A Downward Slope

The third installment of journal entries by Ryan, a survivor of the Nuclear Apocalypse living in a bomb shelter. Chapters 5 and 6 of Scenario One.

April 12th

Fuck this world, Journal

          I feel like shit. Pure, unadulterated shit. Before I comment on my shittiness, however, I want to update you on the past couple of days.
          Yeah yeah, food is still going missing. It's still me. My point remains the same, you don't use your head, you don't get rewarded. You get shafted. New event however: the food is now being rationed. So, in the storage room, we've got piles. A pile for me, a pile for the kids, a pile for Lindsey, you get the point. So now when I steal, I have to be sneaky about it. Steal something from everyone's pile. I'm not worried about it, really. There's more food then we know how to deal with in there. These piles are huge, to say the least. And the food isn't depleting as fast as it should be. Want to know why?
          Colin is gone. Been gone a few days. Now, I checked out the seal to our shelter, and the seal has been broken. There's dust around the door. Dirt. Grime. Stuff that wasn't there before. Someone must have gone out. And since Colin is not here, that has to be it. I miss him, I really do. He turned out to be rather spiritual. A real feel good kind of guy. Maybe he wanted some "fresh" air. I don't know.
          Now, I said Colin was spiritual. Not religious. The old folks here have that under wraps. Mr. Vernon Crawford is the shelter's new preacher. Almost everyone goes to see him every day, to hear him speak of the Lord and how he'll save us or some bullshit. You know who doesn't visit him? Victor, our resident crazy. Funny thing is, he's the one that actually needs saving! He found a piece of scrap metal, and has been dragging it against the walls. All while muttering that "Te Amo." Over and over, for hours at an end. He's even on a schedule now, two hours a day in the east hallway, two hours to the west, 8 hours of sleep. He eats in the main hall sometimes, but mostly just wanders into storage, probably eats there, and wanders out. It works well for my stealing, really. If Jason and Big John aren't pointing at each other, they're motioning towards him.
          Jason and Big John. Even though they've got reason to suspect Victor, they refuse to stop blaming each other. I mean, come on. You would think they would have given up by now. The big problem with these two is that they know they're ruining life for others. You remember how I had mentioned little Rachel? She can't be around Jason, he's bad people. She can't play in the hallways, depending on where Victor is at. She stands by the entrance to the shelter, and plays with the dirt Colin left inside, and wonders why she can't see the sun anymore. It's sad. And it all started with Jason and Big John. Hell, I hate them more every day.
          And now there's me. Why do I feel like shit? Is it guilt, that it was my hand that sent everything into motion? Is it fear, that the piercing glares of Dr. Jenkins and Officer Park will find my secret? Or is it sadness, that life is more pointless than ever, and I am drawn into a continuing existence? Oh, none of that. My stomach hurts something fierce. Jesus, you have no idea. I've been vomiting for hours, finding time to scratch thoughts into you. I don't know what's wrong with me, nobody does. I think it was something I ate, must've been. You know, I wouldn't be surprised if someone was poisoning the food supplies to try and catch the thief. I don't know, that wouldn't make sense at all. I need to sleep, journal. Goodnight.

April 28th

Wish me happy birthday, Journal

          Today was the day I entered this godforsaken world, and today is the day that someone exits. Well, it may not have been today...Let me explain.
          Colin's body was found. Right by the entrance to the shelter, on the inside. Still wearing some indie t-shirt, still with those thick rimmed glasses. Only thing he was missing was a pulse. The kids were rushed away, and Dr. Jenkins checked him out. Dr. Jenkins said there was no way he could determine the cause of death. Officer Park said otherwise, that it looked as though there was a struggle. That lead to an interesting theory, as Victor has now gone missing! I think he caught Colin at the entrance, and choked him with that ole' piece of metal he was dragging around. Plausible, but Colin was bigger than him. I suppose we'll never know.
          Food war 2009 update: Food has stopped going missing for a whole week. They won, journal, I got bored. And I have been sick too, if you remember. So now, there's almost an eerie quiet over the shelter. No more scraping of metal on metal, no more yelling, hell, nothing. For an hour a day, I can hear Mr. Crawford preaching. Occasionally, I hear little Rachel running up and down the halls. Sometimes, Lindsey can be heard sniffling from her room. Well, as I said, she had a thing for Colin. Fucker's dead now.
          Haven't really seen Jason and Big John lately. They've stayed confined to their rooms, for the most part. Sometimes, Ms. Brentwood goes to see Big John, leaving Hayden and Rachel to Mrs. Crawford. Sometimes Lindsey goes to see Jason, leaving her dignity behind. It seems our "leader," Officer Park. has been spending most of his time talking to Dr. Jenkins. And well, that leaves me with me. It's lonely, journal. There's no more noise anymore, except for sounds behind closed doors. I actually miss Victor's metal on metal scraping.
          So now I sit here alone. In my room, as usual, but without company. I feel much better, by the way. That sickness I had is gone, no one knew what it was. And to be honest, most people just ignored it anyways. That whole war stuff had most of us not talking. In fact, the biggest group of people who chat on a regular basis is Ms. Brentwood and the old codgers. When she goes to pick up the kids, she stays in their room and chats, let's the kids do whatever. I've walked by a couple of times, while they were all together. They never seemed to close the door. When I saw them, however, they shot backwards glances at me, and lowered their voices. Very secretive. Whatever, I'm used to it. Everyone was being secretive before. I guess they just never fell out of the fad.
          I'm bored, journal. It's too quiet. You know, I think I could take off one of the legs to my cot. It would make laying down more interesting, and I could use the metal to drag against something. At least make some fucking noise. Aw, I'm getting nostalgic for Victor...I'll talk to you later, journal. I've got hallways to roam.