Nuclear Devastation

Day: One 10:23 P.M.:

My name is Mark Guzman. I am twenty-five years old, and I am currently employed by the State of New Jersey. I don’t mean to write my entire background in this diary entry, but I feel it is confidential and essential information for you, the reader, to know why I would work for the government in my young and graceful age. Also it is important for you to even know why in the world a person like me would agree to partake in such a— how I should put this— insane job that requires someone with far more improved qualities and courage that I, unfortunately, do not contain. In fact I am the least probable person to even suggest to do this labor.

See the thing is that I was in terrible debt. As some wise men would say, “desperate times calls for desperate measures.” I live through that fucking quote. Now notice how I said “was” in horrific debt since I didn’t agree to do this job unless the State paid me beforehand, which they had the courtesy to do so. So my savings account currently has over half a million dollars, which to me is as fantastic incentive to induce myself to this setting of uneasiness. To do something this daring, there has to be a bonus received by it, and I have better received that bonus before I even do whatever the person asks me to do. That’s just the mentality I have, and perhaps that is why I found myself without a single penny in the first place.

Now you may be asking yourself, “What in the world has this man agreed to do?” Well that is a very wise question, and something that I would like to confront right now. There had been a nuclear accident in the Hope Creek Nuclear Generating Station all the way south in New Jersey in Salem County. I didn’t particularly pay attention to all the enriching details about the explosion and all, and it was due to my ignorance and lack of awareness at what goes on in nuclear power plants. I only paid close attention to the words and phrases that I did comprehend.

There was some problem with multiple objects and parts in the entire power plant. So many mechanical roles went haywire, which caused a chain-reaction of events to unfold themselves in a disastrous night. It all began with the cooling systems. It somehow malfunctioned, and wasn’t able to remove heat from the reactor core in order to transport it into another area of that plant. Usually the thermal energy is harnessed to produce electricity, or as a heat source for the boiler. There are also a plethora of other functions this extra energy gets migrated to. But on June 10, 2012, the cooling systems had a bit of a difficulty.

Now what would be expected if something dire happens to a power plant, the safety valves would step in to play and perform their role in any power plant. Their main priority is to prevent pipes from bursting due to intense energy, or to stop the reactor from exploding. Since the cooling systems were breaking down, many thought the safety valves would do their part. But the valves also malfunctioned, which resulted in a devastating accident.

The generator, which gathers kinetic energy in order to convert it to electrical energy, exploded with massive strength and potential power to light up all of New York City for a decade. The steam turbine overflowed with nuclear continents to a limit where they couldn’t handle the flow of power, so they as well ended with an outstanding boom! In all the nuclear reactor felt the harsh and pounding troubles of its entire power plant collapsing and falling apart, so it as well collapsed and fell apart. Radioactive spills occurred, so basically a small little nuke gave birth to itself right in that power plant. Over ten workers died in the accident. Apart from the ten that were deceased, three employees were presumed missing. Every other worker managed to escape before bad turned to worse by the skin of their teeth. They proved to be as the luckiest of the group. I couldn’t agree more.

I think we all know from Chernobyl by now what the following events took place as soon as that power plant went ape-shit. An immediate evacuation was held, and transferred over sixty-five thousand people from all of Salem County to another county or state. Again, I didn’t much care for the details. I just know that no radioactive diseases or cancers were transmitted due to American’s biggest fault of having the audacious balls to proceed with something that they know can cause a massacre across their country, and yet they continue to endure the punishment despite the warnings signs and hints natures displays. Yay US. Get it?

Anyways, I shouldn’t really be talking shit about the people who have given me almost half a million dollars just to do this crappy job for one week. Ah yes, I had to get back to my point in what exactly is my specific job the State of New Jersey so happily agreed to deliver to me. Well one thing led to another, and now I found myself stranded alone in the exact nuclear power plant in which the terrible tragedy occurred. That’s right, I am in Hope Creek Nuclear Generating Station: Home of the dead and soon to be! My task is to basically observe, scavenge, and find anything, and they mean anything, useful or important either left behind or hidden amongst this part of town. I have to spend one week inside the radioactive setting with a specially designed suit they rendered me that would allow my body to not be affected by the radioactive isotopes roaming around in the air every second of the day. I have to wear this suit every moment I step outside into this reality of furtive horrors, and unexpected demons waiting to either crawl out from the ground or to tear a hole in the sky.

