I can hear them outside my door, moaning and wailing. I don’t know how many of them, but, I know one thing for sure, they’ll rip me apart if they found a way to get in here. I’ve watched how they feed. I’ve once witnessed a poor man was torn apart piece by piece. They buried their fingers into his flesh, it looked so easy, like knife through butter. ­Then, they rip the flesh open and devoured everything inside.

I’ve studied their behaviour for weeks. They hunt in groups, like wild dogs, picking on helpless prey. To them, we’re nothing but precious delicacies. It’s been two months since the outbreak. The news stated that people went crazy and spreading chaos. The government kept assuring people it’s going to be alright. They were wrong, dead wrong.

I’ve been hiding in my apartment since then. Everyday I hear them, moaning and wailing, sometimes, banging on my front door. Luckily I bolted it with heavy furnitures, planks and extra lock pads. The door was reinforced heavily so that nothing can break in, but I made a mistake, it was too solid, even for me. Now I can’t get out.

To make matters worse, my supplies are running low. There’s only a few litres of water left. The tap water is useless. It’s how they got to us in the first place. The virus spreads through our pipelines.

On the unforgetful day, almost half of the country’s population was infected. After they consumed the contaminated water, their brain began to shut down slowly. Life itself slipped away. Intelligence was first to go. What’s left was only hunger and the need to feed, desperately. They attacked the uninfected and later consumed them.

The scene was still fresh in my mind. A few neighbours tried to flee their home, before they could get to the streets downstairs, they were overran by the infected. Then they came for me. I fought back, trying my best not to get scratched or bitten. One single cut could turn me into one of them. The narrow hallway was a great advantage for me. I faced the horde with ease, bashing their skulls one at a time. I knew they would get up again but at least I slowed them down and bought time for me to get to safety. Fortified the door and stayed low as quiet as I can. At night, I turn off the light and lit only one candle.

Whenever I close my eyes, I could hear them moaning, then wailing and banging. I’m not sure if it’s only in my head or just the other side of my door.

I’ve not spoken to anyone since that day. My diary is my only companion. I hope one day, after all of this mess has gone, somebody would find it, and learn something. Learn that locking yourself in a fortress is a big mistake.

I’m tired, hungry, depressed and scared, all at the same time. If I have a gun in my hand, I’ll surely put it in my mouth and pull the trigger without hesitation. When the bullet pierced through my skull and painted the wall with my brain, everything will stop. I’ll be free.

Day by day, amoebas of insanity has taken over my judgement, slowly. Once, I’ve thought about jumping from the window ledge and hopefully the pavement below will free me, but it was overwhelmed by the horde. They might break my fall, I’ll survive the plunge but they will finish me off. I don’t want to die that way.

This mornig, when I was browsing for food in the cabinet, I found a bottle of sleeping pills. It belonged to my roomate, my infected roomate. As for right now, he’s on the couch with a screwdriver impaled through his temple. I did it. He was going for my neck, I have to defend myself.

I know the pain of dying from an overdose is unbearable, compared to a clean gunshot through the head, but the pain of being lonely and not knowing about the outside world is far more worse. Plus, I’m trapped in my own apartment with low supplies. Maybe this is my last entry. Thank you diary, for your time. You’re always here when I need you. You’ve eased the pain a little but these pills will do much better. Thank you.