March 3. 2352

I can't do it.

I can't leave the bunker. Not yet.

Every time I try to leave I freeze. I can see the faces. Every single one, as clear as day. The ravenous hunger in their eyes. The more I think about it the more I'm sure they didn't even know I had food. In fact I think they saw me as food.

I can't leave, but I’ll starve if I stay here.
I'm dead either way.
For two days I have tried to go looking for more food and every time I do, those fucking raiders pop back in my head, taunting me.

What if I don’t outrun them this time? What if they get me? Will they kill me quick? Will they torture me for fun? What if I make it back here and they are still behind me? Will they leave if I close the door in time? Will they just camp out in the rest of the house knowing I’m there? Will they try to break in? What if I don’t close the door fast enough? Will they destroy the journals? Erase my research? Stop all my work? Destroy everything I’m trying to accomplish here?

Is it even worth it? I mean, who is going to read this? No one reads now. No one cares now. Hell I don't think anyone cared before anyway. In a few generations no one is going to give two fucks what happened to us, to me. It will just be forgotten.


I don't know that. Not for sure anyway. Maybe I’m going stir crazy being shut up in here all day. Is that why I’m hesitant to leave? What if there are other people like me? Doing the same thing I am. I mean surly I’m not the only one to think of this, right?

It doesn’t matter now. Not while I’m just hiding here asking myself what if questions that I will never know the answer to unless I go.
I need food and I need to know if there are any others.