Journal Entry

As each day passes, I find myself wondering more and more if I am the last one left. Today was the first time in three months I’ve seen another living person and even that was from over a kilometer away. I spotted her with my glass as she made her way across the dry riverbed with a purpose, making a determined beeline to the opposite shore. The blighted sky cast her in shades of purple and whisps of smoke spiraled from the fabric on her shoulders as it smoldered from the bloated, midday sun. This was a death march, I thought. I could think of no other reason than surrender to make a journey before nightfall, but victory is the only word that comes to mind as I remember how tall and proud she carried herself, taking long strides through the oven our world has become.

Through shimmering air and sheets of dust I watched as she reached her destination, a small structure that I couldn’t make out from the distance of my cave. She either knelt or sat – I couldn’t tell which – and never moved again. Eventually whatever clothing she wore caught fire and a pillar of grey smoke and ash could be seen for a while with even my unaided eyes. I still don’t know why I went down there at nightfall, certainly nothing else to do in the dead silence and dry chill of the dark, but my stores aren’t going to last forever and needless movement will see them run down that much faster. I do remember wondering the point of surviving another day if the following one is identical to this one. I suppose that’s why.

I reached her in about an hour, the ruined sky reveals so many stars there is always enough light to make your way after sundown…in many ways it is easier to make things out at night than during the day, if that makes any sense. Now that the oceans are all but gone the days consist mostly of heat mirages and ever thickening dust storms, but the nights are calm and bright. The “structure” was the crumbled cinder block remains of a public restroom, surrounded by the warped catastrophe of what was once a playground, jutting out of the mounds of dust. There was little left of the woman but ash and the charred remains of her skeleton. She looked tiny, leaning against the bleached remains of what was probably once a fiberglass horse for children to ride; a large, rusty spring still attached to its belly and a handle protruded from its head. “Maybe she used to bring her kids here before the Flare,” I said out loud. I remember because it did not sound like my voice in my ears, I hadn’t spoken in so long. “I’m sorry,” I then muttered, not knowing what else to say.

At first I resigned myself to not get any better answers to my questions, so I decided to get back to the cave before the day’s heat dissipated completely and the real cold set in. As I turned to leave, a sparkle of starlight caught my eye and I noticed something golden hanging from one of the rocking horse’s handles. A small, heart shaped locket on a thin, hammered chain hung motionless, staring at me. I already felt an intruder so went ahead and picked it up and thumbed the side of the heart to see if I could get it to open. There was once a tiny photograph placed on the inside cover, but it was now black and unrecognizable. The opposite side was smooth gold with a simple engraving. I tilted the locket up towards the sky to be able to read the two words scrawled there: I endure. For my part, I took this as confirmation that the lady had not surrendered. Her efforts spoke to me as the completion of a long march, as there was no marching left to be done. I believe she endured until the end of path was chosen for her. I replaced the locket on the handle, said a thank you to the departed, and journeyed back to my cave.

So this is the start of my journal, just in case I am not the last one left. I know that one day you will find it and know that I kept going and did not give up. I endure. So do you.