2032

May 29th, 2032

The summer hasn’t even officially started, yet the heat is already unbearable. It certainly doesn’t help that we’re in the middle of a drought. Even worse, meteorologists are predicting that this is going to be the hottest summer on record for the third year in a row.

I’m praying that our AC will continue to pull through, but if we have a repeat of what happened during the winter, we’re screwed. Jo assures me that everything will be alright. She does it whenever she catches me twisting my wedding ring. I admire her optimism, but I struggle to share it.

June 3rd, 2032

Today marks one of the few times where I genuinely hate being right. The power grid shut down sometime around noon. Overloaded, they said. Yeah no shit. Anyone with half a brain knows that record breaking heat mixed with a crumbling infrastructure only ends in disaster. You know what really boils my blood though? We all saw this coming, and yet the people in power sat by and watched it happen.

It pays to be a pessimist though. I’ve dusted off the generator to get a few fans running, and I've already stocked up on a few cases of water bottles. Jo’s right. We’ll survive this heat, but that doesn’t make me any happier about the situation.

June 11th, 2032

One week of the blackout. The temperature is in the triple digits and is projected to last for the rest of the week. The water bottles and fans have been a lifesaver. Of course, others are far less fortunate. It seems like everyday brings a news report of those who have died from heatstroke. Preventable deaths. All of them. Jo agrees. She wants to take a case to the water drive being held at the food bank. I want to be selfish. We don’t have anything to comfortably spare with the supermarkets empty, but that doesn’t ease Jo’s bleeding heart. She’s already weaponized her puppy eyes knowing that I can’t resist them. Oh well. I suppose we’ll just have to ration what we have left.

June 12th, 2032

The volunteers at the drive were extremely grateful. “Anything helps” they told us with warm smiles, but I know it’s not enough. They know it too. The power needs to come back. Soon. Riots are breaking out, and government resources are stretched out impossibly thin. Jo kisses repeatedly and tells me not to worry.

Things have to get better soon.

June 13th, 2032

Things got worse. The other two mainland power grids shut down and the government with them. It’s essentially the Wild West out here now.

Luckily, the clouds look like it will rain today. Small miracles I suppose.

June 18th, 2032

My brain is an egg cooking inside my skull. I’ve only managed to stay sane thanks to the rainwater we collected, but the heat is ripping my patience to shreds. The huge fight that Jo and I had this morning is evidence enough. I suspect I will be sleeping on the couch tonight.

June 19th, 2032

Neither of us slept well last night. In part, thanks to the fight. In part, thanks to the series of gunshots that rang out through the night. There’s been crime in this area before… everything but never to this degree. Needless to say, we’re both on edge. Jo’s turned to stress baking. With no power, she’s had to get creative. Now I’ve got a tray of cookies baking on my car dashboard. We’ve patched things up, and I look forward to indulging my sweet tooth.

June 23th, 2032

Jo found a bullet lodged in the side of our house while tending to the garden. She seems confident that it was a stray, but she’s agreed to sleep in the master closet with me. I know it’s the paranoia talking, but I’ll feel much safer in the innermost part of the house.

June 26th, 2032

Our house was attacked today. Jo mentioned to a neighbor that we technically still had power thanks to the generator, and well... desperation does things to people. We fended off two of them but didn’t see the third intruder until it was too late.

I killed him with my bare hands.

His face was nothing more than a bloody pulp by the time I was done with him. I dumped his body in front of our driveway as a warning. But it’s no use. The worst already happened. My knuckles hurt like hell, but the pain to keep me grounded for what came next. Jo now rests peacefully with our dog in the backyard.

I need to wash off the dirt and blood, but I’m just so… tired. Exhausted really. The kind of exhaustion that settles into the bones and no amount of sleep will ever fix.

…The house already feels lifeless without her.

July 15th, 2032

I had to leave the house. I know it was stupid. That’s where the bed and most of the supplies were, but I couldn’t take it anymore. Her ghost haunts me with every waking moment. I kept pacing around the halls as I replayed everything I could have done to save her. It’s no use of course, but the illogical part of my brain refuses to believe that she’s really gone.

I ended up coming to the library. Jo loved to come here, and I can see why. Shelves and shelves of books foster a serene environment. If I didn’t know any better, I could pretend that the apocalypse never happened. Jo and I still live in our home and absolutely nothing is wrong.

The library is still in good condition all things considered. One of the offices would make a great makeshift bedroom, and I’ve already found a number of books on hunting, gardening, and general survival. Jo would want me to keep going, so I’ll do it. For her.

