December 22, 2015
Things could get very sick from time to time, so I think it is good to leave in black and white - or font on the blog - all that has happened from the beginning to the present. Many of you have pointed out the misinformation and the initial way in which, once again, hung on the Internet to know the truth, what was really happening and why our media him be quiet. Some, however, did not want to believe it, a scenario too futuristic to be accepted as a screenplay rather than a global emergency. My father thought that way in his eyes and those of many other yellows were nothing but desperate infected - it was then called - by no more than a particularly resistant strain of Anger (just think, 'does not make you laugh now?). Then, when nothing could be more hidden, more serious news reports told us the truth, that face belonged to Cristina Riccione, from that moment became synonymous with the pandemic. The prion-Chang Lee, expansion, infection and all the rest. All too late, as usual. While supporting the economy until the last on his feet of clay, the government had failed again. We were unprepared, so when the camps were opened and launched the quarantine procedures, many cities were already falling.
Only yesterday there was the impossible, an entry from Parma joined me. When he fell, every program transfer and rescue of lost meaning. We'll manage in the province as we could, holed up in districts and villages, already partially emptied by those who wanted to leave after all. Where were these camps, no one knows, yet many went on trucks and buses. Today, those people and those fields there is no trace, and as I observe the uniforms of the militia who plunder the region - with the number of yellow on the rise - I can draw my own conclusions to love. Others wanted to join relatives in the countryside - mindful of how, in times of war, this strategy saved their grandparents - or undertook desperate journeys to other regions. Of them, I know even less. What I know is what happened to us.
While the city fell, confidence in the army and in the fields met the same end. In many stayed put, filling the house of food and other supplies useful, blocked, or perched in our dens. The families found it hard to separate, knowing that could have been difficult to bring together so many wrong choices were made to keep united what was destined to be lost. The summer and not a little complicated things, the advance of the Yellow and the voices of the first acts of brigandage. Little by little, our center was eaten, day by day, inch by inch, until only a few districts could be said to be safe or protected. Going out on patrol carries the risk of lightning attacks, with those infected in good shape in the summer heat and humidity we pativamo the heat constant. A season that I have always suffered badly, but I learned to hate with all my might. Then the case of the crow that I just mentioned, poisoned by the chemicals with which it was first attempted a futile defense or infected by the flesh of the bodies remained in the street and they had fed, I do not know. They say it is impossible that the prion has made the species jump from birds to mammals. I do not know, I do not know to what or whom to believe. What I saw were violent attacks, but no infection. Who has been attacked, including myself, did not contract the infection. It's been well over two months since July, and I'm still here. So perhaps Cripto right, was not the pandemic. Maybe I'm just mad, intoxicated, rushed into a feeding frenzy. Who knows. Then, like every year I can remember, have migrated elsewhere. We, however, we stayed. Isolated to resist infection, paranoid need to change into madness, we separated from each other in humanity adrift. The contacts between the groups decreased or ceased, many lost forever.
Then, even my group was lost.
The last, in the massacre of the church. Remember? Perhaps including some who were praying that God, mercifully were torn apart from top to bottom, so no turning back. Do not get me wrong, I still believe in that god little, but I appreciate the irony of the case. When the yellow came down upon them, attracted by that building warm in winter while all around them was Bracciano - better than we could ever do ourselves, I must add - the feeding frenzy that seized the infected left no survivors. I made sure the next day, looking for the remains of what is too painful to remember. Then I found out was not alone at least in the network, where others wrote their stories and share information. In that brief silence was followed by the militia of robbers who seems to have taken place in the country, quartered - as far as I could see - in one of our largest hotel, where I can imagine them as they fight the best rooms I've infected transporting the supplies provided to find him. Instead, among the acolytes of the infection shows signs Santone increasingly apparent, leading them to attack one another or be shot at by militants. What seemed like the beginning of a fanatic cult is already succumbing to the logic of the pandemic: no evolution, only infection. I found that the holy man was part of the brigade, was therefore one of our crazy but a poor man like the others who had followed the path of weapons, and once infected - maybe not crazy, or do it on his terms - he decided that Pandemic was the Way. Gathered around him a couple of idiots trying infected and meaning in their despair, he created the cult idiot with no future. Well, while around him the yellow die of cold and hunger, I hope it's light a bulb, or perhaps I should wish him to go out with his lie. After all, we all lie to ourselves to give us comfort at least once since it started. I do not just have to observe, prepare, learn the movements to avoid unpleasant surprises, and - above all - get used to the waiting arms of the battle. I have no illusions, this calm before the storm makes me seasick already.
So here we now stand it alone in a house that is a den, a storehouse, a fort. If nothing can really stop the Yellow, our survival will not remain that these stories to tell, and when the network will fall once for all, these voices will join us in ashes.
stay alive, at least for
tell.
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