So far, there has been nothing. All the doors have been locked, all the windows shut.
I wish I had my camera. Even broken, it would have helped calm me. Perhaps it was the only thing keeping me sane. My camera and my story.
I still have my story. Down the Labyrinthine Ways. Except it doesn't seem so important to write it now. Because I am living it now. All the wandering my character did, I am now doing. Shall I wander for forty days and forty nights before finding shelter?
I...I have looked back and what I wrote. It is gibberish. It wasn't gibberish when I wrote it. It turned to gibberish. Like the books in the library. It became unintelligible. Unreadable.
I have to stop. Even with no shelter, I have to sleep. I feels like I've been walking for weeks, instead of days.
This bench is as good a place as any to fall asleep.
And if I die before I wake, I pray
why did i write that