5th July 2026
"Truth-speaking thoughts are more painful than dead-breathing words."It is easier to survive in a group than alone. In a group, there is always someone listening to you. You can let your thoughts flow, and someone is there to counter them, provide a new perspective, or encourage you when hope begins to slip away.
But is it really true? The advice others give often echoes the thoughts we already have but refuse to accept. Sometimes, it takes another person—a voice other than our own—to state the obvious. Even harsh words from someone else cannot match the cruelty of our inner voice. That's what I've learned, sitting here alone, grappling with the quiet chaos of my mind.
The icy wind jolted me awake. My body was stiff, my joints aching from the cold. The broken window of the office let the night air in, leaving no chance for warmth or comfort. I hadn't slept properly in days, but then again, who could? Rest seemed like a luxury in this world now. I rubbed my hands together to generate some warmth and stood up, shaking off the cold-induced numbness.
The office I had taken refuge in wasn't safe. The door was broken, and the thought of an infected stumbling in while I slept was unsettling. I needed to move. My best option was to return to the office I originally came from. It had better shelter and a sturdy door—something essential for survival.
I stepped onto the scaffolding and observed the window of my target office. It was a fair distance away, but it looked reachable. Then, my eyes caught sight of a rope dangling off the side of the scaffolding. It was attached to a hook that had fallen along with one of the infected the previous day. The rope seemed promising.
Gripping the rope, I pulled it up. At first, it felt impossibly heavy. My arms strained, but as the hook emerged, I realized the weight wasn't as bad as I had imagined. I was just weak—hunger and fatigue sapped my strength. Still, it was enough to work with. An idea formed in my mind.
The hook and rope could serve as an extension to reach the window. I could tie the rope around my waist, toss the hook through the window, and pull myself closer by looping the rope over the scaffolding's bar. It wasn't foolproof, but it was my best shot.
Before beginning, I decided to scour the office for anything useful. My search led me to a small black box. My heart raced as I recognized what it was—a GoPro kit. The realization brought a rare smile to my face. I stuffed the kit into my bag, its potential value outweighing its weight.
My supplies were dwindling. Only one half-drunk water bottle remained with me. The rest of the bottles I had collected were still sitting near the broken section of the scaffolding where I had placed them earlier. I made my way back, retrieved the bottles, and climbed onto the scaffolding again. One by one, I tossed the supplies through the window of the office I planned to enter, ensuring they landed safely inside.
Now came the critical moment. I tied the rope firmly around my waist and secured the hook. Standing on the edge of the scaffolding, I swung the hook toward the window. It took several attempts before it latched securely onto the frame. Taking a deep breath, I pulled the rope taut and began to haul myself toward the window, the rope creaking under my weight.
With a final heave, I climbed through the window, collapsing onto the floor of the office. Relief washed over me as I lay there for a moment, catching my breath. After a few minutes, I sat up, reached into my bag, and retrieved the GoPro. Setting it up, I hit record.
"Day..." I paused, trying to remember. "I don't even know anymore. This is... I don't know why I'm doing this, but I have to document it."
I spoke about the infected, recounting what I had observed over the past few days. Their movements, their behavior, their weaknesses. I speculated about the virus's origin, piecing together fragments of information I had gathered. The words spilled out as if I were talking to someone else, though the only audience was the camera.
Just as I began to delve into the origin of the virus, a sound interrupted me—a faint creaking noise, like a door opening. My voice caught in my throat as my body tensed. The room seemed to grow colder, the shadows deeper. My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
The noise came again, louder this time. I wasn't alone.