Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-17834624-20140426163254

Feel free to give me any type of criticism, be it bashing on it or just generally giving constructive criticism.

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It was a week since I last wrote in this journal. Paper was never relieving to me, but now, it is more than ever. I managed to survive the possibility of infection and frostbite but the pain hasn't gone away. I've been trying to keep my sanity, even with the creatures outside, their hanging faces and their disjointed limbs, wearing organs on their body like tribes would've, and even holding onto the markings on their chest. I know they aren't- and weren't- tribal. They don't have a good vocabulary, nor vocal chords, fortunately, but not even a day ago, more of them joined at the only thing between them and me. I feel bad for killing Christina, now that I've actually remembered her name thoroughly. I've always told myself that suicide was never the answer, but in this mess, a lot of people think it is, bitten or not. I never try to talk them out of it, since it's their choice and I won't interfere.

It was two weeks that I haven't been in a group. It never was a problem to me, I got along just fine with myself and managed to retain what was left of my sanity until recently, when what appeared to be a living being fell down from the ceiling fan, followed by that very same fan, coated in a small amount of blood, two things of which I never noticed in this room. They likely hung themselves there; why else would they be up there? Or the things have brains to use and actually comprehend what they're doing. It was a less than relieving thought, maybe they had seen me. The body seemed thirty-two, and from the little details on the corpse's body, it seemed fresh and... female, judging from the inclusion of breasts on the corpses chest. Despite the shit I had seen, I couldn't bear it. I gagged, yet fought back the vomit that was burning in my throat.

The military fought back against the virus, but they didn't succeed. I couldn't care less at this point, my objective is to slip past the creatures and not be harmed by small arms or heavy arms fire. I am not going to be used as cannon fodder. I managed to take the time out of my day to take a trip to the garage, where I so fortunately found a wood axe. It seems like the previous owners were woodsmen. About the fact that it seemed dull, I didn't think so highly of it before I realized that some creatures were in the house and I was unaware of it until now. The shambling creature chased me up to the first floor from the basement and out to the garage. It seemed to be able to smell my exposed blood on my left shoulder-blade, from when I accidentally rammed it onto an exposed, slightly rusted nail. As it was about to swing its left hand at my throat for the first strike, sharp fingernails at the end, I had retaliated by raising the axe and bringing it down on the creature's collarbone, splitting a rotten intestine-scarf in half. I heard a sickening crack, and the creature fell to its knees, looking up to me with a pained expression, from what I could see with the disjointed cheekbone.

I kicked it in the chest, the male figure falling back, and made a vertical swing onto its left lung. It wheezed for a moment before both respiratory organs were filled with its own blood. The creature died, and I picked up a sledge hammer with much effort, bringing it down on the creatures' head and popping it like a melon. I dropped the hammer, and stepped over its' corpse, hanging onto the axe. I remembered how there was a cloth in my pocket, from my early months as a car repair man. I pulled it out, wiped the blood off my hands and axe.

I went back upstairs, and surveyed the outside through the open window. There were a couple out there, and one was holding a sharp combat knife. It noticed me, and threw the knife, which scraped my left shoulderblade. I heard it curse, and I held back the urge to attack. Its vocabulary was better than the others, and it was dressed in military gear... maybe it wasn't one of them?

"What are you doing up there?" A voice, presumably the one previously, spoke to me. "You're not infected?" "Let us in. There are millions out here! We need to restock." "I refuse to. I can't trust you."

Oh. I forgot, didn't I? The house was three floors, a upper floor, a middle floor, and a basement. The main floor has a kitchen, bathroom, living room, the casual. Upper has the bedrooms, a laundry room, a medicine cabinet, and a single bathroom. Bottom has a celler, ventilation shafts- many of them, and what I can assume to be a game and computer room.

Casually, the man pulled out a pistol, shot the window out, and carefully reaching in and unlocking the door himself, before pointing his troops in. Little did they and I know that there was a single creature near the entry that immediately tackled the last guy while the other three surveyed the house, and ripped most of his military gear off before pulling other miscellaneous pieces off of his face and throwing them aside. I couldn't see it, but I could definitely hear it. I'm assuming that there was a leg thrown aside, a rib shattered, and his two eyes plucked out.

That's when I wanted to leave, but I didn't know how. Finally, I resorted to the last method: I looked over the windowsill, looking for a soft place to land. With a little perseverence, I lavished my time escorting myself from the house and to the one three doors down. Of course this took timing and precision, and I eventually tuckered out, collapsing on the front porch of the house. I forced myself to my feet, and walked inside.

"We lost him! Recon his last position!"

I went to bed at that moment, unable to stay up another wink. 