d̥̝̮͙͈͂̐̇ͮ̏̔̀̚ͅw̠̘̗͖̮̥ͣ̽ͫ͂y͉̝͖̻̯ͮ̒̂ͮ͋ͫͨt̘̟̼̉̈́͐͋͌̊e̮̟͈̣̖̰̩̹͈̾ͨ̑͑ m̘͈̺̪͓ͩ͂̾ͪ̀̋a̘̫͈̭͌͛͌̇̇̍n͉̠̙͉̗̺̋̋̔ͧ̊ d̥̝̮͙͈͂̐̇ͮ̏̔̀̚ͅo͎̜̓̇ͫ̉͊ͨ͊e̮̟͈̣̖̰̩̹͈̾ͨ̑͑s̪̭̱̼̼̉̈́ͪ͋̽̚ i̞̟̫̺ͭ̒ͭͣt̘̟̼̉̈́͐͋͌̊ a̘̫͈̭͌͛͌̇̇̍g͎͚̥͎͔͕ͥ̿a̘̫͈̭͌͛͌̇̇̍i̞̟̫̺ͭ̒ͭͣn͉̠̙͉̗̺̋̋̔ͧ̊

January 8th 1978

Dear Diary

Whoever is reading this, I’m probably not still alive. The sun is still gone, I have made human contact in two years, and I have been being chased by a strange white figure. It has no body, only arms and legs, and seems to have small horns. It’s been a good life.

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