Courage Is No Good - Prologue.

I once read a poem that taught me that death was nothing to be feared.

In a way, it's almost the strangest thing about all this; that I can remember that particular poem so vividly. Everything else in my life has become a hazy blur, time-lines merged together in a swirl of fear and panic. And yet, something as simple as a verse remains. Like my mind was wiped over with a damp cloth, but the words were scratched into the surface. A warning that was always there, just hidden by the intangible mess on top of it. Kinda apt, really.

Of course, it's been a long time since I've read something that wasn't in my own handwriting. In my current position, I can hardly afford to be picky about my reading materials. In fact, I've learnt more than anything in the three months since it all started that being selective is going to get you killed. The slow and messy sort of killed.

Here's my point; if you're reading this now, one of two things has happened. The first, I've been rescued by an imaginary government or make-believe military and have handed this in as evidence. The second, likelier option? I'm dead, and you've discovered my corpse with this journal held tightly between it's skeletal fingers. In either case, this is the last thing I'll ever write. The series of events that led me and the rest of the world to this catastrophic state of affairs. As best as I can remember them I've written them down, documenting my experience for whichever unlucky son-of-a-bitch stumbles across it. I just pray that something good can come of it.

Here goes nothing.