The day has dawned, thank goodness. We were all sure that we wouldn't live to see the morning. I'm writing from my laptop safe, for now, inside my apartment. There are fires all around us, but it looks like our building has escaped unscathed. I don't know how long this good fortune will last, but I'm still thankful for the small boon.
I heard that work got hit hard. That's really disheartening because I was hoping that we could hole up there on our way north. Oh, that's what we decided: we're heading north. The three of us talked about it last night, and we figured that if we can go somewhere that is only sparsely populated, then we'll stand a better chance of surviving this horror. I know our neighbors left yesterday. I watched as they all piled into their car and sped away. I warned them to stay inside for the first few days, let everything settle just a bit. That would be safer. But they are holding onto the hope.
Hope. I guess you could call us hopeful. Hopeful that we prepared well enough for this. There's plenty of food around, what with all the a lot of the people leaving our complex. More will probably leave today. Hope. I know that we all need to sleep a little before it gets dark, but, every time I try, I see the fires and hear the screams.
I'm going to try to keep my computer around so that I can journal each day. Hope. It's all for hope. At the very least, if we don't make it, maybe someone will find this journal in later years and remember that we tried.
Still alive,
The Piebald Penguin
