The Roof

My name doesnt matter anymore. I never liked it anyway. Here I am laying in a cozy corner on the roof of a seventeen story apartment building, writing on a duct with a Sharpie marker. We were trying to get supplies when a mob of those dead things rushed us. God, there was so many of them. We were out of ammo in no time, their numbers still way too strong. My group was seperated and I ran up the stairs. I was followed by dozens of hungry mouths. Made it to the roof and the door locked behind me.
Well here I am, Five days later. I am going insane from the headache caused by not having any water or food. I am now to week to fight off anything. Including the sickness I now feel. I wonder if the pain I feel is the same as those creatures. Is it that which compells them to eat flesh?
I never was one for luck. I hoped I could have found a puddle of rainwater up here or something but it just never worked out for me. Now I can barely stay conscious and I know that when I die I will be reanimated. I will become what I fear and hate the most. I have to muster the strength to walk to the edge. I see the barren streets from this great height and know what I must do. One more step and I know I'll be home again.