April 11, 2020
Nobody really expected it to reach these magnitudes. The news didn’t know what it was. The president laughed it off and dismissed it as another flu. The public refused to follow the ordinances. The virus spread, rapidly. It has all but shut down the world.
I’ve been in isolation for going on 36 hours now. The walls have already started closing in on me. It’s strange, I’ve spent 90% of today in my own room, closed off from other members of the Survivors Raft, but something about their presence is angering me.
I think I can sufficiently say I will more than likely be a murderer within the next 13 days. The sweet siren of the full moon is calling to my inner werewolf and an uncontrollable thirst for blood is consuming me. I’m snapping at everyone. Text messages equal a thrown phone. Simple requests result in slammed doors. Hunger, well the hunger will soon dissolve into pure cannibalism. Everyone needs to stay away from me.
Tomorrow I may need to steal a life boat and leave the Raft for a bit. I’ll swim if necessary. I don’t know how others are coping, but I know that I am not doing well. The world needs to either end or get better. This “in-between” phase is for the birds.
I plan to write a narrative of these events soon, but for now, a journal of my evolution into madness will have to suffice.