The Doomsday Diary - Part 2

Read Part One here

Day 1 of The Re-emergence, Late December 2053 or Early January 2054, who the heck knows...

All right, so I might have been a bit hasty in declaring my Doomsday Diary over and done.

I’m making my way to what used to be the harbour, under the assumption that someone would have made a dash for anything that floated, whether it was legally theirs or not. It’s quite a distance by foot, though, and all the cars I’ve come across are either occupied by a corpse, damaged by debris and/or water pressure, or both. It’s going to take a few days, especially weighed down with supplies and going slowly in case the ground isn’t as solid as it looks, and as of yet I don’t have anyone to talk to.

I'm currently being followed by a lot of owls, raptors, and carrion-eating birds, either waiting for me to die, or counting on the fact that stumbling into holes or burrows is a more effective way to produce small scurrying creatures than their own efforts.

If one more seagull squawks at me in expectation of food, I'm wringing it's neck and throwing it to my avian stalkers.

Day 3 of the Re-Emergence, Have Died and Gone to Muddy Hell, Probably January by now, 2054...

Can I take back what I wrote about being alone with no one to talk to? I am now surrounded by other living beings, and it’s... an adjustment, to put it mildly.

That Zoo on the outskirts of the harbour? They made it through. Apparently, some enterprising employees hijacked the nearest super-yacht when the waters rose high enough, loaded up the non-aquatic animals, and did their own re-enactment of Noah’s Ark.

They managed to navigate back to the nearest harbour when the waters started to recede, and now they're trying to organise transport back to somewhere better equipped to handle them.

Good thing that most of the animals lacked opposable thumbs and couldn't get out of the cabins they were shut in, or it would have been carnage when the food supplies ran low.

The evening cruise ships managed to pick up a bunch of people, too, though not the ones you’d expect. Service staff have long memories of which entitled snobs make their lives miserable, a sense of solidarity with their fellow Essentials, and a keener sense of who is actually vital to society than most world governments.

Anyone who tried to give the staff or crew attitude went straight back over the side at the first “Do you know who I am?” or demand to speak to a Manager. If they were very lucky, someone would throw a life jacket down after them.

Several of crew, now back on land and not leaving for a while, mentioned that finally being able to give bratty customers what-for was almost worth having to live through the Apocalypse.

I'm certainly not going to argue with them on that point, even if I do think it's a minor exaggeration.

Day 6(?), Of Course I've Already Lost Track, I Did Not Cower At The Sight Of A Cloud, Shut Up, January 2054...

Parted ways with the Noah Impersonators yesterday.

They were headed inland, while I was aiming for the harbour; there was only ever going to be so long before we had to either split up or change direction. Pity; several of them were cute, and without the stigma of being part of "Those Weirdo Survivalists", I might actually have been able to get a date.

Well, once we worked out if there were any arcades, movie theatres, parks or pizza parlours still in functional order. That's another thing to think about; there are basically no buildings without some kind of water damage, and most of the ones still standing have extensive damage from debris, water pressure, and large aquatic wildlife. I do not envy anyone who has to clean, disinfect and troubleshoot a kitchen that's been underwater for months.

I really hope I remembered to pack those books about foraging and living off the land, because I doubt that Supermarkets, butchers and green-grocers are going to be open any time in the near future, either...

Day 8? 9? Screw It, Let's Just Say It's Double-Digits, Someone Else Can Figure Out a New Calendar...

Finally reached the harbor today, and if I had a minor panic attack at the sight of so much water, at least there were no witnesses. That's going to be an interesting trigger to work around in the future...

I have no idea why I think a notebook is judging me, or why I'm trying to defend myself against an inanimate object. Clearly, I am not as unaffected by my months in the Bunker as I hoped. I mean, no-one goes through that long in isolation without some kind of mental/psychological impact, but I'm still figuring out the full effects.

I spent who-knows-how-long trapped under an Apocalypse's worth of water; I'm entitled to my trauma and don't have to justify it to anyone!

In other news, it seems that everyone who managed to get to a boat is as sick of being on the water as I am of being under it. Nearly all of them took what they could and went in search of... well, whatever their goals are. Even in the mountain areas, I don't think there will be a lot of survivors.

I'm... not going to think about that too hard. I need to find shelter for the night - I remember there being a decent cave system around here somewhere, if I wasn't just bullshitting my way through that essay on 19th Century smugglers two years ago - and I'll deal with the rest of it in the morning.

Day 11, Probably Still January, I Have 99 Problems And Accurate Time-Keeping Is Low On the Priority List, 2054...

Ran into another couple of people who rode out the Apocalypse in Survival Bunkers, and I'm feeling way more optimistic about my mental health than I was in the last entry.

Occasionally, comparisons to other people's problems do help.

Not so much when Mum tried to make me eat my vegetables by claiming that children in third-world countries would love them, or when I argued the unfair division of chores. I maintain that even third-world countries have rich and poor, and even the starving might be disgruntled at over-boiled brussel sprouts.

I may have been isolated, but at least I wasn't locked up with an ex- I'd dumped literal hours earlier after finding them cheating on me. That must have been one heck of an awkward lockdown. I may have been bored out of my mind (literally) with little to do and no-one to talk to, but I didn't have two equally bored toddlers in with me.

I'd been terrified at many points, but I'd been spared the psychological hell of my Bunker developing a leak.

Krysta - I think that was her name - can't even hear raindrops anymore without needing to do a grounding exercise. I've loaned her my noise-cancelling headphones (the sound of rushing water, even if it's just waves or a stream, makes me need to stop and do my own deep breathing and reaffirmations.) but it's a temporary solution, at best.

Damn, I hope a psychologist or two managed to survive this. They're going to have their hands full for decades, dealing with the collective trauma of others, not to mention their own.

I have to put my journal down for now; the ex-couple did not manage to overcome their differences during the Apocalypse - how's that for Irreconciliable Differences? - and someone needs to stop them from starting a fourth World War...

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