10:45pm Today, 13th October, '17 When I started to write in my diary again, I was just hoping it could be a way for me to put all my thoughts into someplace else beside all cooped up in my brain. That way I could clear my mind, shut the cover, and finally sleep a bit once in awhile. I just wanted some way to express myself and not let it all build up. I would stress about my grades, about gymnastics, about boys, and everything else that would stir up those kinds of feelings and emotions. But none of that really matters anymore, I think. The last time I wrote, I said the world was ending. And it is. There's some kind of toxic cloud that's engulfing the entire world, and it's about to hit the coastline in just a few hours. Nobody knows what it is, where it came from, or what is going to happen to us. But it must be the end of everything. So many people have already died. Mom. And my brother too. I can barely stop crying long enough to keep writing, and my tears are starting to smudge the ink. It's probably a bad idea to even bother with this, but I made a promise to myself. Dad told me that even though I should be sad about Mom and Jason, I should try to be as strong as I can be. And that I should remember that it wasn't just the two of them who didn't survive, but millions of other people too. And that everyone around the world is suffering. That's how he's always been. That's how he was about Brendan, too. It's not that he didn't love them, but he's just too stubborn to be sad. He's fighting off being sick, so maybe he just can't afford to be sad. I wish I had that chance. I'm fine though, not a single thing wrong with me. And that's what hurts so much about all of this. My mom and brother fought so hard to even stay with us as long as they did, and yet it took them quick. They were always so much stronger than me. How am I the one still around? It's not fair, it's really not. What did I do to deserve having to live through all of this without so much as a cough? Sigh. It would have been so much easier. Here I am now, sitting in some camp made up of tents that the Army put up just a couple of days ago. There's too many people here, most of them are still sick, and the storm is coming. There doesn't even seem to be many Soldiers. Everyone knows that it's all over, and most of them are either panicking or too sick and don't have the strength to care. And of course, since I'm one of the few in the whole place that isn't sick, I've been running around all day helping pass out food and comforting the people who are barely holding on. The only good thing about that is that I've been able to stay so busy during the day that I don't have time to stop and cry about my family. I just work all day and pass out on some awful little cot during the night. The Army made us split up between sick and healthy, so I can't even be close to Dad when I'm not busy running all over the camp. I get to check on him during the day. He held my hand just a bit ago. He's never done that before, but I'm glad he's trying to help comfort me in whatever way he can. He's a good father, but he's always been so disconnected from us emotionally. That's just the way he was raised, I suppose. I'll enjoy it for however long we have left. I should try to sleep now, but how can I possibly do that? I can't see, hear, or feel those clouds coming, but I know that they are. The emergency radio, the Army, everyone has been talking about it and tracking it. There is nothing anyone can do to stop it, and we're not even trying to prepare for it. They're all so wrapped up in caring for the sick, and dealing with everything else. It's like they're all just hoping it comes and ends us quick. They all had to sit by and watch as their loved ones withered away in a matter of weeks, and they all saw how painful it was. It makes sense that they would be so accepting of a quick way out. There's this woman here, who's healthy like I am, her name is Patricia. She was a manager of grocery store before things went so crazy, but she had also been an EMT. Her and I have been sort of the “Get this for me.” help for the Army people. She's really nice, and even though everyone is always on edge, she's been really helpful to everyone. Seeing her laugh and smile while the world is falling apart around her has just left me dumbfounded. She lost her entire family in just a few days, her home, her life...and yet, she's just taking it in stride like it's just another bump in the road. How can she be so good at feeling nothing like that? Or maybe she's just empty now. I don't want to die. I don't want to feel so empty. I'm so scared. I can't just lay here and wait for the end. I'm going to just...run. Go someplace else. I don't want this tent to be where I die. I can't be okay with that, I can't accept that. ~~~~~ 11:49pm Today I'm sitting here now, and waiting. I don't know where I am, or why I chose this place, but it's going to be it. I packed up my bag, ducked out of the tent, and went to Dad's. They had the lights down low, so I could only see him off in the back from the hole in the flap. I just...said goodbye in my own way. I know he'd understand. And then I escaped the camp from part of the fence that I had discovered a few days back. Someone didn't do a good job when they were putting it up, but I can't really blame them, nobody has been able to focus as of late. I ran in the dark down the road, without even knowing where I was running. None of the street lights work, but it didn't matter. The moon was lighting my way. I broke inside of some building and climbed the stairs to the roof. Just tossed a rock through the front window and went inside. If there isn't going to be another sunrise, I wanted to enjoy this moonlight for the last time. One last time before it's all gone. Please, I don't want to die. I can't keep writing, I'm sorry. I think I'm going just sit up here, cry, and wait for the end. If there is some sort of “other-side” than I hope my family can find me. There will be billions of lost people to sort through come the time. Maybe I can help others connect with their families while I find my own. I don't want this to end, not now. But, it must, I guess...
0 Comments
|
Moira Mardas16. Washington. Survivor. This is my personal diary. I have to write to remember. Archives: Start in July for begining of story.
June 2020
|