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The Autobiography of a Survivor (The journal of Paige Dumont)

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Paige springs up from her sleep and reaches over to her side, grabbing a hold of Stacey's half of the blanket that they found the other day. Her breathing is heavy at first, but after realizing Stacey was still there she started to calm down, her breathing pattern becoming normal once again. She scoots forward and sticks her head out of the camping tent and looks at Riley's tent. The front of the tent is unzipped and from the looks of it, Riley was awake and out on a run or a hunt. Food has to get on the metaphorical table somehow. Stacey turns in her sleep, which grabs Paige's attention for a brief moment. Paige sinks back into the tent and lays back down; she doesn't want to fall back asleep and wait for breakfast. In the corner of the tent was a small book filled with empty pages. Maybe it was about time to start writing something – it would keep her mind off of the world around her and it was what she went to school for. She grabs the book with one hand and reaches for her backpack with the other, reaching in and grabbing a half-broken pencil. Lucky for her, the broken half was the eraser side of the pencil.

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Entry 1

We've had this thing lying around for the longest time. Despite all three of us being aspiring writers in the past, we haven't even written in the damned thing. I guess we are just too caught up in worrying about waking up the next day to sit, relax, and write about our day. I haven't even really started and I already feel a bit better just thinking about everything that I could write in this book. A healthy form of stress relief, I suppose.

There are so many things I could write about right now. Though, one thing has been on my mind for the past couple of nights. Some fucker came by and took all of our supplies while we were out on a run. Normally it isn't a big deal; we can always go out and get more supplies, but this time was different.

I was shocked.

This one time I just couldn't grasp that someone would come and take the entirety of someone's supplies. The only thing I really have to blame for this shock is the trading post over by Pulkovo. I've lived for a long time in this now ugly world and it's all been in foreign territory. I think back to home in America and I want to believe that those at home want to focus on rebuilding and surviving. It's not like that here in Chernarus. Here it's more about survival of the fittest and those who wish and choose to rob and kill rather than unite and survive in this world together just like we used to.

The trading post is the first real sign that civilization is starting to rise here once again. Finally, after so much time we get to see something truly human again. I guess I was just so caught up in the feeling when our supplies were taken from us, I just couldn't bear to think that there were still people who just didn't care anymore. Case and point, I overreacted a bit at the trading post and had a shit ton of whiskey.

I probably looked like a complete fool.

At least I was amongst friends. Or, I would like to think that those two are friends now. You don't really come across making new friends so quickly nowadays. I can't really remember one of their names, that night is such a blur. The other one I've been talking to for a little bit now. His name is Felix, a leader of sorts from what it seems. He always has other men around him that look up to him and treat him with respect. I'll have to ask him about that sometime soon. He's a nice guy – been looking after me every time I get carried away with drinks or when random survivors come over and try to get a piece. I'm not sure how much he stays around the trading post, but I'm sure I'll see him again sometime soon. And maybe I'll see that other guy that I met again. I just wish I could remember his damn name.

Oh well.

~ End ~

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About time we got something started up. I'll jump on Stacey today so we can get some stuff done. So glad Charlie's Angels have a journal now!

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