July 16th, 2032

I found something. I don’t want to get too excited, but if it works- I’m getting ahead of myself. I should explain what I’m talking about first.

I was exploring the library basement when I saw it. I don’t know what initially drew me to the book. It seemed unassuming enough at first glance. A leather bound tome caked in dust and yellowed with age. The pages cracked with every movement, and I exercised utmost caution out of fear that they would crumble in my hand.

The whole book is written in Latin. However, my years of studying the dead language in college made it easy enough to read. It’s a spell book. Jo’s mother would be rolling in her grave if she knew that I was even entertaining the idea of brujeria, but...

Salt. Honey. Candles. Poppy seeds. Dried white carnation petals. Blood of the caster. A treasured object of the deceased. These ingredients are the key to reaching across the veil and holding my beloved Jo once more.

Of course, there’s the chance that this is some elaborate piece of fiction, and I’m getting my hopes up for nothing. But if there’s even the slightest chance…

July 17th, 2032

Candles. Blood of the caster. A treasured object of the deceased.

I already have all of these ingredients in my possession: tealight candles from the house’s emergency stash, blood from my veins (obviously), and Jo’s locket for the treasured object of the deceased.

I can probably raid a supermarket or a restaurant to get my hands on some salt and honey, but where the hell am I going to find flower seeds?

July 18th, 2032

The good news is that I found poppy and carnation seeds. It turns out that the library had a seed collection of various species as a failed project to establish a community garden. Who knew? Their failure will result in my success. Funny how life works sometimes.

The bad news is that carnations take about four to six weeks to grow. Good things come to those who wait, but I don’t know if I can wait that long.

July 19th, 2032

The expedition to the grocery store turned out to be useless. I couldn’t find a single grain of salt or drop of honey. Admittedly, I somewhat expected as much. Anything of true value was taken towards the beginning of the blackouts. Finding the remaining ingredients is proving to be harder than I thought.

July 22nd, 2032

A group of nomads came to the library today. After a tense stand off, we managed to have civil conversation. We even shared a meal together. It was… nice to have human company after only seeing my own face for almost a month. It turns out that they had honey and salt on them. After some negotiation, I managed to convince them to trade with me for a book on foraging in addition to some romance novels. I can’t say that I blame them for that second part. Boredom and loneliness are unexpected thorns of the apocalypse.

I could tell that it pained them to depart with even a fraction of their rations, but knowledge is power, and power is something in high demand when we all feel powerless in the face of our impending demise.

August 19th, 2032

The carnations are coming along nicely. All and all, they are easy plants to take care of since they only need to be watered once a week. I’ve enjoyed watching them grow from seeds to plants ready to bloom. I remember reading once upon a time that talking to plants helps them grow, so I have daily conversations with them. What the weather is like. Any interesting books that I’ve read lately. Memories of Jo from happier times. The flowers never say anything. I never expect them to. It sounds absurd, but these flowers have given me a sense of purpose. A direction pointing towards the light at the end of the tunnel.

August 27th, 2032

As the time for the carnations to bloom draws closer and closer, I find myself fidgeting with Jo’s locket more often. My fingers twist in the chain. The cold metal heart rests against my own. If I pretend hard enough, I can imagine that I still feel her heartbeat through it. Absentmindedly, I flip open the locket whenever I get particularly agitated. Even in death, her smile still brings me comfort. The knowledge that I will soon be able to see her again is the only thing that gets me through the day.

September 1st, 2032

It’s time.

The carnations have finally bloomed. I’ve plucked the petals, and now I have to let them dry overnight.

Salt.

Honey.

Candles.

Poppy seeds.

White carnation petals.

A treasured object of the deceased.

All that’s left is the blood of the caster. My hunter’s knife and I lie in anticipation for tomorrow.

August 28th, 2032

It didn’t work.

I did everything right, and it still didn’t work…

Who am I kidding? Magic isn’t real. I knew that. I knew that, yet I still tried. That’s what I get for daring to hope. Hope will destroy you in the best way possible. It whispers false promises in your ear with the belief that you can overcome the impossible, even death.

My chest aches with a renewed sense of loss. It seeps into my entire being. I’m almost too tired to bandage my wrist. I know I should, considering the volume of blood that’s pouring from it. Looking at all this blood is making me nauseous. I must have cut deeper than I thought.

I didn’t hit a vein, did I?

…

…

…

You know… I suppose the ritual actually worked. In a way. I gave it my best, and this is how far my best got me. What can I say? Our world died long ago. We were merely ghosts living on borrowed time, and the reaper has finally come to collect his due. I’ll soon be reunited with you, my love. I can’t wait to see you again.