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Journal Entry - First Labor Day Since the Fall
Approximately a year... a year since the world ended. The calendar tells me it's Labor Day. I don't know what to make of that anymore. I remember the day before it all went to hell. Barbecues and family, a day off from the grind. Now, every day is a grind. Every day is labor. Laboring to find food, to find shelter, to stay alive.
I spent the morning clearing a nest of undead from a supermarket. The smell... it gets into your clothes, your skin, your bones. It's the smell of death, but also of a thousand forgotten things: rotting fruit, stale bread, the ghosts of milk and cheese. A year ago, I was a combat medic, a professional. I saved lives. Now I take them, not out of hatred, but out of necessity.
I found an old postcard in the wreckage. It showed a family on a beach, smiling. The father was a firefighter, the mother a teacher. It made me think of my own team, gone now, just names in my memory. We labored together, trusted each other. We were a family. Now I'm a lone wolf, and my labor is for myself.
But I still carry that medical kit. It's a testament to the person I used to be, and a reminder of the person I want to be again. My mission is still the same: find a safe zone. If it's not out there, I'll build it. It's the hardest labor I've ever had, but it's the only work that matters now.
Raven Cross
Thu, 28 Aug 2025 15:48:09 -0700
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