KEEP IN MIND THIS IS A ROUGH DRAFT, STILL HAVENT POLISHED IT.
If you do actually read the whole thing, well then thank you.
little summary, this is a book im writing named Corpsi.
this is a journal entry from the main character.

My name is Jason Fremont, and I write this now, as a last testament, for I fear these may be my last words as a conscience being. I found this notebook in the bedroom of a little girl in an abandoned house, and here as I sit on a leather couch in front of a 30 some odd inch TV, with the front door wide open, unafraid of the zombies which lurk outside, I sit on this persons couch, to write my last confession. I had stumbled upon this wrecked house as I rummaged through the barren streets of New York, accompanied only by the undead. They do not mind me for I share the familiar scent of the infected. I doubt anyone will ever find this notebook, hope hasn't shown its face around me much lately, for even as I write these words I can feel the hunger growing inside me, and I know once I give in to the temptations of the flesh, the world is doomed. I say this not out of vanity or pride that I may be stronger than the rest of the "Redeemed" as David would call them, but because The Omega-Vitamin was engineered with my DNA, and only my DNA can generate a cure. Which makes it clear to me that If I in fact die, or become, dare I say it, a Zombie, then the only way to rid the world of this scourge is by killing them all.

It pains me deeply to even think that I have a part in destroying most of the world's population. I truly can't fathom it on a the grand scale that I'm supposed to recognize it on, but when something goes into the billions it's hard to actually picture, how large a few billion people really are. As I watch my hand scribble this onto the pink pages of a young girl's journal I can hear the undead walking outside this house, I can hear distant gunshots, and the screams of women, all the while I hope to God it isn't Tim or Alex out looking for me.

I miss those two so much, my heart aches at the thought of Tim, and my teeth lust for Alexandra....

It's been a few minutes since I wrote that last sentence, I dropped my pencil and began to sob when I saw what I had written about Alex. It was as if I hadn't truly written it, but the hungry beast inside me possessed my hand, as if teasing me about what I know will inevitably happen to her, what I know I will do. These words aren't entirely false. I do lust for her, but the monster inside me, this infection hungers for her blood, her essence, that beast which I fear more than anything on the planet, desires her life.

This concept causes me great distress, The Omega-Vitamin seems to have vampiric effects on me, most of these zombies hunger for the flesh, to grind the meat in their molars, where as I am drawn to the blood, life itself. Why me, why must I be conscience of my own actions, while these others feed on the populous, their minds wiped, eating human flesh without knowing the person they are consuming may be their brother or sister.

It's been a few hours since those last words. I left the house I found this journal in and carried it with me while I searched for food. I found a boarded up Starbucks. I broke the window and crawled in. I placed this journal on a table while I went behind the counter and found a few biscotti, I ate them with gusto as I sat at the table I sit at now as I write this. I thought about brewing some coffee while I was in here but I no longer need energy, Omega-V gives me plenty, plus I doubt I could even figure out how to function one of these coffee machines.

The moment I finished my biscotti which turned out to be not all that nourishing, which was a frightening notion to me that food no longer satisfies my cravings, I heard a noise, a rustling if you will, in the bathroom of this establishment. No longer fearing the undead that lurked these streets I went into the women's bathroom in which the noise came from. I expected a zombie mindlessly trying to find a way out of this prison and into the street where there is flesh to be had but I walked in and initially saw no one. The bathroom was filled with dead silence, but like the other infected ones, my sense of smell was heightened, possibly beyond a dog or all comprehension, I could smell someone, a woman, the natural scent of an exerted female. The pheromones which wafted through the air were a mix of fear and sadness. I watched myself as if it was a nightmare. I feared for her life, since the darker half of me whispered in my ear of her life's nearing wicked end. The evil within me slowly went to each stall, and kicked in the door, purposefully scaring the woman whom I knew was in the farthest stall from where I stood and yet I couldn't help but cause her anguish. Each door I kicked down was accompanied by the faint sound of a concealed gasp. I got closer and closer all the while dreading the moment which was slowly coming to what was sure to be a bloody climax. I tried to stop myself, I tried to run for the door before I got to her, but the hunger and lust that is taking over my mind wouldn't allow it, and I watched, as frightened as the woman was, as the beast within me tormented the both of us. I was one stall away now, this time I kicked the door in, which was accompanied by a sudden spastic inhale from the woman and a quiet click. The normal me wanted to wait and examine what that sound may have been, it was so familiar yet I couldn't place it, I stood there for a second as I thought, but the hunger would have none of this and urged me to continue. I obliged to it, fighting the beast within the whole way as I slowly came into position in front of the last stall. My foot rose up, and struck the door with massive force, all the while my mind raced as I tried to figure out what the click had come from. A gun, the sound made sense now as I stared at the gun in question, which was pointed right between my eyes, by a young woman standing on the toilet. I guess by the haphazard condition I was in she mistook me for a zombie, as I write this I realize I'm not far from becoming one.
A loud crack rang through the air, as the woman fired the gun, I felt the bullet hit my ear, and rip it clean off. I sit at my table writing this as I feel the blood from the bullet wound roll down my cheek and soak the collar of my shirt. Oh how I wish she hadn't missed, I ached for a bullet. I stumbled backwards as she shoved me out of the way and she made a run for it.
The beast chased her. She escaped the bathroom, but I tackled her right next to table I sit at now. I straddled her from behind and sunk my teeth into her neck, ripping her jugular, the hot blood rushed from her as she screamed. I gnashed at her throat, and mauled her body with my ragged nails. I drank the crimson essence of her being as she slowly stopped struggling and became limp. For a moment I lied atop of her and gnawed at her neck, sucking her dry, until I was satisfied. Not a million prime ribs, not a billion Lobster dinners could have ever made me feel as nourished as I did.

I'm sorry for the blood on this paper, to whoever is reading this, try to ignore it, I know it's quite disturbing. I found her gun which had slid across the floor when I brought her down. It sits next to me as I write this. I found her purse in the bathroom. I truly wish I hadn't rummaged through it. I found a wallet inside. Her I.D, and some pictures of her family.

Her name was Kimberly Maxwell, she was 19, she was attending Penn State, judging by her campus I.D it seems she was majoring in Advance Chemistry. Big Load of good chemistry has done for the world so far, thanks to me and Dave. The pictures of her and her mom marred me, for I looked at them while her corpse lies on the floor next to me, mauled and mutilated.

This Hunger within me is insatiable, I feel the nourishment of Kimberly wearing off. I feel as If I just drenched gasoline on a tree in the Amazon, while I grip a lit match, and I can't resist but touch the flame to the tree, and watch as it spreads and consumes the jungle. To quote Janet from Rocky Horror Picture Show, "I've tasted blood and I want more." I've become a monster. I truly do hunger for blood, in the sickest, most vile way. I lust for it in an unholy sexual deviancy, this bloodlust must end before it takes control. I'm terrified for Alexandra's safety. I hope she doesn't try to find me, because if I saw her, her beautiful face, her fit body, and her pulsing jugular.....I wouldn't be able to control myself. But now I must stop, I believe writing about this only helps power its twisted existence, I must do something, I can't sit around and think about my infection and the destruction it may wreak. Idle hands are the Devil's playground.

The only possible outcome is to end this myself, the gun is so appealing. She had 9 bullets left. I only need 1. If by some strange twist of fate one of my friends or family members gets a hold of this I would like to say I love you, and I'm sorry for all this trouble I have caused. I have a date with death. Goodbye.