"Assassins we will be, through human history,

Jesus Christ to Kennedy, the Domino Decree"

The lyric is from an old song from Iced Earth. 'Prophecy' was the name of it. Wonder if they knew how right they were. Hell, I wonder what side they made it to.

I remember back in ' 98, listening to the CD and thinking, "Fuck… this is pretty intense." Had no idea I'd have front row seats for all this shit. Now, listening to the CD again, I don't think they had a fucking clue as to what was coming. No one did, regardless of what they'll tell you, or what you've heard.

Scratch that. That's not right. We ALL knew what was coming. We just didn't believe in any of it anymore. And that was what He was banking on. What better way to cull the herd?

I remember the Bible story about the guy who was tested by God (can't remember his name. So fucking sue me.) On a whim, God took his kids from him, but he still didn't turn from Him. So, His All Fucking Mightiness finally accepted the guy's belief as valid.

What a pussy.

Things get pretty simple when you figure out that God doesn't give two shits about us anymore, if He ever did. Think I'm wrong? Tell me this.. What kind of All Powerful, All Merciful Creator would allow this shit to happen? Answer: He wouldn't. Only a creature with a fucking cruel streak a light-year wide would get His jollies off of what's happening down here.

What kind of fucking bastard would have let that happen to Jaime … or to Rachel …

Jesus, I killed Rachel. I killed her instead of watching her turn into one of the cannibal … things. But I still killed her.

Things are running together. I can't think straight anymore. This fucking place…it fucks with your head until you don't know up from down anymore. It fucks with you until there's no 'you' left to fuck with. Then, you're theirs.

It just keeps going around and around, with no end in sight. Then, you realize that this was your life the whole time.

Then you realize that Hell was never some fucking cave with bat-winged giants fucking you in the ass with hot pokers. Hell was, and IS, here.

Accepting that's kind of given me a weird kind of clarity.

The curtain's drawn back, and the Great Wizard of Oz is just an old man jacking off in a corner. The Emperor's new clothes are a weave of human intestines and hard cold cash.

Be afraid, little Johnny. There really ARE monsters under your bed, and they want to sell you a subscription to Boy's Life.

Congratulations, son. Here's your merit badge. Fuck you very much.

Gotta move.

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Someone's following me. Not sure who.

The car crapped out about six miles back, and I've been on foot ever since (fucking duh!). Haven't slept in over 48 hours, and I'm starting to see shit, but I'm sure that someone's following me.

Whoever it is, he's pretty fucking good. Not your usual breed of boot-stealer. Definitely not Risen. I'd have smelled him coming from a fucking mile away if he was. Goddamn smell of rotting lemons carries for a mile.

The fucker's close. I know that much.

Gonna set a little mouse trap tonight, and see what I can catch…

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He was quiet, and he was good, but he wasn't fucking bulletproof.

Funny part is, he fell for one of the oldest tricks in the book.

I set camp. I checked around to see what my surroundings were. I then took off my jacked and my shirt, and wrapped them around a bush I'd pulled up from the ground. Lay the pile down, and it looked like a green-haired me dozing away (OK, so it wasn't perfect. The fucker's still dead).

I watched that camp for hours, hoping that I wouldn’t fall asleep and miss the fucker paying me a visit. Thought I was going to have to finally pass out when he came into the camp. He was tall, but he was human, wearing some kind of uniform. Big fucking deal. Lucifer loved to hand out uniforms for any occasion. This guy had probably earned the title for fucking the most wild boars without having his dick ripped off.

Anyway, I got bored quick, so I stood up from my hidey hole, and leveled the 12 gauge at him. "Who are you?" I said. No response.

I encouraged him a little by shooting him in the knee. "Who are you?" I repeated as he wailed. Still no response. I shot him in the other knee. The fucker will never play soccer again, but he still wouldn't talk. I went ahead and blew each of his arms off at the elbow so he couldn't struggle. He jolted so hard that he bit half of his own fucking tongue off.

I figured he still had enough to talk, so I pulled out my knife, and proceeded to cut off his eyelids. He sure had enough tongue left to scream. It was harder than a bitch to keep his head still. My hands kept slipping in his blood.

