This is the first time in a long time I have been able to write. Hopefully, they don’t find me doing it either. After the last writing I was looking for another car when someone knocked me out. I woke up being hosed down in a shower. I think they were making sure I had not been bitten, or scratched up by a zombie. Surprised those bastards didn’t rape me. I have been taken in by a group of crazy ex-cops, ex-military, and gun loving white people who probably went hunting every weekend. They have turned this small-gated community into their private civil war fort. They probably have had dreams of doing this for years, and finally got the opportunity. They play defend the fort while they make everyone else cook, clean, store supplies, and anything else they can think of to keep us busy. I wonder if this is similar to the days of the hunters and gathers. Can’t believe I am a gather. Everyone gets their own small portion of the food, and supplies, but only the trusted get the guns. They took the little medicine, and water I had with me. My journal was the only thing they let me keep because no one had a use for it that wasn’t named Max. It would be hard for them to read or write, if they could, with their hands glued to their guns. I will be honest... I am a gather.
No comments:
Post a Comment