Tuesday, 18 June 2013

Dear Julia...

Dear Julia,

It has been a year.

One whole year since you were taken from me, one whole year since the entire world went to shit, and for some reason I was left behind to pick up the pieces.

The others still have some hope that things will get better, but I know that hope is pointless, how could the world heal itself after such destruction, after such devastation?

They predict 90% of the population succumbed to the infection. Those are the odds we are up against. The truth be told, my dearest Julia, my hope died with you, I don’t even know why I try anymore.

Dear Julia,

I came home today.

I came back to the place where we began. This house is so full of memories of happiness, it saddens me that it is all gone, that there is nothing left.

Memories are fickle companions, but what's worse is that i feel them becoming distorted, I fear the image I have of you is fading, altering, changing into something that is not you at all, but a depiction of what I believed you to be, instead of what you are.

I do not want my memory of you to fade, Julia.

I abandoned everyone else. They will continue without me, I just needed to be here. I needed to be with you.

Even if you are gone, you linger in this place still. In the darkest corners of the house- and of my mind.

Dear Julia,

I became infected today. I gave in to the temptation, the curiosity; the hopelessness. I kissed death upon the lips, and found the bitter taste to my liking. 

I know you would disapprove Julia; you had such an affinity for living, and would want me to carry on no matter what the cost. But I ask you… and I ask myself, would you feel the same were you in my place, after all the things I have seen, all the horrors I have experienced, all the people I have lost; would you feel the same?

The infection process isn’t instantaneous; it takes several days for it to truly take you away. I wonder if part of you remains, even after you become one of those mindless creatures that roam the streets at night? I don’t want that. I think that would be the cruellest punishment, crueller by far than death.

I will be with you soon, Julia.

Dear Julia,

I awoke this morning, not feeling quite myself; evidently the infection is in its early stages. It would appear to be a common flu, but we all know better now. We are no longer ignorant to the deviousness of this clever infection, it tricks you into believing you are suffering from an illness that appears non-threatening, and then when you believe you are beginning to recover, that is when it attacks.

I live in constant fear of that attack, Julia. I was surprised by my fear; I suppose it has become so commonplace living in this new world that it is now second nature.

I’m almost glad you cannot see the world today, my dear. Nowhere is home, yet everything with a roof is considered a house. I returned to what was left of our home for the end, but it does not look like our home; not anymore. It is almost unbearable to stay between these walls, underneath this roof, where we once shared so much happiness, knowing the things I know now. It breaks my heart to see this perfect haven become a part of the imperfect world I have been drifting through this past year. It won’t be much longer now. I won’t last much longer now.

Dear Julia,

The trees outside our house are bare. It isn’t winter. There are simply no leaves that wish to grow. The walls are cracked and worn, the whole place is falling apart; not that it matters much anymore. Nothing matters much anymore.

The illness seems to be subsiding. I feel more agile and less lethargic. I know what this means though, you know Julia. I know.

Dear Julia,

Is this what you went through? Is this how you felt? I hope you didn’t feel this pain, I pray to god you didn’t.

My skin… it aches Julia, everything I touch brings me pain, my clothes itch and irritate my flesh. I need to get out. I need to get out of my skin. How can I endure this, how could anyone endure this? I am writing this letter with the greatest effort, in some vain hope that someone will read this, and one day put us both out of our eternal misery.

Oh god… My eyes, Julia… MY FUCKING EYES. It feels almost as though someone has forced shards of sand beneath my eyelids. There is no moisture, just pain, and an utter lack of vision.

I don’t know how long this will last before I am gone, I can only hope the end comes soon; I cannot bear this pain much longer.

Dear Julia,

The end is upon me. We will be together again before long.
This feeling is abhorrent, I feel my blood running through my veins and arteries, but it has thickened, and it feels like sludge is being pumped through my system. I have been suffering from bouts of stomach cramps that leave me quivering on the floor. I haven’t eaten for several days; then again, I don’t have much of an appetite.

My vision only grew worse, the pain, I couldn’t take it any longer… so I ripped out my left eye; the relief was tremendous, if only temporary. I barely felt any pain during the process, but afterwards, after the blood and mush that was left of my eye was in the palm of my hands, that was when the agony set in. The blood that oozed from my eye socket was nothing like human blood. It was so dark it was almost black, and as thick as custard.

I can taste blood on my tongue. Blood and bile. The empty space where my eye once was only aches now, but everywhere aches, everywhere hurts. This is agony in its purest, undiluted form.

Dear Julia,

The pain has become so natural to me now that I can scarcely feel it. That or the pain has merely subsided as the infection finally takes complete control of my body.

I came down to see you today, with what was left of my vision, for the last time. The basement stank; the putrid fumes of death linger there, along with you.

Your dead eyes stared back at me, and even through one unfocused lens I could see your beauty, your elegance, your grace.

Even though most of your flesh has abandoned your face, and your hair is frayed and dead, I can still see the woman I fell in love with. Despite every obstacle, when I look at you, there is nothing but clarity and I feel assured that my decision to become just like you was the right one.

I will be leaving this world, this form; very soon, I can feel parts of myself fading away, and those parts being replaced with this repulsive infection. But I am thankful, because I will be like you.

We will be the same. We will be together again.

We will be the same.

We will be the same.

We will be

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