I tried to attend a therapy session tonight despite the fact my group isn’t for another three days, but within distance of King’s College I could see the presence of Preservers and more people than ever just existing outside. The thought of going forward and confronting them caused my throat to let out a strange wheeze and I was left gasping for breath, so I quickly turned for home.
I have been spending too much time in here with nothing other than my mind for company, that’s for certain. I don’t really do much of anything anymore. I find myself just sitting thinking, but when I catch myself in the act hours have passed and I can’t really remember thinking about anything at all. It’s only when I’m writing things down that I can go back and actually work through my processes. Perhaps I need to write a little more often, I don’t know. I’m going to try.
I’m worried, diary. I haven’t experienced anything like this for a few months, since before I started my sessions and before Lucy came to visit. Confidence is draining from me. I must try to fight it off, but I have no-one and nowhere to turn.
I slept on the couch and I can’t remember dreaming.
This is stress, stress that I don’t need, not now. I haven’t been thinking about Lucy but if she comes back because I’m anxious and can’t control my thoughts then all of my good work will have been for nothing. I am compromised for the first time in weeks. I…..I’m hopeful that my current mood, where I would welcome a plane crashing through the roof or a bomb exploding my house to smithereens, is just a minor remission, nothing to worry about, just another step on the road to health. Yesterday was not a good day. I’m…
I’m so utterly despondent, descending to a depth where I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get back up.
Lucy, we made our peace. Why could I see you in the distance last night, commencing your journey back to me?
Ok, don’t panic. Others at the sessions have had setbacks too. It doesn’t mean the therapy isn’t helping. Continue to believe and you will self-medicate.
She’s moving towards me.
To be frank, diary, nothing can alleviate how breakable I feel. From the unexplained and incomprehensible crowd outside the sessions to the downbeat mood in the room and the confrontation with the Preservers I’m not in a good place. She’s back and I don’t know what I can do. I can’t wait for my session. I wish it were tonight.
She’s moving towards me.
I haven’t shaved, washed or changed my clothes in four days. It just doesn’t seem particularly important.
What a night, what a horrible, confusing night.
I could not wait to get out of here and rushed to my session, the act of walking through the front door helping to lift that weight on my head ever so slightly. As I turned the corner there was an even denser crowd outside of the building than last week, close to a thousand souls, easily, much more than the smatterings of campers that had made their presence felt a week ago. So many, in fact, that the Preservers had erected temporary fencing around the front of King’s College with one clear entry point in and out. I weaved through the masses with much exertion, people shouting and wailing but once more unclear in their motive. Eventually I struggled to the front, on the way counting at least ten heavily armed Preservers, through the security check and into my session.
John hastily reassured us of our safety in the room and specifically requested that we hear an uplifting story first to set the tone. The room fell into a prolonged silence. No-one had anything particularly positive to say. Lucy’s drive towards me has been noticeable and her being there at all is, to me, a massive regression, so I kept my mouth shut. John let the silence linger a little too long. I got the impression he was searching for something to cling on to as well.
The silence was soon interrupted anyway, as a Molotov cocktail flew through the window to the right of where we sat, scattering shards of glass and setting alight the curtains either side of the frame.
The window was a reasonable distance away, but as a group we panicked and rushed towards the exit at the opposite end of the room from the fire. As we made our way back towards the security check, we all heard it, the unmistakable rattle of gunfire in the air. Screaming followed from the crowd outside, causing all of us to concertina together in between the flames and the exit. The security check had been abandoned by the Preservers, who were down the steps and in among the people below. The hulking masses were crying out for help and those who were close to the entrance were jammed up against the fences, while those on the outskirts had wisely dispersed into the night.
It became clear that these weren’t all protestors. Somehow, a Zombie had made its way into the centre of the group and had begun biting the citizens nearby. I have no idea how this is even remotely feasible. The number one Commandment, the three-minute rule, should render what happened impossible, yet a man in the middle of a thousand bodies chose this moment to turn and to commence attack. How could he have contracted NZ in that situation? I have no answer to that question.
Then…God. My god, my god. The Preservers, it didn’t matter whether you were a human or Zombie; they just started firing into the general area. Those squashed in at the front, at the foot of the steps below where I stood, had no chance; they would either be crushed to death, shot, or turned. The sound of bullets and wailing continued for a minute or so as I watched, aghast, from the steps with the rest of the patients. When the screaming became distant whimpers, a bloodied pile of bodies, probably a hundred, maybe more, were all that remained of the gathering.
The two closest Preservers then turned their attention to us. They rushed forward with weapons brandished and informed us that for our own safety we would need to leave via a different exit. They led us quickly through to the room where the Molotov cocktail had entered, past where two other Preservers operatives were competently subduing the flames, and through a side door, away from the front of the building.
From there, the guards looked to hoard us together until more assistance arrived and made it clear that none of us were allowed to leave until we had issued statements. A moment later, however, we could hear further gunfire from the front of the building and the guards monitoring us were beckoned through their radio devices to provide backup. They gave us strict instructions to remain where we were until they had ‘processed’ us, but once they had disappeared I made a break for it, across the car park, through side streets and didn’t look back until I reached my front door.
My mind is chaos. It’s one thing being sceptical as to the methods and motives of The Preservation in Society 2.0, but it’s very much another watching them commit cold-blooded murder. And I still have no real idea why those people felt the need to be there anyway, nor how one of them could have been infected.
I turned on The Preservation news channel. There was no mention whatsoever of what just took place.
I’m going to sleep. Things are starting to make more sense there than in the real world.