They have been planning to send some idiot to the hotspot three years ago when the dismal event first happened. See the government has been developing these enhanced tools and objects to be used in case an event like this ever happens. One of the first things they have created was the suit that I wrote about. It’s especially designed to withstand all radioactive isotopes despite their half-life, energy source, and power it contains. It’s a basic jump-suit with the interior texture to be some advanced material that feels closely to cotton and silk combined. The coloring inside is a basic red, which gives the inside of the suit a very anxious emotion. The outside of the suit is also sewn from the same material from the inside, but with another layer on top of that one. The external coloring is a pale white with little blotches of gray embellished near the limbs. The reason this specific designed was made was not in an artistic sense, but in a survival one. If I so happened to either get lost or forgotten in the land outside during nighttime, a rescuing crew can locate where I am abandoned in a matter of minutes due to a special chip installed inside the suit. But if something wrong goes on with the chip, then the rescuing team can locate me due to my bright and discerning color.

That is one of the things these mad scientists have created. Another is a tent-like housing igloo that I can use as my main base when I get transferred to the hotspot. Currently I am writing this journal entry inside this igloo they have designed. This base is as big as a basement in any typical house. There’s only a sufficient amount of room for the necessary items I require in order for my survival. I have a fridge filled with all kind of foods and snacks to my desire, a tiny tub with a poke-a-dot patterned curtain in which I had no say in for, a twin-sized bed with blue sheets, a blue blanket, and blue pillow casings (again I had no say in this insipid room), and a desk with shelves where I can place all of my belongings that I decided to bring with me. I also have my luggage in which contains my clothing that I would be wearing for over a week. The scientists gave me seven suits to use for the entire week since the lifespan of these armors can only last twenty-four hours. These are all placed in a large, brown drawer.

The igloo is running by an energy source than can last for about a year, according to the information the government gave me in the contract I signed; so I have enough energy and light source to last me a long time. David Taylor, the man who had offered me this job, spoke that there will not be a television for me to kill time, and suggested that I bring an outside source of entertainment; as long as it didn’t interfere or cause harm to either myself or the outside environment. Yeah, they’re telling me not to take with me an item that can possibly do harm to the outside environment, when they have done plenty of harm themselves. Bastards. I told David I’d bring a notebook, a pen to write on that notebook, and two novels (two just in case I finish the first one too early since I am a hasty reader).

“Perfect!” David had exclaimed. I can always recall the man being pitch handsome, the most beautiful bastard I had ever met. His hair was gelled back with a glossy and moist substance, which made his brown and thick hair stay put with nice curves and hooves that any type of woman can find attracted. He always had a well clean, clear, and soft face, with his tan facial features precise to the last hair on his eyebrows. The man wore an expensive suit the day we organized and discuss about this job I had to do in order to receive my riches. I don’t know jack shit about suits and the material they’re made out of, but this guy wore something that would dazzle a man as famous and narcissistic as Donald Trump. “Bring a notebook in order to write down the details you have noticed about the area. You’re an English major, right? You can write well, I assume?”

“Well, I guess you can say that,” I had mumbled. I felt really uncomfortable during the entire conversation. But this brings me to my next point I have to make. My thoughts on this entire project.

