Post by account_disabled on Dec 26, 2023 0:51:56 GMT -6
I used the bathtub as a freezer. I threw the pig in and covered it with snow, putting off its slaughter until the next day. Then I threw myself on the bed without eating anything. The Desperate men did not arrive until late at night, but limited themselves to firing a few shots into the wind and then remained silent until dawn. For another two days they tried to flush people out of their hiding places, but they found no one. Maybe I'm the only one left here in the country, or maybe they were too drunk to find any more survivors.
Today is Saturday night again, or rather Sunday, and I Special Data turned the generator back on to connect to the internet and read some news from this world that is falling apart. Gianluca and Alex found my blog and also a certain Yami, they all read my message. And who knows how many others. Feeding the prion? And how? I didn't quite understand Alex's words, in the last few days I haven't been able to eat much and sometimes my thoughts are foggy, as if I wasn't perfectly clear. I slaughtered the pig, but I couldn't cook the meat for fear that the gang would see the smoke from my chimney. I had to eat it raw. It was the first time and, at the beginning, for me, who have always eaten well-cooked and toasted meat, it wasn't easy at all.
It tastes great, I must say. Maybe it's the hunger, the many days spent nibbling on dried foods, berries, fruit found by chance, pieces of moldy bread and those cans of meat and tuna found last week. Or perhaps, having reached this point in existence, with no prospect of redemption or a future for a humanity that has destroyed itself, old habits are forgotten and new, new and more barbaric ones are adopted. As I write, in the silence of my room, in the cold and in solitude, I feel that my days are numbered, as if a countdown had started inside me, the end of which is unclear to me. Like this anxiety that, suddenly, grips my heart in a cold and nameless grip.
Today is Saturday night again, or rather Sunday, and I Special Data turned the generator back on to connect to the internet and read some news from this world that is falling apart. Gianluca and Alex found my blog and also a certain Yami, they all read my message. And who knows how many others. Feeding the prion? And how? I didn't quite understand Alex's words, in the last few days I haven't been able to eat much and sometimes my thoughts are foggy, as if I wasn't perfectly clear. I slaughtered the pig, but I couldn't cook the meat for fear that the gang would see the smoke from my chimney. I had to eat it raw. It was the first time and, at the beginning, for me, who have always eaten well-cooked and toasted meat, it wasn't easy at all.
It tastes great, I must say. Maybe it's the hunger, the many days spent nibbling on dried foods, berries, fruit found by chance, pieces of moldy bread and those cans of meat and tuna found last week. Or perhaps, having reached this point in existence, with no prospect of redemption or a future for a humanity that has destroyed itself, old habits are forgotten and new, new and more barbaric ones are adopted. As I write, in the silence of my room, in the cold and in solitude, I feel that my days are numbered, as if a countdown had started inside me, the end of which is unclear to me. Like this anxiety that, suddenly, grips my heart in a cold and nameless grip.