Dominos for Shane

Day 1:

I guess this… Journal? Log? Diary? Whatever it is, it has a few purposes. Number one: to keep some kind of record. Maybe it will help, or someone will find it necessary one day. I guess a little hope is what keeps me moving. Number two: to keep me sane. It's honestly a liability to take time to do this, I know that much. I could be doing things more productive: cleaning chambers, looking for printing materials, scouting perimeters, hell - even going to work. But this helps me get things out and feel like maybe, one day, it'll be useful. Number three: and this is hard to admit: I may not always be around. That's scary; not as much for me, but for my son. I guess I'm hoping that if I keep this, and we make it to where we're headed, then I'll have a way to teach him about what happened and what we went through. But anymore, there’s always a chance I won’t survive. Maybe this is a needless contingency; but of course this world requires endless contingencies. Anyway, please, Christ, if I can't help him: please help him for me.

My name is Andrew Holloway. I apologize for not being able to address you directly, but do me a favor. Read this to my son. The depression, the doubt, the fear; all of it. I'll write it to him, and you both can learn more about me that way.

His name is Shane, and he's four years old. His birthday is October 9th. He'll be five this year. I also made a video and uploaded it while I still have wi-fi. If you have internet access still, you can take him to this link, if it's still up. That way he can keep remembering me. Dear god, don't let him forget me. But, I transcribed it below, just in case the link, or the entire damn internet, goes down. Please read it to him, and the rest of this journal. And, maybe, if you're one of the few who still have some kindness, help him understand the important parts. I'll try to keep writing things down whenever I can.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vQAmzDczNo4

"Hi, Shane! It's your daddy. I wanted to make this for you so you can always know a little about me. I feel like you will hopefully remember bits and pieces at least, but, I guess I can't assume a damn thing anymore. I love you; that is most important. More important than my eye color or height, hair color, or build, past or education. Jesus, son, that is first and most. I don't care if you think I look like the president. Remember what true love is, and that I was filled to overflowing with it for you. I will always love you, my one and only son."

Dear Shane,

I started keeping track of the days today, but I'm afraid to put the date down in case someone uses it against me. This country, maybe the whole world, is different now. Scary. Deadly. Why? I’m not sure it matters anymore. Still, I need some way to keep it all straight: “The greatest gamble of human history.” Perhaps it was a result of the slow decline of modern education. Maybe it was power and greed finally getting the upper hand. Hubris? Keynesian economics told us that we needed government to make a choice; to "nudge" the economy back on track. I still don't know why the courts tried to do it the way they did.

Maybe it was just a mistake; one buffoon that happened to find himself in the right time, in the right place, with the right support - able to make the very wrong change. Maybe it wasn’t the courts or government, just people. The perfect storm - technology grown too quickly, shitty education, mad-scientist types, 3-d printers, all manner of activists, and a very gung-ho, "Hell-no, we won't go!" mentality; shared, cut, sliced, and interpreted in exactly the right way by every individual to suit his or her poorly-thought-out point of view. Add social networking of a caliber high enough to help everyone flame and inflame each other enough to light the fuse.

Regardless, the Supreme Court and federal government gave people the right to bear arms - openly or concealed - with justification to use deadly force if they felt necessary “in self-defense.” As it turned out, basically for any reason. How? Well, lawyers, I suppose. I don't really know. But, it started small, and built gradually. Foot in the door syndrome, and all that.

We used to be rabbits scurrying from news source to news source, hiding behind them like they were shrubs. Now, we are rabid animals. Wolves, desperate and disparate, scratching out a living among the wreckage. Land of the Free. Home of the Brave. And Depraved. And Senseless and Insensitive. We're an equal opportunity killing zone. That's basically all. "When in Rome, do what the Romans do," right? We're in the Fall of Rome - a covetous killing field, filled with people hiding behind supplicating masks. Smiles are dangerous, because no one trusts smiles anymore. Sometimes, they're genuine - but you only trust that they're genuine when you've seen that person crying, screaming, hurting, frowning, or worrying anymore. Otherwise, smiles could hide anything. They're the latest and greatest cloaking technology. But, our “team” has no need for hiding from each other. We live together, take watches like medieval times, and protect each other. That's how we stay hopeful. How we stay sane. If any of us are still sane, anyway.

Maybe I want out. But, I can't let myself; too much conscience still intact. So, we keep hoarding our guns and ammo, keep searching for food, electricity, gas or kerosene, batteries. Survival means adapting, but sometimes... Sometimes I just want it to end. Well, wishful thinking has no place in reality, and I've still got a responsibility, at least, to you.