Well, first of all, I think whatever the government was trying to convince and inveigle me in order to respond yes to their statement and offer was all bullshit and they know it. Hell, I know it! “Yes, um, we have this particular labor duty in which you can attain large amounts of money! We’ve been thinking about sending a professional, but it’s not something a man like you can handle. I mean, you are a very civilized man who seems to be able to take care of himself. All you have to do is watch for anything strange, take notes on your surroundings, and retrieve any objects you may find interesting to gather.” Yeah, all of that was just crap to try to persuade me agree to this, which I did but it’s due to the money source as I said. The worst part of it all was how they inculcated the ponderous thought on how I am doing a “public service for the entire community,” and how “you’ll be look at as a hero to the entire Salem county.” I could give a damn about people’s opinions, and how they display those opinions upon me. I just needed my money before I’m out on Wall Street with holes decorating my clothes, asking some douche businessman for some change, and he—or possible she, I don’t discriminate against woman who are assholes as well—giving me a look of utter sympathy and pity. It’s not my pride that roars in that situation, but my state of mind.

I think they just needed some guinea pig to test out their new toys, and yours truly was the perfect candidate. “Let’s get a middle-class worker who is currently unemployed, and who is young, and in scary debt!” Thanks, Obama. Whatever. As long as I am getting paid, then it’s all great to me.

I don’t think I am horrified for my life here, but rather a bit intimidated by my surroundings. I haven’t investigated my main objects since I had arrived here at night, and the State specifically informed me to only exit my camp during sunrise. They also stated how I couldn’t be outside during sunset. I had this very erotic sensation once I stepped onto this surreal environment. The State had dropped me down in a helicopter, and beforehand had stationed the igloo near where I landed. One thing I forgot to write about the igloo is that they have also installed this very awesome block that I need to use when I gather objects from the outside world. Since the things I am going to be bringing back with me have intensely high level of radioactivity, I have to place these items inside the box. The box is specially design to handle any level of radioactivity.

I’m an English major, so can you be any more surprise as to why I am in this situation. Currently the English department is not going that swell in the market. I have been ruminating about becoming an English teacher, but no opportunities seem to have come my way. This was the only job offering that I had left to take. I once read in a wise book, “Always take the money.”

Do not think of me as some cowardly character, but in fact view me as the most humane person there is. I have emotions, strengths, weaknesses, thoughts, anxiety, perception, sense, and in total a semi adaptable body and mind. David had said that this one week resort can improve my personality, and to try to see the light in some dark situations. I can well inform him that I see no light or darkness; just reality. I know that in this world it’s bind and bonded between both forces, but in order to truly live in such a universe, you have to conceal yourself from both powers. You have to walk between the line of optimism and pessimism. You have to just know when something is true, or just a mere fraction of your imagination.

And I can well tell you that this place is very unrealistic. I say this not in a sense of some mystical fantasy land, but in the perspective that something very unnatural may be lurking amongst the grounds I am currently stationed on. Whatever hell chamber these men decided to send me in, allow them to do it. But if something terrible goes wrong in a result of my trip here, then you know who to blame. I don’t know what has happened over the past three years on this area, but I know it’s not something anyone would be anticipating with either excitement or joy.

Of course I am going to proceed to write two journals inside this igloo. One for my personal imagination and thoughts, and another one for the State to review and read over. In the latter notebook I would obviously censor my blabbering thoughts about how I think the government is unfair, stupid, and filled with soulless entities in which have no self-respect for either the people they supposedly represent, and for themselves. I’ll just jot down some notes here and there of what I have observed, and my upmost opinions on them. I wouldn’t overdo it to the point that it looks like I’m kissing their ass, but I will try to make me sound like a very, uh, benevolent person.

But there’s no benevolence where I am in. There’s no sign of human activity, no joyous vibe, no thrilling and smiling events happening around me, and no sanity where I am located in currently. There’s just this depressing state of unbalance and supernatural activity that digs deep to the skin on my body. It’s this presence of unease that makes my spinal cords jitter and freeze to the point of breaking apart. It’s this feeling I got once I stepped down on the ground that I somehow knew, in some prognostic way, I was destined to be doomed. But there was no turning back.

So I wait for the sun to rise. I wait for my first day of exploration.

Day: 2. 10:38 P.M.:

My first day in exploring Hope Creek Nuclear Generating Station, which I’m now going to refer to as “The Station” since writing that name is cramping my wrist, went as fine as I can hope to say. I don’t know if “fine” can really summarize my overall feeling, since the entire time I felt so many emotions and dread throughout the entire exhibit.

