Ephemeral

Dear diary,

We have been on the run for almost a week now. There is no place that I feel safe. Every time that we think it is only the two of us, we hear them crawling behind us in the dark.

He and I, we try to be as silent as we can. After all, we have lived like this for almost five years now.

There used to be many of us in the beginning, the survivors, but now there are only two of us remaining.

And there is nothing we can do but to run from the rest of the humans.

*

Dear diary,

I had read in many books about the world coming to an end and I wonder whether this is how it feels like. His eyes have started to turn ashy. Almost dead.

I wonder what he sees inside mine.

I smile at him as we sit inside an abandoned building. All the buildings are just abandoned now. The smell is foul, and it is dark all around us.

He still wraps his arms around me, like he used to, when we fall asleep. I still lay my head on his chest. It is only in those few hours that life seems to be just normal. He sometimes sings to me, and I listen with my eyes closed and my hand wrapped around the heart-shaped locket he had gifted me on our first marriage anniversary. We got married too young, they used to say.

I used to have doubts too at the beginning but now I am so glad I said yes.

I love him and that is the only thing that keeps me going.

We smell bad and, at first, it used to bother me a lot, but our noses have lost the sense of smell for quite a time now. Or perhaps we just got used to it. I will never be able to tell.

The only thing that has gotten better is our sense of hearing. Any little movement, whether it is feet, wind, rats, birds, anything. Our ears are very sensitive now.

*

Dear diary,

I never think about the past. No matter how bad this nightmare is, I always stay positive, but today, as we passed by a rundown supermarket, we stumbled upon a flyer. It was ripped and barely readable, but I could not have missed it.

He watched me looking at the flyer and then he could not contain his anger anymore. He ripped it away from the counter where it was messily glued and shredded it to pieces. He then took my hand and stormed off from what used to be a convenience store.

The propaganda. The publicity. They flyers. The letters. The adverts.

They said it was the cure.

The vaccine that would bring the world to normal.

But it was the beginning of the end.

*

Dear diary,

We are being followed by humans. They are just like us. Flesh and bone.

We are not scared of them but of what they can do to us.

After life on earth changed as we used to know it, the monster side of humans came out.

People were free to do anything they wanted. No one stopped the crimes, the robberies, the murders, the drugs and all in between. No law. No civilization.

The ones after us, they could be good people. We could join them and be part of a group. But we have been alone for so long.

But if they turn out to be bad, they would not think twice before killing us. Even that would be the easy way out for us as, through the years, we have heard all kinds of stories. The one we heard the most was that humans started to eat humans. The torturing is another one.

So, we cannot risk it.

No matter how horrible this existence is, it is bearable because I am not alone. He is with me.

*

Dear diary,

I am alone now. I do not feel scared. Not yet.

He said he will be back.

*

Dear diary,

I do not feel like eating anything anymore. I remember we decided to not put an end to it and try to survive instead in hope that, one day, it will become better.

Not go back to normal because that is impossible.

Just better. That would be enough.

*

Dear diary,

I do not ever think about the past unless it is the past with him and I, but I am starting to forget little things. I started to forget how he looks like. I held his locket close to my heart. I opened it but the photo inside is unrecognizable, damaged by water.

I clutched it so hard, my hand started to bleed but I do not remember. I do not remember his face anymore.

*

Dear diary,

Before I forget everything, I want to write it down. I feel obsessed with writing. I do not eat; I do not move from this tiny place. I feel like every single cell in my body has broken into a million pieces and then been shredded.

I do not want to be alive, but I am too scared to end it. What if he is alive and looking for me?

I cannot. I must wait.

*

Dear diary,

Time is passing.

I drink and eat a little, just enough to keep me alive. We have moved for almost 5 years but now I have stopped moving. I stay seated in this same place and do not do anything.

I just write and write.

This must have been a bookstore back in the day, there are so many books. They are new, just ruined by the passing of time and dust. I tried to read but I do not want to. I used to love reading but now it repulses me.

I have not spoken a word in such a long time. I feel like I do not even know how to speak anymore.

I tried to say a few words out loud but all that came from my mouth were sounds. They were horrible to my own ears, so I just stay silent.

*

Dear diary,

I told him I wanted to go with him when he was leaving.

How long has it been?

He had said he would just check around quickly to be sure no one had followed us too close.

I told him I did not want to be left alone.

But he promised. He had promised me he would come back.

He did not.

And the people following us, I have not heard them since.

*

Dear diary,

I decided I will still keep on waiting for him.

I also keep on writing what I had started. It is so many pages.

I carefully number them all.

I used to also make a line at the back of a small notebook to know how many days passed since we are surviving but I have stopped. I did not make a line since the day he left.

The last line count 5 years and 199 days.

Keep on making lines would mean counting how many days have been without him.

It would mean losing hope.

*

Dear diary,

On the pages that I have written, I only describe the facts. It is not my diary.

I only tell what happened and how it happened. Or what I remember about it.

I do not write in that book that I feel desperate, or I feel like giving up at times. That would be too personal, and no one likes to read anything that is not about themselves or that’s not facts.

The world is selfish most of the time, so I only write facts.

I write about the end. It is funny how a story can begin when the end has already started.

We used to live in modern, technologically advanced times.

Suddenly, the world was hit by a flu virus. We all thought it was nothing to worry about, just something like the seasonal flu.

But humans were tested.

And we failed.

The government failed. Everything crashed.

After some years, after many deaths and much despair, a vaccine was finally created.

It was a success, people were cured, the virus disappeared. It all became just another boring topic for a textbook, that future students would need to memorize for their oral exams.

After 10 years since the day of the vaccine development and administration, the world had turned to chaos.

People did not start to get ill. They did not pass around the same virus or a new one.

They just started to die peacefully in their sleep.

More than half the world’s population was wiped off. The only ones who remained safe were the ones who had been children at the time of the vaccine. Meaning that they had not been vaccinated. I was aged 7 at the time.

We were the survivors.

The eldest, knowing that they had no life left and would be gone any moment, turned their anger onto us. They killed their own children in their houses and then tried to kill anyone they could before meeting their own end.

They thought it was the government’s plan all along to wipe out the population without moving a finger. To solve problems such as finance, hunger, limited resources, crime, diseases.

We never found out what really happened, and I do not think we ever will.

*

Dear diary,

When times were normal, I had never thought about having a family. But I sometimes think about it now as I have so much time.

I think it would have been nice. I sometimes think about how I would have named my children. I think I would have liked to have two. A boy and a girl.

I am glad I did not have any though. I do not think I could have been able to bear the loss of a child.

*

Dear diary,

I do not know if it has been days or months or years. My fingernails do not stop bleeding. I have ripped my hair out. I keep on hitting my head against the wall, but it does not hurt anymore. I do not feel any physical pain anymore.

I feel desperate though.

I can’t even explain with words what I feel inside of me.

I do not remember my name anymore but what breaks me the most is that I do not remember his.

The only thing I remember for sure is that I love him.