I kept a diary of the end of the world.
Every chance I got, I would write what was happening. While walking, while hiding. By moonlight on a hundred rooftops when the others were sleeping.
I kept it in a plastic sandwich bag. There’s a whole entry about how there won’t be any more plastic sandwich bags.
The next entry is about your grandfather getting bitten, and the entry after that is about our having to shoot him in the head when he turned.
Now that I’m dying, I’m giving it to you. Keep it in the plastic sandwich bag.
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