My igloo was placed right next to one of the steam turbine that had exploded during the accident. When I exited from it during eight in the morning, it was the first real glance I had to observe. The government decided to send me near the central base of The Station so I can begin my expedition around the middle area where the accident had occurred. The steam turbine curved high in front of me, reaching heights as tall as buildings in New York City. I had no idea why the government decided to send a street boy as myself all the way south in New Jersey. I live in Jersey City all the way north up in Jersey. Moving to this new and foreign environment for a week was strange in many ways.

The steam turbine contains large chunks of its steel and metal either detached or blown away in result of the accident. Large and circular holes with rough and sharp edges could be spotted covering throughout the entire cylinder. The holes had a hollow opening, and each time I tried to stare precisely at an opening, I could see nothing but shadows overlapping themselves in a pile of darkness. The top of the steam turbine had most of it damaged, and made a tremendous and rigid curve once it reached a certain point. The grey and white steel gave the turbine no definition to it, and just brought more gloom to this early spring evening. The government made the best decision to send me here during the beginning of May. I enjoy a nice, light, breeze during any day in spring, and also it was just a tad bit warmer here than all the way up in the north.

I decided that the steam turbine would be one of the first objects I would investigate. My feet crunched against the crumbling cement ground below. There were also chunks of the road below my feet that were partially removed. The sky above me shed a blanket of grey and ominous clouds, and not a single sight of the sun above could be observed. Not even the blueness of the heavens above could be glanced at. Everything here just appeared so grey.

I approached the steam turbine within moments. As I advanced towards it, my heart made a quick leap to my throat. There were several scratch marks displayed all over the metallic covering of the steam turbine. I couldn’t identify the exact claw engravings due to the fact that I wasn’t an expert on animals and their nails. All I knew is that they were deeply dug to the point where it created a large slit through the impervious steel. It also didn’t appear as if the markings were made in a single slash, but there appeared to be some sort of struggle while the—the thing clawed on and on. In total there were about six obvious scratch marks shown in front of me, and they all had the same crimson coloring to the crooked lines that ran down about seven or eight inches.

Blood trailed down from the marks. A red and blemishing shade made the claw marks more alive and meaningful. The blood seemed as if it had been spilled recently, but not any time this month or so on. It didn’t have that rust or crispy texture to it yet, but anyone could notice how obviously dry the liquid was. I made the regrettable decision to loom in closer to the marks to catch a better view at the engravings. There I could see specific grooves and edges inside the empty lines with blood slipping down. I found this white substance at the end of one of the lines. I took a moment of hesitation to make a choice on what to do. At the end I grabbed it with my hands; they shook with horror.

It was some type of nail I had retrieved. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but I could tell it was a nail right away due to its curves and sharp ends. Also it had a yellowing shade to it, and contained all types of imperfections like chipped off pieces of it. This must have been the nail of whatever creature decided to toy around with the steam turbine, but the question still remained of who or what did this.

I had started off my day with a doleful mindset.

David, as well as several other professionals, had warned me about a very thorough problem that seems to always rise in such a case like a nuclear spill or explosion. They stated that there is a probability that certain animals or species can inhabit a landmass that has been stranded alone from humanity over a long period of time. In the case of Chernobyl, it is researched that wolves have taken over the entire setting within years of the nuclear power plant—not to also mention the entire city itself—being left alone by human kind. Wolves, and other such creatures, aren’t necessarily affected by the bitterness that comes with radioactivity. It’s just in our genetic coding, I assume, that is the reason why our bodies have specific consequences against such chemicals.

I imagined in then, wolves snarling at me with their fierce looks ready to attack and devour me at any moment. Their hungry and determined eyes studying me the way a lion might read a poor deer before it has had its meal. My twisted fantasy caused me to erupt goose flesh out of my skin. Even as I write this the horrors of being assaulted by a pack of wolves still brings me to my knees to plead for my life. After that incident I took my time to closely watch over my shoulders, and to pick up on any more findings of such markings.

