A little girl sits in the car as she waits for her mother to return from the grocery store. She watches the people milling about outside, not quite interested in the music that's playing from the car's stereo. Her eyes land on a pair of employee and his employer. As the man in the suit shouts himself hoarse; as the man in the uniform winces when his boss kicks him, she witnesses something queer: the hydrangeas beside them have wilted.

A renga tree, with the seed taken from a haiku by Buson:

a camellia falls

spilling out

yesterday's rain

I.

camellia

paints the ground white

like snow

II.

snow's falling gently

outside a home

warm with love

III.

children looked out

at the blizzard

with frowns

IV.

a snowman

stands outside

smiling at passers-by

V.

a woman

shivering from the cold

warms when she sees him

VI.

in its cave

a bear sleeps

through the season

VII.

lashes of closed lids

stop dust motes

from dancing

A renga tree, with the seed taken from a haiku by Buson:

mountains darken —

robbing the scarlet

from maple leaves

I.

fallen leaves

cover the road

in red

II.

rain falls

dark clouds overhead

melancholia

III.

a frog meditates

to the sound of rain

under a leaf

IV.

a child jumps

from puddle to puddle

— laughter fills the air

V.

the sun emerges

— a cat drinks

from a puddle

VI.

sunlight

bounces against

white walls

VII.

he sits by the window

in the library

— an ethereal glow

Blood. That's all I smell in this dilapidated house. What was it used for before? I don't know, but I see a turned over baby cot just in that corner... and probably the remains of its owner.

~*

Sorry, I just puked. That last drop of water I managed to drink before the zombies came is beside me right now, and I can't help but think how wasteful it is.

~*

Before I could even think of drinking it all up again from the blood-stained floor, I decided to move away. I think I'm safer now. I'm in the basement. There's no stench of blood here, only this musty smell that proved the people of this house never bothered coming down those steps. No wonder the trapdoor creaked so badly earlier. Good thing no zombies heard me.

It took quite a while for my eyes to adjust to the near-darkness before I could continue writing in this rather torn-up diary. It's hard to even imagine that it was still intact just hours ago. The papers and paperback are half-torn, and they're all coated with dust and my thumbprints. My pen is hardly recognisable now; what was previously baby blue is now dark grey.

Oh, shit. The tears are coming on again. I just remembered when mom and dad died trying to fight those zombies away. I don't know where Sam is now, but knowing how she's been since we were young, strong and dependable like the older sister she is, it's possible that she's still alive. It's just... what if she's not? Should I be killing myself now, to join my family in heaven?

~*

Just cried a bucket. I can't believe myself. I don't even remember when I cried last, and I had to give the zombies the satisfaction. Way to go, Em.

Anyway, I've decided. Instead of staying here sulking and choosing death, I think I'm going to try to head outside to find some help. Maybe I can find some survivors, and then we could... survive together. I don't know, but it's better than staying here. Emma Reyes is not one to give up so easily. That's right.

Well, if this is my last entry on here, it just means that I'm most likely dead. I'll pray everyday that you land in safe hands, dear diary. You've been a good companion to me.

Love,

Emma

When things go wrong, and the bad wins all the time, it makes me wonder if there is any good left in the world. No matter what I do, no matter how much I try, the effort flows down the drain into the endless ocean, lost and forgotten... but I remember, and I'll remember forever his arrogance and ego. One day, I'll sit comfortably, no matter how hard the chair is, and watch as he goes down with karma, and into hell.