Day 1:
I don’t know how long I've been walking. The sun feels relentless, hanging in a white sky with no clouds for shade. There’s nothing out here—just endless stretches of cracked, dry earth, as if the world was bled dry and left to rot.
I’ve seen no signs of life, no tracks, not even a stray breeze to break the silence. My throat feels like sandpaper, and I can’t stop thinking about water. I had some this morning, but it’s gone now. If I don’t find more soon…
I’ll keep moving. There has to be something out here. Anything.
I hope.
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Day 2:
Still no sign of life. Just more dust and broken ground. The nights here are freezing, a brutal contrast to the searing days. I didn’t sleep well—kept waking up shivering, with nothing to shield me from the cold but my thin jacket.
I found a small, dried-up riverbed earlier. For a moment, I thought it might lead me somewhere, but it was just a cruel reminder that water once ran through here and now it's gone. My lips are cracking, and I can barely swallow.
I’ve started rationing my strength, walking slower. If I push too hard, I won’t last much longer.
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Day 3:
The thirst is unbearable now. Every step feels heavier, like my body’s made of lead. My tongue feels swollen, and my vision is starting to blur. I’m trying to stay focused, but it’s hard when all I can think about is water.
I saw something on the horizon today—a shimmer, like light reflecting off a surface. For a moment, I thought it might be a lake, but when I got closer, it was just more cracked earth playing tricks on me. A mirage.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep going. Maybe tomorrow will be different. It has to be.
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Day 4:
I don’t know how I’m still moving. My legs are stiff, my throat feels like it's closing up, and every breath burns. I haven’t seen the sun all day—just a dull, gray sky that seems to stretch on forever. It’s strange, but I almost miss the heat. The cold is starting to settle in, even though it’s not night yet.
I came across a pile of rocks today. It looked out of place, almost like someone had stacked them intentionally. Could it mean something? Maybe a marker or a path? I’ve been walking in its direction for hours, hoping it’ll lead somewhere, anywhere. But so far, it’s just more nothing.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
I’m not sure how much longer I can keep hoping. But I have no other choice.
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Day 5:
I woke up in the same spot I collapsed last night. The cold gnawed at me, but at least it forced me to rest. I don’t remember falling asleep. Everything is a haze now—my thoughts are slower, like they’re getting lost somewhere between my mind and body.
I saw the rocks again today, another small pile, just like the one yesterday. I must be following something, or someone. But who would be out here? And why? The thought of another person out here, though slim, is keeping me moving.
I don’t know if it’s a trail or if I’m just imagining it. But for now, it’s all I have.
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Day 6:
The piles of rocks are still there—more frequent now. They seem almost deliberate, like someone wanted them to be found. Or maybe I’m just seeing patterns in the chaos, trying to make sense of this wasteland. Either way, I’m following them.
I’m weaker today. My legs are trembling, and I can barely stand, let alone walk straight. I found a scrap of shade beneath a jagged rock, just enough to shield me from the worst of the sun, but it’s not enough to give me relief. I can feel myself fading.
Every step hurts, but I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. Not yet. Maybe there’s something at the end of this trail. Maybe tomorrow I’ll find out.
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Day 7:
I’m not sure if I’m still awake or dreaming now. The line between the two has blurred. I followed the rock trail again today, barely dragging myself forward. My feet are raw, my lips are cracked to the point where they bleed if I try to speak. Not that there’s anyone to talk to.
But today… I saw something. A shape, far off in the distance. It looked like a structure—maybe a building or a tower. I don’t know if it’s real or another trick of the wasteland, but it’s the first sign of hope I’ve had in days.
I can’t give up now. If I stop, I know I won’t get up again. I have to reach it. Even if it’s just a shadow, I’ll keep walking until my legs give out. Maybe it’s my mind playing one last cruel joke, or maybe, just maybe, it’s salvation.
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Day 8:
I made it. It wasn’t a mirage.
It’s a small, crumbling outpost. The walls are made of weathered stone, and most of the roof has collapsed, but there’s enough left to take shelter. And inside, there’s a well. A real, working well. The water is stale, metallic, but I don’t care. I drank until I couldn’t anymore. I’m still here. I’m still alive.
I found remnants of something else, too—old supplies, long abandoned. Whoever was here left a long time ago. But there’s something strange. Carved into the wall, above the well, is a single word: “Wait.”
Wait for what? I don’t know. But I’ll stay here. I have no choice. Maybe someone will come, or maybe I’ll learn why I was led to this place. For now, I’ll rest, recover, and wait.
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Day 9:
I thought I was alone.
This morning, I woke up to the sound of footsteps outside the outpost. At first, I thought it was my mind playing tricks again, but then I saw it—a figure, standing just beyond the collapsed wall, watching.
I called out, but it didn’t respond. It didn’t move, just stood there, silent and still. I don’t know how long it stayed, but when I blinked, it was gone.
I don’t know if I’m being followed, or if the wasteland has finally broken me. Either way, I’ll keep writing. If anyone finds this journal, maybe they’ll understand what happened here. Or maybe they'll wait, too.