Although some deep and unconscious part of my cerebral told me that it couldn’t be wolves. No, that part of my brain was yelling at my mind saying that is it not wolves or any such beast. The lines just seemed too narrow to be created by the thick and sharp nails of a wolf. Also there could be no apparent reason why blood would be leaking down the lines. Wolves should be prone to injuries or cuts in their paws. And it also begged the question as to why would any animal or thing would be wasting their time trying to dig through the steam turbine.

The duration of that morning and evening consisted of me just exploring around with all my enthusiasm drained out from my body. I spent most of my energy pondering on a solution or understanding as to why those marks were there. I kept telling myself that it wasn’t anything to be fussing about, and that I should at least do what the State wanted me to do since I have my money already; but my mind couldn’t be put to rest.

I went looking on. Trust me, there’s nothing spectacular about the Station and their nuclear power plant. I am one-hundred percent sure the government just sent me here to play around with their invention, and to be their “test dummy.” Every scientist needs one, and I fitted the perfect category. What I kept seeing was a repeated pattern of these medium-sized and large buildings with little to no sapid decorations. Roads crossed on and beyond to the main road, and they were all just as ruined and destroyed as the rest of this junkyard of ancient history. In fact I feel as if I wasted paper even talking about the landmass.

The only interesting part of The Station is that it is, well, stationed right near the shore were the Atlantic Ocean is spewing waves each and every second. I plan to explore that part of the area tomorrow the first thing in the morning. I have to cross a land filled with these leaves and crops, but it would be worth the trip. I’m just the type of guy who enjoyed a good oceanic view; especially to watch the sunset.

Now, I didn’t want to write this in the fact that I didn’t want to recall this moment again, but I feel as if someone should know if anyone ever decides to read this shit. I raced back to my igloo before the sun could set. I watched as the blurry sky above me went from its enlightening shade of grey to a darker and hollow black indicated that the sun was about to set. At first it shot orange and dark red rays of light, and that was the first hint that I should head back to safety. But I was so engaged to find another clue to solve the mystery that had been polluting my mind throughout the entire evening. Once the sky turned black I knew I was fucked.

So I ran with my breath panting, and my legs aching. Once I reached back to my igloo, I took one last look at the steam turbine. That one look transformed to a desperate and curious urge to observe the turbine one last time. I sprinted towards the large and towering piece of metal with my heart fisting against my lungs. At this point nighttime was nothing to argue about, and if I didn’t return soon I could cause some problems with the State if they ever found out I stayed out pass my curfew.

The world seemed to stop as I reached the spot where I had seen the claw marks. I can’t quite describe the dismal emotion I felt once my eyes laid upon the steel surface in front of me. I don’t even want to reencounter the sudden suspense and dread that built up in my blood and bones in a panicking and trembling force. I couldn’t believe what I saw was real. The air that was once a delightful and cozy current dropped down to a piercing and freezing breeze that made me reminisce winter. I had a chill that was incurable. Although I couldn’t see my face, I knew it had gone pale white. The blood sucked away from my face, and seem to have been transported to my chest by how hard it was knocking itself.

There was freshly new, wedded blood smeared all over the metallic curve. And with that hot and thick blood was accompanied with brand new engravings from the same nails that had formed the previous markings. There were a plethora of newly scratch grooves shown all over the surface. I couldn’t count how many there were. I had seen large, deep, and fatten lacerations all over the steel. Then there were these tiny bits of microscopic cuts that almost brought out a laugh out of me (if it weren’t for the situation, that is). And all of them were drowning in the flood of blood splashed on the steel surface.

I jolted home. Jesus fucking Christ I can’t explain to you how fast I made it in front of my igloo. And you want to know what the worst part of it all is? The climax that had made me resent the decision I made to ever come here?

