My Last Birthday

It's my birthday today. I turn 29 years old. If I were home, I'd wake up to a text from my mother telling me happy birthday and that she made plans for us. But, I'm not home. I'm stuck here, where I've been for the last 5 years. I followed lead after lead, risked my life getting supplies to trade for information, and listened to every god damn junkie that swore there was an exit. I even trusted T.S.E. and in the end, I'm left tired, injured, and alone.

I remember the day I fell down here. I was at the grocery store and headed toward the deli counter. I looked up at the man waiting, then I fell. It was like the ground just opened up beneath me and made me plummet to the center. This isn't Earth, though. This could never be Earth. I had nightmares as a child of being lost in a strange place that I could never escape from and I never in a million years could have thought that it would become a reality. My only reality. This is all I'll ever have, now. Running from level to level, room to room. Hiding from countless monsters whose only purpose is to rip me apart like paper. Lying and stealing just to survive for one more day.

And for what? What's the end goal here? Escape? That's never going to happen. I know that now. All I have left to eat is one granola bar and a sip of water. I've searched for days and begged anyone I happened to come across, but there's nothing else here. At least, none of it is available to me. You know what the worst part is? I killed someone for this food. I stabbed a woman to death for her bag and all she had was two granola bars and a bottle of water. I'm out of strength, out of food, out of water, and out of energy. I'm out of hope. There is no end goal. There's no finish line and there never was. The second I fell down here, my fate was sealed. I was already dead.

Mom, you're never going to see this. I could say whatever I wanted and it wouldn't matter because you will never read this. How could you? Unless you got trapped here too and I hope to whatever God there is that you don't. You don't deserve this. I miss you. I wonder how long it took you to realize that I was missing. Was it the same day? The next? The week after? Did you have a funeral for me when you never found me? Did anyone even come? Did you cry? What about my house? Did you sell it? Did you keep my stuff or sell it?

There are so many things I want to ask. So many things I want to say. I've screamed them over and over. I even made a little model of you just so I wasn't so alone. I talked to that thing for hours. I even hugged it. I wanted it so badly to be you, but it wasn't and it never will be. I'm sorry, mom. I worked my ass off down here. I survived for far longer than anyone would have thought I would. Hell, I survived longer than *I* thought I would. It doesn't matter, though. All tomorrow holds me for is an endless search for food, water, and shelter. I'm too weak to fight back against anything or anyone, so I could be attacked and killed as if I was nothing more than a child. So, I think I'm done here.

The thought of waking up in excruciating pain and looking for food that I won't find is too much for me to take. I can't do it any longer. I don't want to. I won't. If someone finds this, don't bother wasting your time searching my body or things. I don't have anything except for this granola bar and I'm eating it. It won't matter, but it'll be symbolic. My last meal on my last birthday, covered in poison. For the last time, I'm sorry. I love you, mom. I hope that you're happy and were able to move on from this even though I couldn't. I miss you and I'm sorry.

Your loving daughter, Deidra.