Anita Fletcher's Diary

When the world is filled with nothing but divine masculinity the woman can often be left behind. Now, I’m not feminist or anything, I don’t believe in women coming first and men coming second or any of that crap, but I do believe in divine intervention to make the entire world of sexes equal. Yeah, right, like that’s going to happen.

Anita Fletcher- February 4th 2011

God, how the hell did the world come to this? Was it my fault, did I push my beliefs too much, or was it an act of God? No, the reason that all of the men are dead and all of the women are struggling to survive is… nature. Ever heard of the walking dead? Yes, diary, I’m talking about zombies, those hideous beings that walk around with their arms in front of them asking continuously for brains. As soon as it reached this year, 2012 something reacted in the system of every living man alive. Their DNA changed to hostility and every civil gene left in the homosapien males was lost. The apocalypse didn’t happen because of that stupid Mayan calendar that everyone was talking about last year, and it didn’t happen because of God, the book of revelations have had no say on this matter.

Anita Fletcher- August 11th 2012 (I’m in the middle of the woods in the north of the country)

The women scurry away, the men aren’t just those common zombies you hear about and see on television. Yes, the men are zombies but they aren’t thick, nor are they foolish or slow. The men sprint after the surviving women, drool slipping from their mouths, hunger for that soft, white milky flesh. I watch right at this moment from an abandoned factory, I have boarded the factory windows with wood planks and nails. The doors and some of the other windows are simply blocked off by heavy objects. This place is just a temporary hideout, just a place to lie down as my body shivers and protests against the mid November cold. The zombies catch the women, and all I can do is observe from the window of the factory. I see the chase, the desperate screams from the female, the lusty growl from the male… and then I see her speed falter, I hope and pray that she escapes but… sorry about the frequent use of ellipsis here, I just sometimes cannot find the right words…

Anita Fletcher- November 15th 2012

As we reach the New Year I look out of the shop window at the stars and wish everything was normal. God, how I hated people, how I hated when I attended school. I hated at school when all of the other girls got their breasts before me, I hated the ridicule, I hated how no other boys fancied me. I hated when I left school too, when I went to university, college to the Americans who surround me. I was happy in the libraries reading my Shakespeare, Orwell and Poe but all I could hear then was the sound of the tall and sexy girls behind the bookcases talking about another whorish thing they happened to do the night before. I’m not against sex on a whole, I suppose I just moaned then because I couldn’t find anyone, I just think it should be a private matter, not a freaking committee meeting. I looked at my digital watch which now read 00:00, twelve. Happy New Year 2013, a year since they went savage. God, I hated people, I had acquaintances and friends and I just want them back, please give me them back, I just don’t want to hide anymore or hurt anymore.

Anita Fletcher- December 31s t- January 1st 2012-2013

I found an old friend of mine; she’d holed herself up in a gun shop, away from the charming gentlemen. Anita had all of the weapons she needed in that gun shop, she just about nearly shot me down. Na, that’s not Anita, she’s more careful, she wouldn’t have shot me. The fact of the matter was that we were both survivors and we both seemed to have something the other wanted. I had a shopping trolley full of canned food and she was going hungry in a munitions shop. God, we were a match made in heaven. Anita and I talked about the men or the zombies as we call them now… Goddamn original isn’t it? I think we preferred when they pinched our arses in complete violation and disrespect for us. Now, Anita isn’t a feminist, and she never will be, but I have no shame what so ever in admitting that I am a major feminist. I have always hated men, I have hated the way they acted all of my life. I just wouldn’t have minded been swept off my feet by a gentleman that I truly could love. Now the best thing to happen is to be literally swept off my feet and to be given a really painful bloody hickey. (Pardon the pun)

Phoebe Jayne Mortuus- January 2nd 2013

Would you believe that after last night of pure loneliness my good friend phoebe from university just found me? Divine intervention from the Gods? I’d really like to think so.
Phoebe seems to think that no God exists; I don’t know if I agree with her or what, I just know that something happened to get her here and it wasn’t a coincidence. She’s a major feminist, but I just think she needs to meet the right… Well, I guess she won’t. It’s too hard not to slip up… Men and women are just a part of life; it’s hard to believe that were all simply going to die. When all of the women die, the men won’t be able to reproduce, hence the extinction of the entire human race. God, internal genocide, I don’t know what do anymore.

