it may be needed to reinforce barricades if They become aware of my presence. Concerned that They may hear me if I attempt to exercise, but must try to maintain a level of fitness in case combat becomes unavoidable.
Read The Stand again yesterday. Reviewed Morse code. Considered trying to cultivate fungus as a food source – but have decided to disregard – for the moment, at least.
You make your home a fortress
To keep the dead outside
You’ve got nowhere to run to
So instead you try to hide
You barricade the windows
You reinforce the doors
You do what you have to
To protect what’s yours
You wait for help to arrive
The room starts to feel smaller and smaller all the time
The only sounds are Their footsteps and Their moans
You feel the isolation, desperation in your bones
You move like a mouse inside your tiny prison
Afraid to draw attention – any noise might give you away
You hear your breath like a tornado
Hear your heartbeat like a hammer
The room feels a little smaller today…
(Singing faster, building towards a crescendo.)
Every creaking floorboard echoes
The air feels heavy as sand, and
Every day you’re sinking slowly –
How many days before dehydration? Or starvation?
Death from exposure, disease or suffocation?
Wouldn’t it be easier to – ?
(He stops himself, abruptly, forces himself to regain his composure.)
You tell yourself that help is coming
You call out for help, but there’s only static on the other side
You listen to the silence, and wonder if you’re still alive…
And every day the room is a little smaller
It’s plain to see the walls are closing in…