He smelled of unpleasant things; The aged smell of mold and the acrid smell of sweat. He smelled exactly like a sweaty track suit stored away for a great length of time in some forgotten corner of the attic. Except, I think he smelled too strongly of sweat and not strongly enough of mold to be exactly that smell. More like a sweaty track suit forgotten for not quite so long in the corner of the laundry room; a week perhaps. Yes, that's it; a sweaty track suit forgotten and unwashed for a week. That was his smell.

His look was another thing entirely. He was not athletic in the least, or at least, he was no longer athletic. His hair had faded with age and reached the wispy white that only the oldest manes attain. His teeth were as few as his wrinkles were many and his eyebrows were great, bushy white pipe cleaners. I think he'd had a stroke at some point because the left side of his mouth drooped a bit beneath his bulbous cucumber nose. His hands shook around the pommel of a bird's head cane and he moved the part of his mouth that would move in a constant, silent utterance. His shoulders were humped and shaky and the rest of his body was twisted and dangerously thin.

I spoke to him and he spoke to me at the same time. "Ello gir" Which was meant to be "Hello sir" but which we could not seem to articulate. I reached out and touched the grimy glass of the mirror and started to cry.

Hl nfxs vuulig gl ivzw gsrh 

Gl hvv dszg gsviv rh

Zmw dszg gsviv rhm'g 

Yfg blf ziv nzwv lu ivhloev

Blf llav wvgvinrmzgrlm

Ru blf wrw gsrh drgslfg z tzwtvg 

Drgslfg z drwtvg li dszghrg gl koft Nb dliwh rmgl

Gsvm nb szg rh luu gl blf 

4-1

1-11

6-20

4-21

9-12

When first I sought to be the man I am

I gave no thought to what I ought to be

I thought of being more than I was then

And gave no thought to virtuosity

I was at that time something of a lamb

A boy who'd never hurt or harm a soul

And could I go and do it all again

I'd set myself a more substantial goal

But I'm more skilled a man than some men are

I've learned to play the strings of life quite well

Well enough I think to take me far

Well and far enough to keep from Hell

If I had known the stakes; that Hell-fire loomed

I'd have honed and nurtured every trait

If I had known the dangers of the tomb

I'd not have left a thing to chance or fate

December 18th" 2016

If anyone finds this I need you to understand that I''m not

crazy. iIf you found thisd it means that someone survied this

horrible mess. maybe it was you or your parents or your

grandparents. doesn't matter. Surely they'll tell children about

this. If anyone'/s alive to tell this story it'll be in all thr

history books. Today everyone that I know died. I''m in the attic

with a Mossberg pump and this dusty typewritero typewriter

band I hear nthem bumping into things down below. I looked out

the window earlier and I saw a bunch of thenm moving in a

group on the other side of the neighborhood. while I was

watching them they cornered Ms. Crandall's boxer Scooter against

her house and grabbec him and pulled him to pieces. One of them

wwas Ms. Crandall. She was in the sky blue dress with the

sunflowers on it that I saw her in last week at the grocery

store and thought she looked too pretty to be almost 30 and

still single. I'm too young to fdie .