31st January 2022
We finally reached the Port by midday. It wasn't empty like I thought it would be-or hoped it would be. I expected old ships, or even cargo ships, just sitting there waiting for someone to start the engine. I was hoping for a skiff, if that's what they call them. Small boats, anything to get off this island. Maybe take Blue with me.
She sat with me all night last night at the Garden Center. Those beautiful eyes of hers-they're like hawk eyes, staring into the dark as if she can see things I can't even imagine. She didn't sleep. I don't think she knows how. But looking out over the docks now... there's a heaviness here. The cranes aren't moving, but the air feels crowded. I can see the masts in the distance, but they look... tangled. Like something is growing over them. I just need a boat. Just one.
3rd February 2022
Oh god... this place is hell. I have no idea how I'm getting out of this.
The Port isn't a Port anymore. No boats. Well, there are boats, but not any I can use. They're fused together with impossible things-green blueish lines that have somehow seemed to fuse everything together into one solid, rotting mass.
Blue had to hold me while I cried. I cried into her blue dress, staining the fabric with my tears. I'm losing it. Oh god... (The entry is smudged with dried tears).
4th February 2022
I woke this morning stiff as a board. Laying on a hard floor does not do your back justice. I miss my bed. I miss my life. I miss my parents. I must have cried myself to sleep last night on Blue's dress; when I woke, we were still a tangled mess, stiff and hungry.
Now that the shock of the dock has washed over me, I can finally say what's happened. They've built some sort of hub from the wrecks of the containers. Bound together with some odd-looking vines that emit a blue hue. It's not as blue as Blue's dress, but blue as blue... confusing, but stick with me. The bottom of the dock is like one big hub.
Rusted shipping containers lean like toppled tombstones. The dock is dotted with pools of green goo-all what's left of the humans the aliens kill. In the basin, they've built something. An Antenna. Towering, skeletal, humming faintly. We're stuck. We're screwed. We retreated into a portacabin. I cried myself to sleep while Blue just watched me with that puzzling look on her face.
5th February 2022
I woke alone this morning. The hard floor was all I had left at 6:05 AM. No Blue, no pretty, dirty dress-just me. I'm not ashamed to say I panicked. Paced a little. But I'm also not ashamed to say that when she snuck back in with three bottles of water and some crisps from somebody's car, I was relieved. She told me she just couldn't rest. I don't blame her; this place is giving me the creeps. We need to leave. I think Blue's a little acrobat now, as she told me she'd climbed one of the loading cranes that sits on the edge of the basin. "You can see it all from up there," she told me.
Something is shifting. Her voice sounded metallic, clipped: "I don't remember... my name. Or the last few weeks. But I'm glad I found you." My throat tightened. She's getting further away from me even while she stands right there. I have a feeling that something's amiss with her.
8th February 2022
It's taken some persuasion to get me up here. 50m high. The sticker said 50m. I'm not happy, but the view is wow. The basin looks so much more than the chaos it looked the other day; it's more complex than I thought. It seems to have metal steps leading up to a central mass.
At the center of the fused hulls, four containers have been welded into a square-an ominous hub crowned by that massive antenna, its skeletal frame reaching into the darkening sky. Blue suddenly changed once we reached the top. She liked walking the arm of the crane; I think she liked the freedom it offered. Me, on the other hand, was glued to the images below. Must admit, being this high is great-it feels almost like freedom, but with killer sharks below. They've built this for a reason-
10th February 2022
Still here. We argue daily now. I want to leave, she doesn't. She says she loves the view from above. Today, I found an old instant Polaroid camera buried in a drawer beneath rusted tools. It still works-miraculously. I'm thinking of using it to defuse the tension. Maybe if I take her picture, freeze a moment where we're not afraid... maybe it'll remind us why we haven't given up. But something's shifting. I can feel it. In her eyes. In the way the antenna hums louder at night.
11th February 2022
We climbed to the top of the crane just before dawn. Below, the tendril-city pulsed and hummed. Blue leaned over the railing, eyes fixed on the hub.
Then she slipped.
Her blue dress caught on a jagged bolt, and she pitched forward. I screamed, lunged-but gravity stole her before I could grab her. She fell into the maze of rusted hulls. Fluids surged out from the compound. Tendrils snaked around her limp body and lifted her high, carrying her toward the central hub.
Rage and terror fueled me. I scrambled down the crane, clinging to the corroded ladder, and dropped onto the cracked concrete. I ran. As I pressed my back against the chipped kitchen counter, the door exploded inward in a spray of splinters. A Fluid surged-its surface glinting like wet oil. Panic seized me; I yanked a tarnished knife from the countertop and slashed. My blade cut through air and its slick form alike-no resistance, no wound.
In an instant, tendrils coiled around my torso with crushing force. I was lifted off my feet and rammed hard against the counter-wood and porcelain shattering around me. Before I could catch my breath, it hurled me across the room. My arm smashed into the cracked brick wall with a thunderous snap. Fire bloomed along my limb, and I've crumpled to the floor. Every breath I take is a white-hot stab of pain. Just need to res......why am i ev(smudge) this.(the page trails off smudged with blood)