Doomsday Tuesdays

TUESDAY, 8TH OF SEPTEMBER 2020

We were meant to go to Mount Rushmore in like two weeks. We had suffered enough, no? Surely some small recompense was deserved, for all the shit that God threw at us this past year, y’know, light at the end of the tunnel, silver linings and all that. I think I’d have preferred the plagues from the Bible to the ones that infest us just lately. Yep, actually, on extended pondering I’ve determined that I would definitely prefer frogs and darkness to global pandemics and civil unrest.

But I guess that wasn’t all on His agenda. I guess there was one more spin of the roulette wheel at the Crisis Casino. He gambled and we lost. I was sort of on and off about keeping a diary before, but since America was catapulted into catastrophe when an entire national park exploded, I suppose keeping a record of my future grandkids’ History exam case study will be useful.

Some great and painful ironies, the emergency broadcast was cut short by the rolling storms and earthquakes that followed the eruption, and those people we laugh at on extreme apocalypse preparation documentaries were proved right! Funnily enough, when you can hear the sound of God gut-punching a caldera over the crunch of your taco, despite being on the opposite end of the country, those same documentaries start being treated as gospel wisdom.

TUESDAY, 22ND OF SEPTEMBER 2020

Man, I thought people panicked when they treated toilet paper like it was more valuable than sugar was in the 18th century. Turns out, when lava, disease and racism ravage society all at once, people tend to get a little bit on edge. At this point the layers of irony are almost as thick as the ash clouds, as the majority of those in the great and proud populace who were wary of wearing masks hopped in their boats with those who were wary of immigrants, masts raised and masks embraced, and set sail for the arms of any country who were willing to open them.

Unfortunately, in this past week of headless chicken logic we’ve lost ourselves a bit and I don’t want to abandon my family. I have this heart-shaped locket. It wasn’t passed down my family for generations or anything, but I don’t want to leave until everyone in the photograph it contains is found. Since the internet is as dead as everything else that unfortunately makes things difficult.

That, and everyone is just so tired. Exhausted. Moods are as dour as the skies. As people erupted into commotion and cacophony, supplies are slowly drying up, and the surviving government is struggling to keep inventory of it all. Anyone not fighting over pasta and beans is scrambling to keep their family together amidst the innumerable military checkpoints, mass exodus protocols, desperate muggings and medical screenings, whilst simultaneously staving off a continuing viral pandemic, and new afflictions, brought on by strong pyroclastic storms and ashen aerial debris from the great grey north. To pour ash in the wound, national power outages beget looting, begets fear, begets desperation, begets violence, begets tragedy, but by this point, such a thing is becoming status quo.

TUESDAY, 27TH OF OCTOBER 2020

It’s been a few days since I wrote here but what a hectic few weeks it’s been. Let’s see here. Most of us made it to Georgia, though the virus has been a particularly pointy thorn in our side. What’s more, the slog through a fried Kentucky and a Tennessee ablaze made the Oregon trail look like a walk in the park (back when those things existed). We met up with my nephew’s ragtag band of miserable men and we meandered Monday to Sunday town to town in search of supplies. And that’s where we’re up to now I believe. I’m sure I’m forgetting something…

Oh that’s right my nephew’s boyfriend shot me in my fucking hand and took half of our surplus and ammunition, as an offering for the Shadow of the Flame, another ragtag band of miserable men, who have interpreted this veritable apocalypse as divine punishment for society’s hubris. The end of the world was bound to see a trend of these kinds of groups popping up, to lay claim to the crown of an emergent society of survivors, desperate for order and structure, but these guys really lay it on thick. Other groups have popped up but for some reason these guys’ particular brand of crazy have attracted more people than the rest, and goddamn my hand fucking hurts writing this.

The actual government and armed forces are as thinly spread as the PB&J on the three sandwiches we shared between the twelve of us this morning, and most attempts I’ve seen at reviving fields for planting crops has failed. We’re heavily relying on what we managed to bring on the journey and it’s running out fast. I do find it hilarious however that we’re still fine for toilet roll.

TUESDAY, 7TH OF SEPTEMBER 2021

Year Zero has come to a close. No fireworks went off on the fourth of July, or New Year’s Eve. Nary a turkey was stuffed for Christmas or Thanksgiving. Positively, the pandemic has been ebbing out, perhaps due to herd immunity, and the rolling ash storms, earthquakes, floods and wildfires have settled far below the massive surge we saw in the beginning.

Negatively, there’s all the other stuff. We’re down to seven for some reason or another, and I no longer open my locket with a perspective of hope. America and the world at large is grieving and right now I’d say we’re in the fifth stage.

Decrepit are the four pillars of American culture as malls, pharmacies, car dealerships and gun shops lie empty in the wake of this desolation. My brother left to be with his son and the Shadow back in Georgia, and I wish I could persuade him to stay but honestly having one less mouth to feed around here sits fine with me.

I had an interesting dream recently.

There was this vast field, coloured in a rich magenta hue, devoid of trees or wildlife. The breeze was clement, and the grass swayed softly in response under a lightly clouded bright blue sky.

Running through this glade was a gently flowing river that mimicked the highly saturated blue and purple hues of the atmosphere encompassing it. A stone bridge crossed the river in an arch, and I was leant over it, peering aimlessly into the water below.

We spectate this scene at a wide angle from afar, and as we move closer to myself, it becomes apparent that there is another person present on the bridge, but I forget who. It also becomes evident that our gaze is not carefree, but rather that of quiet dread, and as we peer over the bridge with them, we are taken aback by the presence of an uncountable number of pigs, lying in the river, flowing away gently with the current. Are they alive or dead?

Before we can inspect further, we turn and face the sun. It doesn’t burn or hurt our eyes, but before long, it transforms into a black hole. We’re sucked into the black hole and that is when I wake up.

Perhaps I dreamt of a vibrant and colourful field that had exaggerated hues because I miss the time before the land was coated in shades of grey. Perhaps I observed my own unavoidable demise because it reflects my real life outlook. I hope my brother is okay.

TUES Y, 15TH OF R 2033

Forgot I had this

Another miscarriage this morning. Another death yesterday. Another Shadow of the Flame collection the day before. Probably another bandit visit tomorrow. Probably another Pyro Clan visit the day after that.

Things are less than optimistic right now, but I try to keep a level head for the three of us.

I’m pretty sure my spoon of coffee this morning was mostly rust from the bottom of the tin. We decided to settle in Florida for a year or so but it was so overcrowded and I was so sick of barbequing my shoes that we’ve been crawling northwest ever since.

Yknow what they say, the eye of the storm and

actually I dont remember what the saying was

The lands here are deserted and desolate and depressing but what else is new? The birds are quiet today.

but hey, Mount Rushmore sure looks nice. I suppose now our aim is to head north to Alaska or Canada. We assume they would still have plentiful crops

since they already had to deal with harsh climates for growing them

TUESDAY,

This old thing is quite the find. Most of the dates and pages are smudged or torn or caked in dust. I’m glad to at least have some semblance of conversation with these pages. The last face I think I’ve seen was on the locket I trod on as I walked in here. Shame it snapped really as it was probably worth something. I suppose I can use this diary since its old owner isn’t around to finish it. Finders keepers! What to write about though? I guess I have all the time in the world now.