The jackal came back to talk. He’s a medic of some sort, he says.

So many have died of this, and will die of this. But a random stranger just walks into my little flat and gives me medicine, and I’ll survive.

I doubt his story. He says he came from another world. He came down to talk with me, specifically.

Sure.

He did give me medicine, though. There are bodies in the streets. I can see them when I look out my window, and I’m sure I’ll be smelling them soon. The retching and groaning from all the flats around me is silent.

I’ve never heard things this quiet here in my life. Occasionally a whelp cries out, but I think there must be a great many dead. And I’m alive, thanks to a random stranger…Fine. I’ll believe he came from another world just to stop into my random flat and save my life.

I’ll believe him.

I don’t know why I’m still writing this.