Day 17

JUNE 5th-

Most recently I have been traveling with a large caravan. We have been skirting the larger cities, and being protected by a group called the Outside Mark. The Outside Mark, a reference to the distinct "O" shaped, bruise colored tattoo encircling each members left eye, are a former S.W.A.T. unit out of Southern California. They use to be 28 strong, but number an even dozen now. They survived being captured and tortured by the Invaders early on, the twelve are what finally escaped. Seeing what had become of the world, they at first were going to take up arms and attack the Invaders, but seeing that a more crucial job was needed, they became protectors and guardians. Ferrying groups large and small to the few safe zones left. After the chaos of the initial attacks, the regrouping of survivors will be a key component of eventually striking back.

Day 16

JUNE 4th-

The Sunrise Tribe, a large group of Invader worshipers. Zealots, spreading propaganda to the masses still alive. They try and reassure you that all is well, and all will soon be better than it was. They feed on the downtrodden and those with no hope left. Rumors have circulated, until the Ponys confirm it I have my doubts, that the Sun Tribe are trying to ingratiate themselves with the Invaders in hopes of getting closer to them, to actually take them down. My doubts about this come from many things I have heard and actually seen. One incident I recall, happened recently. The group I was traveling with, The Outside Mark, saw a large contingent of Sun Tribe surrounding a small group of Strays, at least half dozen. The Strays had been stripped naked and were being tagged with collars & stuffed into large black bags. The Outside Mark and I would have stepped in, but the Tribes numbers were nearly triple our small group, and the food we carried was far to important. After the Strays were tagged and bagged, some sort of beacon was turned on, and we heard the distinctive sound of WorBlurs coming, we hightailed it outta there.

Day 15

JUNE 3rd-

The Express Ponys, a rag tag group of independent intelligence and security specialists. They saw what was happening before anyone, since it was their job to. Through their shared connections with governments and the private sector, all over the world, they were in the perfect spot to disseminate the info normal folk would need. Most governments had to follow protocol about what info was released and to whom, especially in light of the news that there were moles and leaks galore happening. Taking up the mantra of the original Pony Express, "The Mail Must Get Through", and repurposing it for themselves, "The Information Must get Through", the Express Ponys were in business to help anyone they could find, neither snow, nor rain, nor heat or even the dread of night will keep the Express Ponys from getting their messages out.

Day 14

JUNE 2nd-

I remember, after the initial attack, back when we all thought that a response from our side was forthcoming, we waited. Hiding in our basements, in our homes, in our cities, towns, neighborhoods, everywhere was an inhaled breath, waiting to exhale. I believe quite a few places are still waiting. For most though, as soon as the power started being redirected from our homes, and the new buildings on the horizon started lighting up, we knew there would be no response.Not really knowing what was happening, since the attack came from out of the blue, news was spotty early on, because whatever happened, happened globally, taking tv, radio and the internet off line immediately. We were cut off, at least until the Express Ponys appeared with news. Soon after, we grabbed what we could, with whomever was with us at the time, and fled.

Day 13

JUNE 1st-

The sky covered in the haze of memory, Our cities a thing of the past. We are all alone together, for however long it lasts. The time we had feels wasted, Our hubris knew no bounds. Now we are afraid of every shadow, frightened by every sound. The future lay ahead of us, The uncertainty of surviving for long. We must raise our heads from our chests, and let our courage and hope make us strong.

Day 11 & 12

MAY 30th/31st

The Silents roam alone, a loose collective of solitary observers. They crawl through teh wreckage of our former glory, seeking whatever it is they seek. In the day time they, like anyone else, look disheveled and beat down. Yet at night, they can sometimes be seen performing tasks, tasks that look military in nature. Hiding in shadows, taking pictures, looking through binoculars, and other recon like actions. Are they a group of soldiers looking to strike back, their broken pride wanting to atone for past mistakes, or do they take orders somehow, from an unseen leader. Who could that leader be, and do they have a plan?

Day 10

MAY 29th-

At night, it's quiet, so very quiet. The silence engulfs you, embraces your thoughts, drives you ever more quickly mad. In the country sides and rural areas, the silence at least can be alleviated by the few insects and animals left. The cities however, contain a silence that goes beyond the absence of noise. It's as if every sound around you has been shunted out of existence, but only at night. Roaming one of the bigger cities at night, alone, is never wise. That is when the Tithe Collectors come out, as quiet as a grave they are. Seeking out anyone who was crazy enough to think they are free to do as they please. The Collectors make such people pay, silently.