Anita Fletcher- January 2nd 2013

At four in the morning of the second of January 2013, they found the women. We refer to the men as they because they are little more than animals at this point and are devoid of emotion and any kind of law. When men destroy, they destroy on a scale bigger than any other creature.

The shop looked secure, but all I could think about was the meat inside. My hearing was better than that of a timber wolf; I could hear the two creatures inside, sleeping, absolutely defenceless white meat. I sneaked closer to the building, looking into the gap through the wood on the window. I could see their delicious chests ascending and descending as they slept. My stomach rumbled with desire, hunger and lust. The shop was filled with weaponry; I remember the equipment from when I was a human. The combination of the simple gears, cogs and springs in the weapons would excite the gunpowder inside the bullets and cartridges and throw them into my own flesh, rendering me dead. I needed the element of surprise as I was the leader tonight, I got the meal. I turned around and screamed at the top of my lungs, I tasted the sweet panic inside of the room as the women awoke. I heard the steel click of the hand cannon, I retreated for a moment and a hundred of my brethren ran at the shop, tearing the wood beams clean off the doors. Many of my kin died in the process but eventually the two women were overpowered and we disarmed them. My brethren dragged out the women, they were unconscious, this was my night and I would take them home and torture them to make that meat that little bit sweeter. Zombie Brethren narrative

I managed to pick up this diary as they dragged Anita off first. I know that because of the event, this diary was her life and has been her only friend for a very long time before me. I could only compare this moment of my life to that of the brave Anne Frank, the little Jewish girl who made a diary whom she named “Kitty.” Anne Frank much like Anita Fletcher took the time to actually express her feelings on paper, and that is why she is known in the twenty first century after she was dragged away by the Nazi’s. I guess this is my turn to write about my own apocalypse. Anita is strung up beside me, completely naked… they’ve been… playing with her…. Excuse me…. God, I’ve never barfed so much in my life. These men, these stupid, insignificant, dumb goddamn men have just stood there and tortured that good person. The sick freaks and people wondered why I never trusted men. Oh God, I can hear them coming back, I need to hide this diary so I can return and confess to you more.

Phoebe Jayne Mortuus, the woman who could have only be described as bubbly and independent. The woman who would slap a man for looking at her body too low, the woman who would fight to defend another one of her sisters, or her brethren. Mortuus is the irony in this story as Mortuus is Latin for dead.

We left the first animal hanging; its flesh was on show to me and my brethren, it looked good, it made us hungry in ways that we couldn’t describe. The human female we picked up first struggled, shouting alien words, “Anita, Anita!” We longed to shut it up, and we obliged. I had a lesser man than I hold the struggling creature; I slapped her and licked the food’s flesh. She was almost ready, I had her beaten, the flesh was becoming bloody and soft, she had screamed and screamed echoing the cave around us. The other female woke up behind us, noticing her naked body. The creature kept shouting the alien words so I myself kicked her in the chest. The other creature began to cry at this, it had covered its body, ashamed at its bareness. I made the creature watch as I thrust my claw rip pieces of flesh off the bone of the awkward female. I heard the other creature weep and whisper “Phoebe.”
Zombie Brethren

I was violently sick as that mutation of a creature dipped its claw into Phoebe. They took her flesh, the blood sticky on her hands. It licked the blood off its fingers and bit into Phoebe’s neck. The violence went on for half an hour until she was no longer that independent, brilliant woman; she was a pile of bone in the corner. Now diary, I sit in this pile of bloody hay, locked in this stinking cave. I began to sob quietly and edged away from the very clean bones. I can’t stay here diary, because they look hungry, I just don’t want them to come back for me and discover a new kind of hunger.

Anita Fletcher January 3rd 2013

There is nothing pleasant about the apocalypse, nothing right about revelations. When the time comes even the best of us will perish. Some days however, we are given a second chance, because some of us are just meant to live alone. Some of us are bored with the simplicity of life. Some of us need the hostility and adversity that life and adrenaline will throw at us.

I saw the Zombie enter the room that I was supposed to be in, lying defenceless. I had picked up a shotgun laying on the table outside of the cave. It felt good when they didn’t even know what hit them. I aimed the shotgun and waited for the zombie to face me. I would not hurt or even kill somebody who was not facing me. I remember blowing his head off a few moments later. I had thrown down the weapon, it was not my life. I muttered a few words for Phoebe and escaped my prison. Tomorrow was just another day, I’ll be alone, yes, but life is about survival and it always has been.

Anita Fletcher January 5th 2013 (Last Entry)