I lost the store. I’m alone and I’m injured and I’m sitting shivering in a basement, shitting myself because there’s nobody, I mean absolutely no fucker out here. The whole damn world’s dead, except for the ones that are after me. I think I’m completely alone.
I need more water, I need fresh dressings, soon I’m going to need more food. If you don’t hear from me again…
Fuck it, if you don’t hear from me again I won’t be around to care what you really thought of me. But I think about balmy nights round the ashes of the camp fire with the air too hot for sleeping bags and the moon too bright for torches, slapping at mozzies and burning off leeches with a cigarette, the kind of night when everyone complained so much about the bugs I threatened to take you all into the outback one day and show you the meaning of hazardous wildlife, and we made idle plans about it, and up until now part of me still thought it might happen, and that we’d all be in the same hemisphere again, looking up at the same stars.
I don’t make friends easily – you all know that by now. I thought all I needed was to know someone was listening, but now I need you to talk to me. If you’re out there, if you can spare the time and the power, chat with me now. Tell me what you’re doing. Let me know you’re surviving. Be better off than me, and tell me some of it means something. Any of you. Tell me I mattered, that I made you laugh, that you liked my blog.
I don’t know what to say anymore. I have nothing else to say.