Nasrul chuckled to himself as he caught his breath and looked around the room. It was a small, cozy place with a bed, a table, and a few chairs. The windows were boarded up, but he could see a faint light coming in through the cracks in the boards.
He wondered how long he had been running, how long he had been in this new world. It all felt like a dream, a nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. But it was all too real, too dangerous.
He opened the leather-bound journal that he had found in the hand of the kabane earlier. The pages were yellowed and worn, but the writing was still legible. He read the first entry and was surprised to find that it was written by a young man who had been living in this world for a while.
He wrote about his struggles to survive, his fear of the kabane, and his hope for a better future. Nasrul felt a connection to him.
That is the first entry that the man wrote.
Nasrul couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy as he read the words on the page. The writer had been struggling with some kind of personal demons, and their handwriting had become increasingly erratic as they wrote about their fears and anxieties.
But as he read on, Nasrul couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with the writer. After all, they were both survivors in a world overrun by kabane. They were both struggling to make sense of a world that had been turned upside down.
He continued to read, feeling a strange connection to this stranger who had written their thoughts and feelings down in this book. It was as if he was reading the words of a friend, despite never having met this person before.
As he flipped through the pages, Nasrul realized that this journal was a valuable source of information about this new world he found himself in. The writer had documented everything from the behavior of kabane to the various survival strategies he had tried. It was clear that this person had been determined to survive no matter what.
Nasrul continued to read, feeling a sense of awe at the writer's resilience and resourcefulness. He wondered if he could be as strong as this person had been in the face of such adversity.
Nasrul's eyes flickered as he read on, the words on the page drawing him in. He couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort in knowing that he wasn't alone, that there were others out there who were going through the same struggles as he was.
As he read through the journal, he noticed that the writer had included some sketches and illustrations. They were simple, but they captured the essence of the world that they were living in - a world where danger lurked around every corner, and survival was a daily struggle.
Nasrul couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness as he read the final entry in the journal. The writer had written about their hopes for the future, about how they wanted to see this world become a better place.
But their hopes had been dashed when they had been bitten by a kabane, and they knew that their time was running out.
Nasrul closed the journal, feeling a lump in his throat. Hedidn't know who this person was, but he felt like he had lost a friend. He knew what it was like to hope for a better future, to dream of a world without kabane. But the reality of this world was harsh and unforgiving.
He sat there for a moment, lost in thought. He wondered if he would ever leave this world, if he would ever see his family again. He wondered if he would ever be able to make a difference, to help make this world a better place.
But for now, all he could do was survive. He took a deep breath and stood up, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The journal in his pocket gave him a sense of comfort, a reminder that he wasn't alone in this world.
He checked his rifle, making sure it was loaded and ready to go. He opened the door, peering out cautiously. The night was dark, but he could hear the distant sound of kabane approaching.
Unlike before where the house that he was attacked seems fragile, this house looks more sturdy and has less broken wood.
He takes the table and puts it in front of the door to reinforce it, of course that he makes sure that the table does not scratch the floor to prevent the sound from alerting the kabane.
Thud.
A soft sound resounds when he puts the table in front of the door.
Seeing that the door should hold if the kabane manages to break the lock of the door, he walks to where he sat before the bed and sat there waiting for the morning to come.