~ Chapter Six: Only the Good Die Young ~And here we are, at the end of all things.
I had a feeling of impending doom the day of the apocalypse. Admittedly, that was probably the right feeling to have, what with the world ending and watching everybody, everywhere get killed. But even after that, after we improbably survived and began to piece together our new society, I couldn't help but shake the nagging feeling that all of this was a waste. I was right.
It didn't matter what we did, it didn't matter where we went. Humanity had an illness, a virulent affliction that coursed through the veins of every living person. Though the eighteen of us had been granted a temporary reprieve, we were still carriers of the virus, and it was only a matter of time before we succumbed to its influences.
I thought I was immune to it. But now I see that I'm just as sick as the rest of them.
It all started when Tina died. I'll openly admit, I was glad to see her go. I mean, the woman had leukemia. It's horrible for me to say it, but it's true. She was dying anyway, and every mouthful of food and water she took was a mouthful that could have gone to people who actually had a
chance at making a new start.
That's what I thought back then. I figured Tina was dying, and the rest of us weren't. It was a simple matter of priorities. Let her die, so we can live. Had I known then what I know now, that we were all a bunch of ticking time bombs, I wouldn't have advocated letting her starve slowly and painfully to death. I would have let her live, so we could all go out together and end this stupid useless world as a team.
But, I didn't know. I let her die. I should probably regret it, but I don't. The cajun-fried old hag wanted me dead, and that's a fact. I don't want me dead. I'd like to live. I think I could do this world a lot of good. But I don't think it's going to happen. I'm sick, and I know it, but I'm just catching the disease. That horrible disease, the one that's going to kill us all...
Stupidity.I'm only in the beginning stages, but even that is too much. Everyone else is hardcore infected. I can see it in their eyes.
I first knew I had the illness when Christine died.
It was such a stupid thing. The threesome of Sean, Chelsea and Kim had been openly mocking Carter for being mentally handicapped. They made him dance like an organ grinder's monkey, and tricked him into eating various inanimate objects by telling him they were candy. I'll never see my left shoe again, thanks to them.
And so we resolved to take action, me, Christine, and Vecepia. We would save Carter, and fight for the rights of the differently-abled.
This was our first mistake. We should never have been politically correct about this. If the human race were a series of photocopies, Carter was a paper jam, and he was 50% of the entire genetic stock. We should have made it our mission to ensure that Xeroxes of future generations wouldn't be easily conned into licking an old typewriter for six days to see how long it took to reach its Tootsie Roll center. Instead, we chose to try and help him be smart, which was a bit like trying to convince a ravenous lion to consider the multifarious benefits of the vegan lifestyle.
We told him we would get revenge on Sean, which Carter somehow interpreted to mean, "Go over to Sean and loudly tell him that we're going to kill him."
Since Chelsea had hated Carter for forever and wanted him to die, (a sentiment with which I now perfectly empathize), we decided to do a nice thing for Carter, and kill Chelsea instead. But then... then I became stupid. For just a brief second, I let my guard down, and assumed that Carter had the ability to understand complex ideas like, "don't screw over the people who literally just saved your ass, in order to help the people that want to kill you."
We should never have told Carter the plan. In retrospect, it wouldn't have worked anyway, because he would still have had to make a not-retarded decision if it had tied, and because Christine was
equally down with the sickness and told Sean what we were about to do, which made it doubly unsurprising when Chelsea saw our sneak attack coming a mile away and managed to kill Christine with a hatchet, but still. It was a rookie mistake on my part. If Carter hadn't eaten my katana under the belief that it was a very cleverly-disguised Gummy Bear, I would have committed
hara-kiri in shame.
We're all alone now. Me and Vee. They're coming for us. They're coming for me. They know I'm not like them. I'm like a skinny person in a room full of sumo wrestlers: I shame them by my very existence, and they want to snuff me out. Once I'm gone, the whole world will be equal.
I hate that I'm going to die like this. I had hoped that even if I wasn't the last human standing, that whoever was would at least be someone who had a shred of common sense and dignity. Maybe I'll get lucky and it can still happen. But who knows?
They're almost here. They're going to beat me to death with clubs, and hold a victory dance over my corpse. And while the blows rain down upon me and I die at the hands of the infected, with my last breath I will cry,
"Two popularity challenges in a row? Seriously, what the fuck, Damien!?" 