Before I could close the door behind me, a howling, retched yell sprang to life from the distance. It echoed and lingered in the air for a long, long time. I seem to have felt its intense pulse as the scream washed over me with the freezing wind. It sent chills to shake my legs, and to put me in my cowardly place. The shout sounded high pitched, but it didn’t have any specific detail to it. It didn’t sound like someone or something being tortured or in deep pain, but it had that bizarre torment in it that could spark alarm. The yelling was followed by laughter. Chuckles that boomed in the air with such an edge to them I couldn’t believe my ears. It sounded like a pack of hyenas, and for a moment I thought they were. If wolves can make a home in an area like this, so too can hyenas, right?

Yes. I am correct. That is what I told myself as I closed the door. That is what I kept on convincing myself as I showered, and prepared for a good night sleep. That is what I kept on repeating to myself as I wrote this entire entry down. That is what I tell myself even when my own hand lacks the dexterity to jot down these words since I am utterly tired. My eyes sag down with a depress drop, and my body feels taken away from all of its youth and effort.

But I know the truth. Deep down in my soul, I somehow know the answer.

I am not alone here.

Day: Three 9:55 P.M:

Oh god. Oh my, oh my. Oh my fucking God! I- I don’t know how or where to begin. I don’t even know if I have the motivation left in me to even write any of this down. I- I just believe that I lack the proper mindset to be doing anything at the moment. It’s just that it all happened just so suddenly and out-of-the-ordinary. I keep on scribbling all over this damn notebook!

I think I should start when I left this morning for my second rounding trip to investigate around The Station. As I mentioned before, I craved to observe the shoreline to capture a great sight of the ocean. The waters, they calm me and place me in a placid mood that could relax my itchy and jittery nerves at any moment in my life. In fact I push and strain my brain to try to imagine the waves now as they swerve around with their massive power, and how soothing it all sounds. I want to relax, I want to make peace with my mind, but I cannot. Oh someone help me.

I had to pass through the field of crops in order to reach my desired destination. There is a more reliable route that I could have followed, but I would be going through landmass that I had already crossed in my last expedition. Despite the tremor I had experienced from last night, I still kept in mind that I was sent here in an assignment, and I was raised that no matter how arduous or onerous a job may be, if I’m getting paid well I should at least contribute some effort to it. Of course I slacked off this mindset in my later years, but that’s not the point.

The point is that I had made the worst and most lugubrious decision to walk through those fields. I can tell you now that I passed through them with no problem at all. The only annoying part of shuffling through those long and overgrown crops was having them tickle and smack against my face and body every second. Their little stems and leaves kept on pricking on my clothing, and they even stuck to the suit I was wearing. The government can produce such an advanced suit that can fight against radiation, but they have to make it so fucking sensitive that even the slightest touch of a crop could start an itching spasm within seconds. Fucking shit.

I arrived at the oceanic view in under fifteen minutes I believe. The shoreline ended where the crops also stopped their pursuit, and that left the waters licking and waving at the grass below my feet at the moment. The leaves and branches felt moist and thick, and the waters continued to blanket my boots as I stalked throughout the entire shoreline. I took my time to carefully watch in amazement the waters beyond, and how far they stretched to god knows where. The sun sprayed its yellowing rays right behind my head, and sent its brightening and blinding lights to spread against the top of the ocean which gave it a golden coloring. I had never seen anything so magnificent before. It appeared like butter smeared on top of the structure of water.

I spent the entire evening walking inches away from the waters while taking my time gazing over to the crop field just in case I find something interesting enough to take back to the igloo. I was surprised at how fast the day sped by, and how I had seem to forgotten last night’s horrific episode of dread and paranoia. My mind drifted to other tendencies like vacationing with all of the money I had earned, and telling my family of the beautiful view I had seen while on my week of labor. Happy and cheerful thoughts just spun inside my head, and I couldn’t have ask for anything more.

As the sun was setting, I knew it was time to head back home. I had learned from my mistake of staying out here in this stranded land past night, and didn’t hope to replay the terror I went through just twenty-four hours ago. I gave one last look at the ocean and sun at the distance, and saw how the prodigious red star beyond dipped its being into the mouth of the waters. I turned away to go back to safety.

