To whomever finds this letter, I wish you the best of luck. I've seen the news, and I know what's going on. I've watched enough shows and movies to know what will happen. I know that I should run, find a weapon, and get out of the city. But it's too late. I waited too long. The apocalypse has just begun, and I've already given up. Just two hours ago, the streets were thrown into chaos. There were riots, people were screaming, and the undead soon outnumbered the living. I never thought it could happen this fast, but it did. I live alone, so I don't have to worry for my safety here. But outside, going outside guarantees a painful death.

    I don't want to be a zombie, and I don't want to live in this new world either. So once I have finished writing this note, I will take my gun from under my bed, and shoot myself in the head. I can't reanimate if my brain is ruined. If you're reading this, you've survived long enough to know that supplies are valuable. I have a hidden compartment near the basement stairs, behind a large painting of a sunset. You'll find a key in the bedside table, to the left of the bed in the master bedroom. The compartment is filled with canned food and water bottles. It was a precaution taken by my late husband, in case we had another world war. This wasn't the kind of battle we expected. You will likely have more use for these supplies than I will, I'm too old to survive.

    Always watch your back, and never lose your humanity, best wishes to you,

                                    from a tired old woman.

I am afraid to trust. The moment you trust somebody, let them see who you really are, you're vulnerable. They could leave, they could turn on you, or they could break you. There's no longer a mask to hide behind. You're laid bare, and you can't hide. Trust is easily lost, and every time I trust, I get hurt. So I'm afraid, because what if I do trust someone? Will they turn their back like everyone else? It's better to keep people at a distance, to spare myself from the pain. Trust is a disease. You start to trust, and then you can only wait, helplessly, for the betrayal.

What if everything you said, did, or thought was recorded somewhere? If somebody or something out there knew all about you, and was writing about your life? If you were a character in a story, and your thoughts weren't your own? The thoughts you'd never say, the feelings you'd never reveal, and the impulses you never acted on, weren't actually secret. You're being watched, as entertainment, and you have no idea.