Day 9

MAY 28th-

Does it require the blood of innocence, or merely the blood of any unwilling passerby, to make it run. The Great Gear Room grinds all, all that have outlived any usefulness. This massive structure the shape of an unassuming dark blue box, no windows, no doors, no way in or out, nothing. The sound reverberates through your very being. A continuous, monotonous, machine, with no clear purpose. Its main job, it seems, to merely be. The only evidence of weakness, a collection of used gears, creating a mountain of metal, most covered in blood, though the rain washes that away.

Day 8

MAY 27th-

In the distance, past the bombed out storefronts, and demolished buildlings, the White Towers stand. They stand, ever vigilant, rising high into the sky, blotting out the sun. A glistening aura of terror surrounds such an angelic facade. What kind of worship belongs in such a place, the cries of the devout or the defiled cascade from the inner corridors. Those that have caught a glimpse inside, have very little to say, other than whispers about the Blood dripping from the walls, and walls that seem to pulsate, or breathe.

Day 7

MAY 26th-

The dying, they die slow, in the Furnace Houses. They see the pain rise from under the skin, and explode into the agony of flesh torn asunder. We, the living dead, can sometimes hear the echoes of the dying, as a multitude of scorched flesh victims scream in unison. Perfection of a machine race to kill, slowly, and methodically. Precision, in systematically disassembling a human body. The flesh, and muscle, and bone, all the parts that make up a human being, laid out on a table, to be examined, and researched, and displayed. Though it begs the question, what exactly are they looking for. We fell like dominoes to their initial onslaught, what little could be gleamed from a weaker race, what indeed.

Day 6

MAY 25th-

It's a double edge sword, survival instinct. Looking around at the current state of things, one wouldn't be looked down upon if they decided to curl up and die. But still we persist, still we continue on, still we fight for something. All the living have left is tomorrow, and if your not long past cynical, that is enough. How long will it be enough though, before the crushing weight of history begins to make you question the future. Is the will to survive strong enough in the face of insurmountable odds, is it enough, can it be more than enough, can it grow with each passing day you're still alive. It's going to have to be, because we have a long road ahead, and no light can be seen at the end of the tunnel, not yet anyway.

Day 4 & 5

MAY 23rd/24th-

Some say they do not collect trinkets and trophies from their victims, some are wrong. I have seen rooms filled with all manner of hubris, all manner of the smug awareness of a conquering race. The human body itself is a special trophy, dressed up in freakish taxidermy shapes. Contorted into ghastly caricatures of life. A silent zoo, filled with dead eye occupants. And though they seem to be dead, a final twist of the knife, if one were to venture close enough to notice. They still breathe, they still see, they still think, trapped in a waking nightmare. Shallow breaths, a slight tremble, the nearly nonexistent rise and fall of the chest. It is always best not to think about the children on display in these macabre circus/museums. Though at night, even the most stone hearted of us, cry ourselves to sleep.

Day 3

MAY 22nd-

The way beyond is lit with the fires of eternity. We are now wandering, aimless and alone. Small packs of bundled nerves, waiting to be frayed. Afraid of the answers to questions we keep to ourselves. Going a little more insane, getting a little more dead, growing a little less humane. We will soon be gouging out the eyes, and ripping out the tongues, of our friends and family, to shut out the crying and screaming. What has our humanity wrought, but a quicker downfall. We are now an impotent species, outcast, outclassed, outmoded. Over the next hill, past the next horizon, all is lost. What hope, if hopelessness is the new currency.

Day 2

MAY 21st-

The Day after it falls, is the day after we all give in. Gave up the keys to the Kindom of Tears, in hopes of a pat on the head. The Dark Corners of the brain, damaged in the fall, disconnected from Hope, from the answers deep within, we are all shame and frailty now. Even if The Word rises, none shall be there to see, or hear, The Truth. The shards of the future too fractured to comprehend, a full picture, or a blank slate. In the dark corners of us, we hope for a word of truth to be a guiding light into this unknown. Will we wither on the bone, a desecrated carcass for the vultures of time, or stand tall, in the face of personal demons.

Day 1

MAY 20th-

I don't know when the sirens began. I was lost among the many faceless others, a hollow being adrift in the shallows of modernity. I do remember being shoved in the shoulder, as a women, or boy, or no one, ran by. Soon the trickle of ones and twos, running away, running towards, doubled. It then tripled and quadrupled,till finally, the shallows of our modern life experienced the high tide of the universe, come crashing down upon us. I did hear the sirens, eventually, but I now know it was only humanity screaming in unison, a last gasp of freedom being choked from the bodies around me. The siren song of release, from the nightmares yet to come.

Day 0

MAY 19th-

It was a Beautiful day...
Nothing lasts forever, as everyone soon found out.