"The night is dark and stormy out, the only form of light or life coming from the many bonfires that have dotted the horizon before me. I'd bet that not many before me, neither more recently nor far back in history, have ever looked upon a seen such as what is beholding upon our plain. It's almost as if Hell ran out of room and decided to send the overflow up-top. If only you could see the look on my face now, then maybe you would truly understand what I mean.
Hahah, there I go again. Saying 'you' when chances are no one is ever going to get as far as to read this besides me. Honestly, I think chances are slim to none as to even half the population in America still being alive. Who knows, maybe a paradise is out their somewhere, somewhere where all of this... evil can't cast it's skeletor hand.
Lincoln is sitting beside me now, wagging his tail, as if happy, yet keeping his gaze at the exit, as if reading my fears of pillage. Funny how a dog can always seem so happy and care-free for so long, and then suddenly turn savage and fierce in order to protect it's master or pack leader. Lincoln can stand his own; that Irish-setter in him is strong and durable, I would think. Even if I do not out last him, he'll still be able to fend for himself.
Looking back out the window, I see that I might have misjudged the time. It would seem that there is maybe a sliver of sunlight struggling to cast off night's blanket and reveal it's woes. Hard to tell with my eyes not being as they once were. If it's already dawn, then that means it's almost time for me to close this book for another night and put it back in my secret hiding place (the bookcase, which looks like it's made of thick wood but is really hollow, flips out at the sides and is easily overlooked by the wandering eye).
Okay, so maybe the spot isn't as amazing as maybe under a loose brick in the fireplace, or up in the insulation in the attic, but it still works.
Well, it would seem that I am to bring this to a close now, my first post in my survival log, so to speak. Oh, before I forget! My name is Paul Peter, I was once a worker at the local car manufacturer, I am thirty-five, and I have an Irish-Setter named Lincoln. Lincoln likes liver biscuits, fish, and sitting by the fire at night. We both enjoy surviving and living. Yes, we enjoy these things very much.
Goodbye, You, whoever 'You' turn out to be."
Excerpt from Paul Peter's survival log, dated October 15, 2007.
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