zg_shadows | On why living in London sucks sometimes...

I’ve lived in London my whole life. I got a good job, got married, raised a family, and retired about 8 years ago. And then things started to go downhill. My brother died in that zombie plague a few years back, my wife drowned in the floods.

There were earthquakes, and volcanoes, and then I lost my grandson in the sandstorm in Camden. Then, for a few years, things were quiet. If anything, the deaths brought us all closer together – I moved round the corner from my son and his family, and my daughter lived less than a mile away. We didn’t forget the ones that we’d lost, but we managed to live through it all, and for a while, we were happy.

Until two nights ago. I’d been out when it all started, and was dragged into a pub where a few people were holding off those creatures, and they wouldn’t let me out. By the time it was over, it was too late. My daughter’s house had been burned out, and I found their charred bodies huddled under the stairs. My son’s house… One of the creatures, or maybe more, had got in there, and they were all dead. The blood was everywhere, and the bodies…

I can’t write about that any more.

It took me an hour to find a working phone, and the rest of the night to place a call to Newcastle, where my granddaughter had been at university. I didn’t manage to speak to her, but I spoke to one of her friends. It had been the same there, and she’d been killed by a mob on the street.

So, there’s nothing left for me now. I’m going down to the Thames, and I’m not coming back. If someone finds this, whoever you are, get out of London. Get out of here before it does to you what it’s done to me. Take your family, take everyone you care about, and get out, before it kills you too.

Goodbye.