We Will Rise: An Adrian's Undead Diary Novel (Lockey vs the Apocalypse Book 2) by Carl Meadows (best historical biographies txt) ๐
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- Author: Carl Meadows
Read book online ยซWe Will Rise: An Adrian's Undead Diary Novel (Lockey vs the Apocalypse Book 2) by Carl Meadows (best historical biographies txt) ๐ยป. Author - Carl Meadows
That feels more like the horde was assigned some basic instructions to follow. See Lockey, eat Lockey, and that was a mistake, though it doesnโt make things any less personal. Shit, I donโt know. Iโm spit balling to you, Freya, and I wonโt get any answers. This is all musing and conjecture.
The bottom line is this; when Iโm healed fully, the first thing I need to do is go out beyond the gate. We need to actively search for undead and see if they continue to react like this. I need to know if this is a permanent change in the undead modus operandi, or whether this was some kind of inexplicable random occurrence. Thatโs all I can do for now, as I doubt Iโll ever get any real reason why this suddenly went personal, or why I have any kind of significance at all. Thereโs absolutely nothing special about me other than my fast feet and even faster mouth, but that doesnโt seem significant enough to warrant an entire apocalyptic vendetta against little old me.
I reckon in another couple of days Iโll be fully healed, then I can do this little experiment of my own. I want to set Operation Birthday into motion, and there is some risk in it, considering where we have to go, but I need that risk to fully test the undead reaction.
Youโll notice, Freya, that I am being deliberately vague about the details of Operation Birthday. Whereโs the fun if itโs not a surprise, even to you, wherever you may be?
Okay, Iโve done my musing on this weird shit. Iโll take a break. I think next time, as Iโm still healing, Iโll finally lay out how I ended up at my old high school on the day the world shat razor blades in its pants. I think that should be recorded in here as it was that day, after all.
Wherever you are right now, Freya, I hope itโs bright, peaceful, and smells of summer flowers. I miss you, so does Particles, and Nate misses you more than he lets on. I think he kind of adopted us both as foster-daughters in that little time where it was just the three of us and our little puggy dude. Maria and Norah are amazing, but theyโre like mother and grandmother figures to me. Alicia, understandably, is all laser focus in becoming a Valkyrie and lacks a bit of warmth, so sheโs not really the girly type.
I miss having my girly BFF to hang with. Thereโs a big Freya-shaped hole in my life that I canโt seem to fill.
Shit, Nate was right. Grief does creep up on you when you least expect it. My lipโs getting all quivery and thereโs a familiar tightness in my throat again, so Iโm going to save this here, grab my emotional support pug, and go cry in my room for half an hour.
Miss you.
OCTOBER 15th, 2010
THE DAY THE WORLD SHIT THE BED
Itโs that time, I feel. My back is almost better and Iโm likely to start getting super busy again all too soon. So, before things get wild again Freya, I present to you the day the world shit the bed, and how I ended up at my old high school, where I first started scribbling this journal in shitty school notebooks.
This is a two-fold story, in that it also contains a little personal history. Iโve recorded that I went to university and got myself a creative writing degree, thus preparing my bardic magnificence for these apocalyptic tales, but such a diploma is treated with more than a little scorn by prospective employers.
I never knew what I wanted to do with my life. Do you know, I actually considered taking a shot at being a stand-up comedian? Letโs face it, I am hilarious.
Yes, I am! No, you shut up!
Twenty-one years old, fresh out of university with a half-assed degree, I was not a particularly desirable employee. I didnโt have any employable skills, seeing as brutal and sarcastic honesty is not considered a core competency for many vocations. Who knew?
I ended up in the first of many dead-end jobs, with no prospects, and endless days of monotonous routine. Data entry clerk, office junior, admin clerk, receptionist; jobs that just didnโt suit me. Iโm sure they were fine for many people, but I need more mental stimulation. I get bored easily, and if I donโt love what I do, then I hate what I do, itโs that simple. Working was a necessary evil required by society so I could pay my way.
I also hated nine-to-five, never more so than summertime, when Iโd sit in a stuffy office, wearing a smart blouse, grey skirt, black tights, and comfortable shoes, looking like a clone of every other person in the building as I stared out at the blazing sunshine. I wanted to be out in that weather in a park, or on an abandoned site where I could run free and get the parkour buzz from testing myself. I am not a high heels kind of girl, unless it was on a night out. My preferred uniform consists of running shoes, loose athletic or cargo pants, vest top, and hoodie.
By the way, the hoodie is the most underrated of all clothing items. Not quite warm enough to go bare-armed while jumping ledges
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