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Tim's Diary

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Tim's Diary


   An old wooden door made a loud creaking noise when it was pushed aside carefully. A head peeked from the doorway and observed the dirty old room on the other side. The room was a normal small apartment room, furniture and the interior decoration was a typical Chernarussian one. The person who had opened the door and peeked from it stepped inside and closed the door half way behind him. He stood a while in front of the door and looked around. As he sat down on the dirty old couch the air filled with dust. It seemed to linger in the air longer than normal, thanks to the bright first rays of the morning sun that lighted up the whole room. 

   The person sitting on the couch took a burlap sack from his back and opened it. He carefully set up a worn camp stove and a cooking pot on the floor next to him and turned it on. While pot started heating up he poured a splash on water in it and sprinkled some brown ground up roots into the water. After giving a little mix to the concoction with his finger the person dug a small leather bound book from his bag that was now resting next to him on the dirty couch. He kept flipping the yellowed and crinkled pages and occasionally stopped to read some of them. Once he hit the blank page at the end side of the book he started writing on it:

"End of summer, early morning in Vyborg

Here I am sitting alone again. The same old room that I've crashed so many times that I've lost the count. I don't think anyone else has been here since my last visit. The small tripwire at the door was still up. Diary, I'm doing fine, managed to stay out of harm's way for another week. Some weird things happened on the past couple of days, thought these are worth writing down..."

   He lifted his head from the book and stared at the pot for a while. The water was boiling softly and the brown flakes were dancing up and down. The water had turned much darker. He turned his head back to the book, adjusted his glasses and continued writing:

"...I'm afraid the "infected" might be coming back. Saw something at the airfield north from here the other day while I was looking for a new pair of binoculars. I heard some rustling behind the huge hangars and first I thought there was another survivor there. I went to greet him/her just to avoid any surprises like I do every time. Once I rounded behind the hangars I only saw a glimpse of something black jumping behind the thick bush. It was too big to be a any forest animal, and it seemed to be moving on two feet. I tried yelling at it, and blinked my flashlight couple of times to make sure it has noticed me. It didn't come out behind the bush and didn't make any noise. Suddenly I got this feeling that I was being..."

   He raised his head again and noticed that his pot was boiling violently. He quickly tossed the book aside and turned the stove off. The water inside the pot was now dark brown, almost like strong coffee. He untied and took a small wooden mug from his belt and poured half of the liquid in it. Before taking a sip, he raised the mug under his big nose and took a long sniff. For a moment it looked like he was pondering that is the liquid drinkable or not, he took sip from it, leaned back on the couch and stared at the crack on the wall. It was really quiet now when the boiling had stopped the only sound breaking the silence was a occasional sipping sounds. Person smiled. He smiled and opened the book again on his lap and continued:

"...watched. I ran away from the hangars and hid under a thick spruce. I waited for several minutes to make sure that nothing was following me. As I left my hiding place and walked in to the open I met another survivor, looking through his binoculars to the direction where I came from. After a while of chatting he told me that he had seen something moving from behind the hangars into the forest. How he described it, it sounded like we had both seen the same creature. As we didn't want to stay there for too long we started moving to the other side of an airfield. Every once in a while I took a peek behind me and I swear that I could see more of those black figures among the trees..."

   The writing got interrupted again as he poured the last drops of the dark liquid in to his mug. He drank the rest in a one big swig and then shook the brown flakes to the floor from the bottom of the mug. "That hit the spot.", he mumbled to himself and tied the mug back to his belt.

"...I'll write more when I know more about the status of the infected. But for now, I'll just keep my eyes peeled for any surprises. -Tim."

   As Tim had packed everything into his burlap sack he got up with the help of his walking cane and had a grimace on his face. Once he was standing up he rubbed his right thigh for a moment. "It has gotten worse... Come on now, keep it together...", he talked to his leg. As he was leaving the room, he stopped to set up a small tripwire that would snap apart if the door was opened too wide. He carefully opened the door so he just barely managed to slip through it and closed the door behind him. The rhythmic clatter of his walking cane got progressively more quiet as he walked down the stairs and exited the crumbling apartment building. The morning sun was up and there was a cold nip in the air.


"Regrettably I don't have a camera with me. I try my best to draw my journey on this dirty old journal."

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Nice story. I like the way the character is so reluctant/ slow/ hesitant in the opening paragraphs, standing in front of the door too long, carefully setting up his stove, staring at his pot of boiling water. Says something about the character/ what he's been through without actually saying it. And I like the way his recording of his zombie encounter was broken up by the making of the brown drink. Adds a little suspense to his story as well nice visuals. The writing could use the tiniest bit of touch ups, but other than that, it was good. Would like to see more :)

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