My Diary

September 17, 2018

I am losing my mind down in this basement. I lost count of how many days but I think I am accurate enough. Weeks, maybe months have passed since I've been trapped here. Is it even worth trying to count the days? As if by some way counting days is going to make a difference? I don't know why I'm trying. Maybe to keep my sanity in this lonely place.

Sometime a few days ago, I can only muster the idea of days by how much I sleep. The batteries in my lantern went out. I've been unable to locate the supply I bought in preparation for this. I can't recall where I left them, I pray for my sanity that I didn't forget them in the rush.
So I've been sitting here in the dark. Me and my tiny pen light. I don't know how much longer it will last. This little light has served me well up to now.

I've been pawing for my gallons of water. The water inside the plastic has gone stale, but I suppose it's better than dying. Maybe.

I don't know how many more canned hotdogs I can bear. I'm so tired of canned products, but I don't have electricity. I should have been more prepared for this. I knew it was coming. I should have planned for all of this. I knew I wouldn't see the light of day for a long time.

The experts on the television spoke of the impending disastor. Is it just human nature to try and survive? I mean, They said we wouldn't be able to see the sun for nearly one hundred years.
One hundred years. That's a long time. A long time for things to go wrong. A long time for someone to live alone. A long time to lose your sanity.

I bought bullets and a rifle. I think that it was a bad purchase. Since the disastor I've not heard a peep outside. No crazies have tried to break in. No dogs barking for shelter. Nothing. It's been so quiet.

I tried to pick up a signal on my radio but I guess I'm enclosed in my coffin. There's no signal down here and all I get is static. Sometimes though, I think I hear someone screaming and begging. Sometimes I think it's all in my head.

I can't get that thought out of my brain. A hundred years? My God... I'm going to die down here. I'm going to die and no one will ever read this. What is it that stops me from opening the doors and walk out into the destruction? Why is it so important that I remain here eatting my hotdogs and swigging my stale water?

I think I have enough food and water to last me another two years. I won't have much of a choice then. I'll be forced to explore the outside. I can only hope that it's safer outside then. I don't want to starve to death. I am afraid of dying, and to die alone where no one will remember you is almost more frightening.

My name is Darren Kerpatz and this is my life. This is my obituary.

I can't help but wonder if my children are safe. Are they dead? Are their bodies being eatten by maggots? Were they burned alive? I should have been there for them. I shouldn't have been so scared. I should have saved them! I could have saved them if I wasn't such a chicken shit.
The light is flickering on my pen. I don't know how much life it has left. The story of my life I guess. I need to save the light for another day. Maybe I'll have better news tomorrow.

I pray I have better news tomorow. I say that everyday but everyday is the same. Every damn day is like every other. I'm stuck down here in the dark and there's no one to hear me scream. There's no one here to listen to me. I'm so lonely. I'm afraid.