Day 1 – Say Hello to the Zombie Apocalypse
It was a Wednesday. The faint chill of autumn 2015 slipped through the window as the evening sun vanished between apartment buildings. Gürkan, twenty years old and long past the point of seeking meaning in life, had just returned from another ordinary day at work. He tossed his jacket onto the side of the couch, loosened the laces of his shoes, and slumped into himself. He exhaled. His eyes lingered on the wall for a moment. Not much had changed in his life; wake up, go to work, come home, eat, and then… log into Twitch. That night was no different. Maybe he felt slightly less tired, slightly less angry, but in essence, everything was the same. He sat at his desk. Opened Twitch. The popular streams were flooded, chats scrolling like lightning. He didn't want to disappear into that noise. As always, he filtered for low-viewer streams—more intimate, more human. "Category: Just Chatting... Viewer count: Low... Stream duration: Short..." he filtered again. Scrolling down, one particular title caught his eye: "Day 1 — Say Hello to the Zombie Apocalypse." At first glance, it looked like clickbait. Still, he couldn't resist clicking on it. The stream loaded. The quality wasn't great. Looked like a bunker. Dim lighting, shelves, yellowed papers on the walls, a man with his back to the camera… Gürkan thought it was some kind of performance at first. But the voice… the voice was too raw. The man turned to the camera, and in his eyes was a void—a silence deeper than sound. At that moment, the man moved, walking with slow, heavy steps in the dark toward a table. There, lying on it, was a camera. Next to it, a note. Gürkan squinted. The camera zoomed in slightly. The note was written in shaky handwriting:
"Record your daily life, your battles, what you've seen.
After all, talking to someone is better than being alone, isn't it?"
The man fell silent. He looked around the room with the note in hand. Then he picked up the camera, pressing a few buttons. Gürkan's screen went black for a moment. Then a new image appeared. A more stable shot, the edge of a table, an old camping chair. The man sat down. His eyes were still hollow, but his voice began to fill with something. The first words came:
"Day 1. Say hello to the zombie apocalypse."
Gürkan froze. He didn't move toward his keyboard. Didn't type in chat. It felt wrong to interrupt. This… this was something else.
The man continued.
"No need to know my name. I'm not grateful to be alive today, but I'm breathing. That counts for something. I found this shelter three days ago. It used to be a market, I think. The upper floor's collapsed, but the basement… the basement still breathes. Outside? Empty. Silent. But silence isn't safe anymore. I've learned that."
He leaned closer to the camera. Gürkan noticed a deep wound on the man's right shoulder, partially wrapped in cloth, inflamed. The man kept talking.
"I did inventory today. Canned food, some batteries, a couple packs of biscuits, and... one knife. No gun. No people. Just me. And this camera. When I found it, I laughed like an idiot. Imagine that. In the middle of the end of the world, a camera. Like I'm about to vlog the apocalypse. But then... I saw the note. 'Record your life…' it said. Maybe someone will see it. Maybe only I will. Or maybe this voice will disappear too. Like everything else."
Gürkan's eyes were glued to the screen. The stream was still live. A few users were in the chat window, but no one was typing. Everyone was watching—but no one dared speak.
The man walked to the shelves, bringing the camera with him. Checked each box. Read expiration dates. Then he pulled out an old notebook, marking something on the side of the page. For a moment, Gürkan felt like he was back in school.
"Today, for the first time, I didn't think about going outside. There's a strange peace here. Maybe because of the camera. Feels like I'm talking to someone. Maybe a ghost."
He paused. Took a deep breath.
"I used to be in my twenties too. Back then, I'd find random Twitch streams, laugh with strangers. Nights would blur into mornings. Now? Time just leaks through my throat like a broken hourglass. Each day, a little darker."
Gürkan swallowed hard. The man on screen didn't sound like someone from the past—he sounded like someone broadcasting from a dream… or a prophecy.
The man continued.
"I heard them outside. Slow steps. No breathing. At night, they're quieter... but hungrier. Human voices draw them in. That's why I don't scream. That's why I don't sing. That's why I whisper into this camera.
And maybe... maybe these recordings will remain.
Maybe someone, someday, will watch them.
And ask: Why did this man keep talking?
My answer's simple:
Because loneliness... is worse than being dead."
Gürkan caught himself holding his breath.
The screen fell quiet. The man placed the camera back on the table.
"Tomorrow, I'll record again. Maybe I'll go outside. Maybe I'll read one of the books I found.
Maybe... I'll just stay quiet. But I'll do something.
Because I'm still here.
Day 1 ends here.
Take care… whoever you are."
The screen dimmed. The stream was still live, but the image froze.
Then, finally, a message popped up in the chat:
[ethan_146]: "What the hell... is this real?"
Then another:
[ghostwatcher]: "Calm down. It might be.
If it is… watching isn't enough."
And as Gürkan stared at the screen, one single thought echoed inside his head:
"If this guy is real… leaving him alone would be murder."