A farewell dear reader

My father used to say that a man’s actions will determine on how he will be remembered. You might argue that it’s only logical and I agree. If you’re a bad man, you’ll be remembered as a bad man and if you’re a good man, you’ll be remembered as such. But who can say honestly, dead honest, that they have thought about the kind of people that will honor them after death? I thought so.

Even now, when I’m faced with my own mortality, I’m still thinking about the most trivial things: What will happen with my cat Onyx, now I’m no longer there to take care of him? Will he find some other place he will call home? Will someone else give him the attention, care and love that dear old cat deserves? Or will he be ripped to pieces like the neighbor’s dog? They say that cats are more independent than dogs. That they don’t cling on their owners, but the place where they get food and shelter. Would that mean that they have a better survival instinct?

Look at me rambling on about my cat as I waste more precious paper and ink. This was supposed to be my suicide note, but instead it has become a vague piece of gibberish. I know what you’re thinking. How can you be considering suicide? Of all the people on this Earth? I know. I’ve asked myself many times what the reason might be, but every time I get stuck. It’s as if my brains is suppressing it and is anxiously trying to tuck it away even further in my grey matter. Which is probably a good thing if you know what I saw the past couple of days.

If you’re reading this, you probably found me slumped in the corner of the room with a gaping hole in my head and my brains splattered on the wallpaper. My hand is most likely still clutching the gun I used to end my life. My life that is envied by many is probably one of the causes for my prolonged suffering. You see, if I hadn’t such a great wife, children and terrific career perspectives, I would have probably ended my life a long time ago. I wouldn’t have waited for the world to go down the drain. I wouldn’t have hesitated and asked myself if I really wanted to do this. I would just put the gun against my head and pull the trigger. Easy as that.

If you’re reading this, you probably had to fight your way up here through a crowd of dead people. These, “living dead” as they call them, are also not unknown to you and you’ve had your fair share of massacre and mayhem am I right? Maybe a little bit of anarchy as well, I mean, when everything goes to hell, why constrain yourself with rules and politeness? Just seize what you determined years ago in your miserable little apartment what should be yours and be on your way. It matters not if you have to threaten or kill a few people along the way right? The only thing that is important right now is you.

Your body is still saturated with adrenaline from all the fighting, from all the struggle just to stay alive, that this piece of paper probably feels like a lead weight. Your muscles are aching, your head is pounding, you hear your heart pumping in your ears. You’re so tired and yet you’ve never felt so alive. In your crumby, mediocre life with your average family and average job with no prospect, you’ve never felt this kind of challenge. The challenge to stay out of their sight. The challenge to not end as a snack like so many friends, family members and colleagues. I know how you feel went they’re coming after you: there are so many of them, where are they coming from?. The only thing you can do is to get as far away from them as possible.

If you’re reading this and expected to find a clue to a hidden treasure, hideout or supplies, I have to disappoint you. Although my luxurious villa  might look like a fortress from the outside, inside is nothing of real value. Anything you can use I mean. Money, jewelry and art doesn’t mean anything. They’re relics from a time where people like me were on the top of the world. The rulers of many enterprises and corporations. We were knocked down our thrown by the dead that refused to remain dead. What first seemed like a harmless, but extraordinary phenomenon, soon changed character and conquered to world in a rapid pace.

But, why do I tell you this when you’ve also experienced this first-hand? When your dear old mother or father stood up after having a cardiac arrest and tried to take a bite out of you. When your son or daughter came home with a scratch and ended with a knife jammed in his or her forehead. When your friend shambled down the road with a broken neck.

You don’t have to pity me after reading this. As a matter of fact, I don’t need it. I don’t have to deal with this world anymore. You on the other hand... I wish you the best of luck.

You’ll need it.

Signed,

Why do you care?

P.S.

Second drawer in my desk, one bullet left.