Day 3:

So, where to begin?

In some sense, one nice thing is that people are starting to learn that the world is not so black and white. There are no real "good" guys and "bad" guys. Just people trying to survive, find ways to fit into the world, and stay comfortable if possible; alive at least. Some of us try to preserve what we thought was humanity or kindness. Others stopped caring, and gave in to darker desires. Not evil wholeheartedly; they were friends and family too.

Psychologists tried to tell people that it was a heightened sense of macro-shock or something, similar to PTSD, but being suffered on a national level as panic levels continued to rise and people started giving way to hysteria.

Then, the public outrage all kind of stopped, like the eye of a storm. Or, maybe it was just a kind of acceptance, like psychologists describe in stages of mourning. You know: first denial, then anger, fear, and eventually acceptance? Maybe people just accepted that this was the new reality they lived in - the modern world no one wanted now. Everyone throughout history has claimed that "times are hard and getting worse." Everyone feels like things are "going to hell in a hand-basket!" Well, things aren't "going" there anymore. We've arrived. Or maybe it will get worse. How? I honestly can't fathom that.

Every step comes with a risk now.

Day 8:

Sorry, for the lapse. There have been a lot of shootings this week, so I’ve had to take additional watches. It was tense today, but calmer. My teeth still gnash and grit habitually. Paranoia and nervousness are old friends. Breathing still comes short, but I guess it's fairly relaxed today. I still have things to do though; and I've got to train - can't slip on training when it's survival. Don't forget that, Shane. Training means surviving.

You know, it's funny: we can now 3-D print almost anything. We print our own guns, knives, tools, and ammo back at base. We just have to gather the materials we need when we run out. We're a small group, though, so we're able to keep our "foraging" runs to a minimum. I wonder how long it will be before we create giant drones who print buildings or entire cities for us. I hope you get to see whether that happens or not.

I guess that's where real hope comes from. From knowing that despite the hardships you will undoubtedly face, you can get through it, as I did, and as humans always have. If we work together as much as we can; you and me. Well, better get back to base. The printer needs a mindful master.

Day 15:

I should probably explain what happened to your mom. It's hard to think about, but you deserve to know. I swear I will. But, right now, there's no time to talk about things that can't be helped. You've got to prioritize in this world, more than ever. Sometimes you have to be so calculating, it's almost cold. Sometimes, it may even threaten your humanity, but you've got to push yourself to the brink to get ahead in this world. It sucks, sometimes. But, it's reality.

....

Aaaaaaahhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm so sorry, Shane, I can't do it right now. I'm a spineless, worthless, emotional wreck, and I just can't put it into words. I swear I will.

Day 22:

I’m so sorry, Shane. You’re sick, and I was just trying to get you some chicken soup from that little grocery on the corner. I knew it was a risk, but it looked so simple! A car came flying by, and I had to move fast. I didn’t have time to think. I was able to get your stroller out of the way, but we landed in someone’s yard. I knew we were in trouble as soon as we landed, but I just didn’t have time to think!

Someone started firing from the windows. I’m sure they thought the stroller was a ruse; that’s what I would have thought. I got you behind the car, but I took a hit to the back. I don’t have enough medical supplies, or enough time to get to the hospital. I could call 911, but more often than not, they just assume it’s a trap to get more ammo. I’ll do my best with what I’ve got, but… Well… I love you, son.

Reader: God, this is not how I wanted this to end. I had hoped to have deleted and burned all of this as Shane grew up. I really screwed up.

Here is my last request: I think I can get you – and Shane - out of the country. I recently found an old friend on the internet that says they can get you on a ship. It was a little weird and sudden, but I think it's legitimate. He was an old professor of mine. I had some of the other guys look into it, too. It doesn't look like human trafficking, or anything else. I hate to even think that could be a possibility, but no one knows anymore. But, I think you can do it. I just have to get you to the southern coast. If you can make it, maybe you can find a better place somewhere.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. But no matter how careful we are, sometimes we just can’t control how the dominos fall. Teach Shane that. There’s a heart-shaped locket tattooed underneath Shane’s hair on the left side of his head. It was the only way I could hide it. Shane’s mother’s name and an address are tattooed underneath. Take Shane and this journal there; if Mr. James is still there, tell him Shane’s mother’s name, and he will help. He won’t shoot as long as you tell him her name. And tell him Andrew tried. Please.