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land of an account of what really happened on that doomed day that saw five sixth of the world wiped out forever. Since then we have long reconstructed and produced a new generation of beings that walk in the stepe of their ancient forefathers, and I realize that there is no need to recount that period of satanic horror that, though happening centuries ago, still inflames our hearts and souls and probably always will. Nevertheless, I have just completed reading the fragments of the diary that has been translated, and I feel it is my duty as the editor of this worldrenown journal and as a human being to present the following to you as it was presented to me.
(The following has been translated from the ancient Terran language at the 20th century to present-day speech.)
Third day-My name, I believe, is Dora Jones...So far I have concluded that I have either died and gone to Hell or I am one of the last survivors of a...holocaust. I am not writing this for any purpose other than using it as a method for keeping my sanity and memory which I note have been decreasing 8lightly as each solitary moment lingers on. In fact, I cannot even remember anything that happened in my life before three days ago. It’s like a tremendous empty gap in my mind. I cannot even remember the month of day-only the year, which is 1984. Thus, I’ll be dating my diary by numbering the days starting from the day my memory starts.
The first thing I remember is my being in a moving vehicle when suddenly a surge of heat swept through my body, and I heard a thunderous crack as if Hell itself had opened to welcome us. When I opened nr, eyes, I felt as though I has arisen from a long sleep, not knowing that I had instead awakened to a nightmare. I found myself sprawled against the car door, and realized that the vehicle had overturned. I managed to crawl out of the open window, but when I opened my eyes on the outside world, the bright glaring of the sun caused a shot of pain through them.
I put my hands over my eyes, and as I did, a sick numb sensation streaked through my body and I fell to the ground. As I did, my head hit against something cold and hard, I struggled to my feet still closing my eyes, and when I dared to open them again the terror began. A pair of eyes met mine, and they seemed to stare into my very soul yet they were not really looking at me at all. The pale face that contained them was what I had fallen against. The eyes’ silent expression of shock paralyzed me. I staggered back wanting to turn away, but those eyes held me in a maddening grasp.
As I took another step back, I felt my feet touch something. I lurched around, and saw a small boy on the ground, His blond locks lay tousseled on his forehead; his eyes were partly dosed and his mouth was slightly parted as if he had just gone to sleep. His chubby hand, laid across his chest, held a baseball mitt. My terror, which had been halted for a moment by this tranquil picture, was freshly renewed as I espied small maggot-like creatines crawling slowly out of his mouth.
At the same time, I smelled a putrid stench emitting from the spots
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