Yesterday, I was a husband and father. Until an outbreak in my town, when those undead fuckers came into my garden. My wife and I didn't even hear them - we were in the lounge watching a movie, when we heard the kids come into the house moaning. We went out to see what was wrong, and... Jesus, I can barely write this.. there were my two children (who were... are... 3 and 11) covered in blood and lurching towards us. The fucking zombies had bitten them and they'd both turned. Half of my eldest son's face was missing. Our younger son, despite only having one arm, took a chunk out of my wife's leg and the elder went for her neck, whilst she let out one of the most bloodcurdling screams I've ever heard. It wasn't like in the movies: it seemed so... raw.
I would have tried to save her, but I knew there was no point by then... she was already Zombie, she just didn't know it yet.
I ran up stairs and shut myself in the bedroom, screaming. That was yesterday.
I'm still in here, and I can't stop crying. I can still hear my dead wife and kids clawing and banging at the bedroom door, trying to get in. They've been joined by others, and when I look out of the bedroom window I can see more roaming the streets. I don't know how many other survivors there are in my street - the last one I saw was yesterday afternoon. My neighbour ran down the street, hysterical with the horror of it all. They ate her like a pack of rabid dogs - her husband was one of them. I watched her die, and then I watched her come back - even though she has no legs now, just bloody stumps, she dragged herself across the ground towards my house on her elbows, moaning.
I managed to get a couple of photographs of one of them this morning when the clawing stopped for a moment and I opened the door a tad - he looked like he'd come straight from a fucking wedding or something. I also got a snap of my wife, who looked beautiful yesterday as she was watching TV; my two babies have pretty much eaten her face off now.
I need you to see these photos, to prove this is real. I've tried contacting the police via the net, but I've had no response. None of my friend's are replying to my emails, so God only knows how far this outbreak has spread. My phone's downstairs.
After getting the two snaps, I had to slam the door quickly as they came lurching towards me again. The clawing and banging has not stopped again since, and it's driving me insane.
I've been drinking water out of the tap in the en suite, but I've got no food apart from a packet of M&Ms I had in my bedside drawer. I'm saving them until I get really desperate. Not that I feel hungry right now. My life's been ripped apart, and I'm not sure whether to just kill myself... or to fight.
If I decide to live, I'm going to have to make a run for it at some point before I starve to death, but I'm not sure how as I don't have any weapons in my bedroom and there's a hell of a lot of Zombies out there. My best chance may be to try and drop from the bedroom window, but if I break a leg then I'm screwed.
If I kill myself... or allow myself to die... I'm frightened that I might become one of them, as I have nothing to blow my brains out with. I really don't want to be one of them. God. No.
But I can't bear listening to my poor kids out there, moaning with hunger... so a part of me - the ever-loving daddy in me - wants to just walk out there and LET THEM FEED.
I'm going fucking crazy.
Can anyone help me, please? PLEASE!??