Note: This is a story written in the form of a journal, so if you are just joining me and want THIS blog to make any sense at all, go back to my blog of ----- entitled "The Journal of 'Red' Chote - entry 1" and start from the beginning.

Journal entry: 29th November 2010 - 1.34am

I killed a man tonight. Fuck, my hands are shaking. I keep making typos. Hangf on./  

Just had a shot of rum and a beer to calm my nerves. I feel a bit better. Where was I? I killed a man. I blew his head off with the shotgun. It came apart like a watermelon.  

Wait. I need to start earlier so you don't think me a callous murderer. I was awoken by a banging and scratching at the back door. I got the shotgun and crept to the door while the banging and scratching continued. I called out harshly, "Who is there?" But no answer. "Stop that fucking ruckus!" I yelled. The banging stopped. Then it started again. I opened the door and there he was. He looked awful. His skin looked grey and cold and wrinkled like he'd been in the bath for too long. He was missing fingers on his right hand, and his left thigh was caked in blood. As soon as I opened the door he...he lunged at me, grabbing my chest with his fingers. I hit him with the butt of the shotgun, knocking him back, then raised it to my shoulder and pulled the trigger. He dropped like a sack of shit, reddy-black blood pumping out of the gaping hole where his head used to be attached to his neck. Against all my better judgement I reached down and touched his arm. He was not more than a few seconds dead...but he was as cold as a bagged chicken fresh out of the freezer.

5.45am  

No more sleep after that. I burned the body in a steel drum out back of the cabin. And I finally decided to open that letter from Georgie. After her mother died and I got depressed (started drinking), Georgie moved (fled) to the city to go to university (escape from me). I should have opened it when I first received it. Maybe then, I could have saved her. Now? She's probably dead. I keep looking at the shotgun.  

7:15am  

I sat on the east bank and watched the sunrise with the shotgun in my mouth and my finger on the trigger. I dont know what stopped me. Fear of death? The hope that Georgie may still be alive? In any case...I couldnt pull the damn trigger...so here I am.  

I can't stay here any more. I've loaded the ute with supplies (including several charged batteries for the laptop) and I'm going to have a couple of sausages and then hit the road. There's no point in going to the city if Georgie's letter is anything to go by. She said that if by some miracle she made it out of the city alive, she and a few friends from uni were going to head to the army base. So that's where I'll go. I'm going cross country. It's about 250 kilometres away, so I should get there by this afternoon. Hopefully they'll be able to help me. Hopefully Georgie's waiting there.