I've lost track of time at this point. There's not much to account for time except the seasons and even those begin to blend together after a while. When I was bitten I thought that was the end. I remember thinking, "Wow, this really is it. Death is coming. It's no longer some abstract idea. It's real and unavoidable." How I wish I had been correct. Everyday I beg for death. I pray that someone will find me and destroy my body so that I may finally rest and no longer be a dead man stuck in a world amongst the living.
When the virus broke out everyone panicked. My closest friends and I moved out here to the mountains figuring those things wouldn't be smart enough to make it up five thousand feet of elevation. How wrong we were. I know now that this virus has no limits. No distance too face, no journey too great. It will control a body as long as it takes to reach its next target. Muscles screaming for rest or mind screaming for escape it does not matter, the virus pushes on.
My body has been clawing at the window above me for years now, unrelenting. The first months were utter hell. I realized I can no longer sleep yet I grew weary. My limbs begged for rest, just to sit down for a moment would have been a tremendous relief. I could not escape the agony of this unnatural fatigue. Over the years, though, most of my muscles have rotted away and the few that remain are so weak that it is easy to push aside the pain. If only I could do the same with my consciousness.
At first, upon realizing that these creatures still had their minds I felt awful for all the ones I had destroyed in my efforts to survive. I realize now that those I killed were probably elated to be killed. To be trapped in a body that you cannot control and that never rests is utter hell. I would cry tears of glee if anyone ever found me in here. I should have taken the bullet my friends offered me. But no, I was scared of death then. I wanted to live on as long as I could. Lock myself in a storage shed and let the end come slowly. I'm not scared anymore, just resentful of my past actions.
Sometimes I wonder about my group. About the outside world. Are any of them still alive? There were still over a dozen when I got infected. Did the world find a cure? I honestly don't know which answer is worse. Did they find a cure and everyone but me has their bodies back. They look back on this tragedy as a part of history while I remain trapped on a mountain where no one knows I exist, forever waiting for a cure that will never come. Or did the world fail? Did the virus succeed in taking over the entire planet and all that is left are monsters like me. Stuck in useless bodies waiting to die. Scouring the earth for more to infect not knowing it has already won.