Again I had to travel through those irritating crops. My feet made a low and audible crunching noise as my boots broke the crops below. I pushed away crop after crop, wheat after wheat, in an attempt to make my voyage more comfortable. I couldn’t believe how tall the crops were. I didn’t know if it was due to radiation or some other chemical to cause them to almost smuggle me with their limbs. The night had gone silent, and the only noise was my own two feet walking.

I had tripped on a rock, and fell on my palms before I had the chance to break my face. I gasped at the sudden trip. I think back then I was beginning to worry, and I felt very anxious throughout the walk. I took some time to regain my breath as I laid down on the forest of crops, and to try to relieve my nerves. It didn’t help that my arms and legs were shaking, but I pushed for happy thoughts to cease my mind. I could smell the crops like grains of freshly sprouted wheat fill my nose with their redolent aromas. I found some peace with their sweet scent.

Then I heard it. I heard crops crunching far beyond my left side. But it wasn’t like my steady footsteps, but instead a snapping of the grains; like knuckles and bones cracking. My head shot up viscerally, and my eyes dilated at the feeling of dismay that had come so unexpectedly. The breaking of leaves and crops bang in the air on my right side this time. I laid frozen with fear taking hostage of my limbs. I didn’t react quickly enough. I had never been put in such a situation before. I lived my life with the security and easiness as any child and man should live by. I always read and watch stories of men and women placed in such tragedy circumstances, and we sometimes try to paint a picture of what it’d be like if we were in that situation; but our imagination reaches a certain limit. It’s when you’re face to face with the sight of death that you know a true person’s character.

My chest rose and fell as I waited for my body to move. In fact I think I mentally told my limbs to make the slightest of movement, but I just couldn’t force myself to slide even an inch. The way my heart abused the center of my chest was agonizing. It was that fear on unknowing and ambiguity that took control of me, and which allowed me to stay paralyzed. “Wolves,” I kept telling myself. I only mustered enough strength to move my lips. “They’re just wolves. C’mon, Mark. The longer I stay here, the more of a chance I give these fucking beasts to devour me.”

A hand reached for my shoulder on my left side.

I moaned. I didn’t scream. I didn’t gasped in silence. I only moaned because that was all my body allowed me to do since I spent the other ninety-percent of my energy and effort to get the hell out of there. It was a fragile, gurgling sound that had escaped my throat. The sound a man makes when he is momentarily in awe.

I ran, and ran, and freaking sprinted like lighting. Rustling noise tagged at my tail as I zoomed through the endless crops trying to trap me inside their destination. Whatever creatures or monsters were following me, they were dangerously close. All the breath and oxygen I was trying to recover was robbed away from me. That diminutive and silent moan did enough to take away all the air I had gathered. I ran with my chest wheezing, and my lungs feeling the pressure trying to pulverize them.

I only caught a glimpse of the hand that attempted to snatch at my arm. It appeared like the hand of a human, but not quite. There was something unnatural or vague about it that I can’t distinguish now that I am thinking about it. Maybe it’s because my mind is in a very different place right now, but I can’t keep a straight thought as to why that hand was so surreal but familiar. Maybe it’s because-

Crap. Oh my god. Shit. They must fucking be here! Jesus Christ. I hear knocking coming from the entrance in my igloo. I didn’t expect them to arrive at their rate. I wrote this entire entry in such a rush. Jesus half the words I can’t even distinguish myself. As I am writing this I look at the notebook, and see all the smeared blank ink blushing through the pages. Even my palms seem to sweat the dark coloring.

What are they saying? Oh my god. They’re going to break through that fucking door anytime soon! They sound like they’re whispering, but in a very annoying and high voice. They keep stressing every S sound they pronounce. I can’t understand a single word they’re blabbering about. It’s all impossible to comprehend.

I got my suit on, and I am ready to leave. I had to change in to a brand new suit since I may have to leave out of the igloo. Again, I’m sorry for my sloppy writing, and my lack of effort to improve my cacography. I’m in such in a rush. I don’t think I even have time to finish this entire thing.

