Fiction.

I’ve learned some things.

1. Destroy their brains. If you do not do this, they will not die.
2. Don’t let them near your ear. I don’t know how it works exactly, but that’s the only thing I can figure that’s creating more of them.

I’m holed up in the Panera Bread on Broad Street. I needed a place with food that hasn’t gone bad, knives, and a computer. I’ll be here through the night, and then tomorrow I’ll move again. I know this though: I’m not letting Richmond burn, especially not with my friends still there.

If you know more about what’s happening to people, please post it here. This seems to be the only way people can communicate about what’s going on. As for what I said above, I can only tell you what I saw last night as I was leaving. Maybe someone else can figure out how this works.

The instant I opened the door onto the stairwell last night, I could hear whimpering. I raced down the stairs. There, laying in a pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs with her leg twisted impossibly below her, was the girl who I’ve had a crush on for like the entire two years I’ve worked here. She was absolutely stunning from about the waist upwards, and maybe excluding the incredibly pained facial expression. I ran over to her and knelt down.

“I . . ”

She cut me off. “It . . .”

“Sorry.”

“No, go ahead.”

“No, you first.”

She grimaced again. “I just opened the door and there it was, this awful creature on the other side, making some incredible noise into my ear. I fell ass over teakettle down the stairs. It was awful. I feel awful. Justin, I can’t feel my legs, are they all right?”

I looked down at her legs. Her right shin was in her lap. “Yes, you’ll be fine. Let’s get you to a hospital. And then afterwards, dinner? Is that a thing? Because I’ve always . . .”

She interrupted me again, yelling “I am on fire!” She screamed in pain. “Kill me . . . ”

Obviously this girl just has a problem with listening. That’s okay, though. I mean, communication is something you can deal with in a relationship. “The thing is, I’ve been secretly in love with . . .”

That’s when she spat blood all over me. It was as I was staggering away that she suddenly stood up, broken leg or no, and started shambling towards me, groaning loudly.

I don’t know much about girls, but girls with broken legs do not get up and shamble. So I bashed her head in with my laptop.

—

Oh hell, there’s some yelling coming from outside. I’m submitting this now. Let’s hope I make it long enough to post again.