Anyway, now he sat there, spitting blood all over the place, with useless legs, no arms, and a REALLY surprised look on his face, but he still wouldn't tell me who he was. He babbled out something all fucked up, so I cut open his windpipe to shut him up. Funky shit started bubbling out of the throat wound, and I could tell by the sudden stink that his bowels had let go. He flopped around like a fish for awhile and then went still. I was packing up my shit when he came back around -- new Risen to the bunch. This one was only going to be good for a fucking noisy door stop, though.

I moved on down the road a ways, keeping an eye out for any passers-by. My ammo was running low, so I shouldered the shotgun, and carried my pistol openly instead.

My mind's been going funny. Can't tell if it's really me, or if it's just the fact that nothing in this fucked up end of the world makes any sense anymore. Keep thinking back and can't remember the details of the last few weeks real well. I mean, I remember it, but it's like it happened to someone else. I've had to look back through the pages of this journal just to remind myself of some details that I couldn't bring up.

Not sure what I'm going to do if my mind really goes. That's the surest way to die in a really fucking awful manner here.

Gotta stop and rest for awhile. Gotta stop the fucking noise.

Got a little rest. Head's clearing up a little. Feeling a little better, which is usually when things go tits up.

I walked into a little town just south of what used to be Charlotte, NC, at about 9:00am. At least, I think that's where I am. Hard to tell anymore, but I've already covered that.

The smaller towns almost seem untouched by everything that's going on. They pretty much stayed the same, except for a few differences that make you do a double take now and again.

Example: I walked into town around noon. There were banners up all over the place, yelling about some fucking jamboree or other. The businesses in the town center all had closed signs hanging, because the owner/operators were all at the town square for whatever the shindig was. No big deal in and of itself.

I walked down what I guess was Main street (I think it's in some rule book that every little town has to have a "Main" street somewhere). You could see the town square down about a couple of hundred yards away. Little white houses lined the sides of the road, with rocking chairs and swings on the front porches. It was almost like the war had never started, or never reached this part of the Zone. There was a big crowd in the town square, all dancing around some funky looking poles of some sort.

I should've known better. The closer I got, the more I noticed that the poles were wiggling. They were people impaled up on giant spikes that the townsfolk were dancing around, … as if they were some kind of fucking May poles. The spikes were greased up so they wouldn't tear the victim's insides up too much going in. That way, they lasted longer. There were about a half dozen of them up there, surrounded by a town's worth of people in their Sunday best. Chained to each of the spikes at the base was a group of anywhere from one to four people -- family of the impaled, I would assume -- forced to watch the party from front row. For a second, I thought about loading up and picking off some of the bastards, but too many of them and not enough ammo equals none of my fucking business.

Anyway, they didn't seem to notice me … either that or they didn't give a shit. Either way meant that I wouldn't have to kill any of them, which suited me just fine. I spotted a place to stay. Little inn just off of the main square. There was an old man on the front porch, just sitting and watching the shit going on in the 'festival'.

"Looks like it's time for dessert," the old guy had phlegm in his voice. I turned back to the party. The rape had begun. A couple of the folks chained to the base of the spikes had already been killed, or were being violated in any available opening. Others were being forced to watch while their clothes were ripped off. "You got business here?" I turned back to the old fart. "Nah," I said. "Just want to crash for a day or so."

"6 is fairly clean. At least the sheets don't stick together." He starting coughing up some kind of clumpy shit in the midst of what I can only assume to be some fucked up laugh. He spit it out and it landed like a wad of brown spinach.

I didn't care anymore. I showed my ID, threw the old bastard some money, and took the key. The room could have been worse -- a lot worse in fact. I dropped my shit and collapsed onto the bed, expecting to crash right out. Instead, I stared at the ceiling for about an hour. It's real fucked up what goes through your head when everything's quiet.

OK, it wasn't all that quiet I guess. I could still hear the moaning of the folks on the spikes, but the screaming of the rape victims was dying down, so I had some relative peace.

Things are just getting all fucked up -- even more so that normal. It's like there's another world trying to peek through at me from the corner of my eye. Sudden flashes of white walls and different faces keep popping up, then everything goes back to the same normal shit heap it's been for four years now.

Christ, I'm tired. Locks on the door are actually still intact, so I'm going to try and cop a little rest.