Oh no! There’s a fucking dent on the door. It’s halfway open. It’s fucking ajar! The hands! The same hand I had seen are now snickering out from the opening they had broken through! I can see it now! I’m cornered, and all I can do is write now. Write, write, and fucking jot down everything that’s happening! It’s so misshapen. There are these copious amounts of dents covering the fingers, and I see swollen bubbles protruding out from the palms. Every single hand looks bruised in a series of burns and lacerations. Their epidermis layer is covered in a blanket of blackness that further puts emphasis on how deformed their hand is. And their nails are just-

Day: ??? Time: ???

I am dying. I lack the energy and strength to write anything down. I just want to leave some last minute thoughts and notes before I pass away. I’ve been out here for too long. Way too long. The suit has already been worn out and used, and now the radiation has settled in my skin. I don’t know if it’s been days, weeks, months, or even years. Everything just feels so stretched out and so far away. The suit has already pass its twenty-four hour limit. Now I’m starting to look like one of them. I just want to write down some of the things I need to say before I die. The suit…

My brain hurts. My entire body and being is in eternal agony. I only managed to escape with my notebook and pen in hand. I couldn’t believe how I managed to maneuver through the three of them even when they out-numbered me. There were three of them, and they all looked just so hideous and disturbing. I’m looking like them now. I know it. I can’t believe I outran them. I can’t believe I pushed through them. There were three of them I believe.

My condition is not pretty. I can’t keep a straight thought. Time went by, but I just kept on running. I wanted to wash down inside the shores, but something told me that’s worse. So I went to the crops. I became lost in them. Then I found the road. I went to the crops, and my feet ended up stepping on some road.

That’s when they found me.

I don’t know if a day or an hour or a day had passed when they found me, but it happened. The only vivid, lucid, and clear memory I can always recall and remember is how they all appeared once I crawled out from those smuggle crops. How huge and disfigured their=-

Their faces!

I want to die. I like dying. I love the pain. It hurts! Why does it feel so agonizing?! Why?

Radiation burns. It seeps through your skin like acid. It fucks with you.

I want to be home. I wonder when I am going to be home.

Now that I think about it, I should have jumped in the water. It would have been safer. I would have died more peacefully. Now, I can see my heart beating. That’s how much they carved through my chest. And there are these words inscribed on my stomach, but I can’t understand them. There were three of them.

I want to be home. I wonder when I am going-

Michael Guzman was discovered dead during the afternoon of June 2nd, 2015. A search party went out to locate the missing man the exact day he was found deceased near the shores of Hope Creek Nuclear Generating Station in the Salem County of New Jersey. His body was found washed up in the waters of the Atlantic Ocean with blood still spilling from his insides, and created a tiny puddle of redness over the shore’s original pigment of blue. A notebook was found wrapped around his arms. The pages were discovered damped with the shore’s waters, but experts are currently operating to try to decipher the written passages written down.

When the search party pulled him out from the waters, they discovered that Michael had been severely injured. His chest had been torn open to the point where it revealed his disfigured lungs and heart. Bits of muscles, ligaments, and skin still stayed attached to his overgrown laceration, but they flopped around each time the search party moved around Michael. He seemed to have been affected by the radiation isotopes since parts of his skin and body had been deformed. The suit Michael had last worn had been shredded into pieces, and left the man half naked. The parts where his bare body was not concealed displayed burnt marks and bruises. His face suffered probably the worst of his entire being. One of his eyeballs had been swollen to the limit where it dropped down near his cheek. Michael’s lips fattened up where it covered the bottom half of his nose. The wounds and cuts on his face left Michael undetectable, and anyone who has seen Michael before would have never recognize the man by the way he appeared when the search party found him. In total, Michael induced himself in a calamity of torture and torment. The timing of his death is yet to be discovered.

The most chilling and disturbing part of finding Michael Guzman was the messaged inscribed on his stomach. It seemed to have been carved by some rapier object of some sort, but no one knows yet who or what wrote the simple two worded message. An investigation has begun to find the source of the entire situation.

The message reads: You’re next.