Dear Diary,

It’s me again, Julia. It has now been three weeks since I’ve last seen another human being. Unless you count the walkers outside the fence, but I don’t. They’re not really human anymore. Just mindless monsters. I did another supply run today. I now have enough canned peaches to last me until the next apocalypse. Given the way things have been currently going, I predict that will be sometime in the next 2 weeks. Couldn’t find anymore bullets though. Haven’t had any since I had to put the last one between Felicia’s eyes. She was staring right at me the whole time. I still remember the look in her eyes. It’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.

It’s not like I haven’t tried to find other people. I’m getting crazy lonely cooped up in here alone. But I haven’t even seen signs of life since the 4th earthquake. Not even any rats. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother writing anymore, it’s not like there’s anyone to read this. I just miss talking to people. I miss my family.

I remember when my grandpa first taught me to shoot. My mom protested, of course, but I wanted to be just like my grandpuppy. He taught me that you always had to be super careful with a gun. “Never point it at anyone you don’t want dead.” He said, “Even when you think the chamber is empty and the safety is on, there could be one more bullet hiding.” I would hang off his every word. He was so proud of his little marksman. I hope he can’t see me now.

Putting away her diary, the last known survivor played Russian roulette with herself.