This text has been written by an unknown individual in null in the city of null in the state of null in the country of null in the continent of null and has been archived on null value.
” I was there when it started and was there when it ended. I was there when the vermin arrived at our peaceful city and teared it apart. I was there when the rats started to become the pets of our households, making a foothold in the normal day to day life. I was there when the villagers and neighbors of mine were boiled by the wrath of the vermin’s insolence. I was there when the exact moment I could see an poor infected soul come close to my beautiful wife and child. I was there when the stricken individual grasped the meaning of life to me in its vial sick arms and screamed for help, spitting its droplets of deadly poison from their mouth onto my sweet loving child, oh how I pleaded for him to stop. I was there when I had to bury my child’s body, though the tears pierced me like a thousand arrows, I still had to seal the fate of the years of dedication and love I had made. I was there when the few neighbors we had left started to rip each other apart, fearing the religions of the other gods the few strangers had were somehow a way for their god, their right god, to punish them in this tide of rats and plague. I was there when my dreams turned from nothing abnormal to images of the dead rising from their graves that the plague had dug for them years ago, and tormenting me, making me feel the pain they had endured, I swear I could hear their laughter as I screamed.
” But soon I wasn’t there, as the city was collapsed the end was chosen. The vermin had won. The city we all called a paradise was no more but a breeding ground for the living embodiment of uncleanliness. Soon I was gone, soon I left the long-gone memories of my family and friends. Though I had no plan. No plan of work, home, even the place where I should stay. I had forgotten where everything beyond the stretch of trees and water were. I had experienced many nights where I would do nothing but sit beside a tree and weep, sometimes falling into uncertain rest. Though one of these nights were different. I had somehow slept an entire 8 hours, or thats what id assumed as the sun was triumphing in the sky when I had awoken. Though I had felt different from the time I fell asleep. The only way I could describe it was sickness. Pain almost all over, nausea cramping every little synapse I could think of.
” And last, I am here. I am here writing on a fallen brethren of the tree I am sitting beside. I am here coughing up the last blood that I could possibly have. I am here to “ Archive text end.
Additional notes here: I Found this journal in the woods while hunting for deer, but the strange thing is that it seems as though this was a case of the bubonic plague or something but this is a Texan forest, how would there a plague here? Especially since the pages look almost new, like they have been here for only a week or two. And there wasn’t anything nudging to the fact that there was anything but wildlife here. No town, no people, not even the person who presumably wrote it. Could be somebody playing a strange trick but. Who would do anything here? On hunting grounds where barely anybody goes? Can anybody inform me please, I’m starting to feel…. nauseous.