One-Shot
Days of Future Past
Coming of Age in Hope: Living in Nothing
We all come from different worlds. Most of us were from different cities or states, but when we were supposed to pull together, we couldn't be further apart. Miles made a difference, and we let ourselves forget just how much we all had in common. That was yesterday…Over five years ago. Having trouble remembering: can't tell each day from the last: don't remember what's happened, just that it's our fault. Austin Moon of Miami, Florida.
The bombs fell over five years ago. The sky turned gray the next day. Sunlight died the day after that. The sky turned black three days after the explosions in New York. Technology started to fail five days after blackness covered everything. It took our phones and computers dying to make us realize our lives were over. It's sad. We're all to blame, and it's our fault for everything. We did nothing to stop it. We did nothing to better ourselves. When I was a kid, I loved singing and dancing. I thought what I did would help people somehow. I guess I was wrong…or maybe I just didn't try hard enough. The world's so different now. I remember when I woke up to see the sun bright in the center of the sky, giving light to bright green leaves, palm trees, healthy grass, blue waters and skies, and hope. Now, the grass has turned to ash, the leaves have all turned dark as the branches tightly clinging to them droop down, making the world dark. We live in what was once called a crater. Not sure where we are now. I'd guess somewhere in South America, but that can't be: we'd never make it that far. This rainforest has to be some part of North America. Austin and I live together as a family now. Sometimes I let him drift off and think he's a teenager again. He's not used to the idea of living with a girl, but we didn't really have a choice anymore. We had to come together: make a family. We live in tents among solid walls of souless trees, searching for living plants to make food. We haven't made it too far without the mutated animals attacking us and killing whoever gets too close. We made mistakes, but we never wanted it to come to this. Ally Dawson of Miami, Florida.
I remember riding in a car, driving into the sunset on a warm summer night. The rows of corn were tall and green as the wind brushed them back. My friends and I had no sense of time. Can't remember everyone that was with me that night, but I know we were all friends. We felt safe. That was so long ago. I feel like most of those people are gone now. Only afew of us are here with everyone else. My name's Beck Oliver. I've been living with Ally Dawson and her family for two months now. There was nothing sexual about it: I always liked Ally since we met in the first grade, but we grew up as friends. She never wanted to be more than that. Looking back, I just wish I'd been a better friend to begin with. We made our way to this place from opposite sides of the country, but by some miracle we found each other again. She saved me. Beck Oliver of Los Angeles, California.
There was no time to bury our friends. There was nothing we could do when they dropped onto the cold, radiation-laced dirt. We had to find a safe haven: save those who had the best chance of surviving. I still wonder if they ever forgave us for leaving them behind. They're all dead now: that I know. Nothing could survive out there. I sleep on the very bottom layer of the community, lying restlessly inside a tent, too tired to move or get up, but too upset and angry to close my eyes. I don't see stars anymore. Maybe one or two, but they come so rarely now. There're no more jets or planes flying above us now. Maybe explosions are still going off like we're at war. They can't really hurt us now: there's nothing left to take. I just don't care anymore. I lost so much since I was a teenager. Maybe the others have something to live for: I just go day by day now. No one here knows me. The facial hair I've grown shows what's inside of me: chaos, unease, and a heart tossed to the mountains. The fire's warm. That's all it is. I won't freeze tonight. That doesn't mean I won't be cold, though.
Freddie Benson of Seattle, Washington.
I grew up here. This is my home. It always has been. I live here with my mom and dad. Dad forgets alot. He cries. Mommy cries, too, but she tries to hide it. She makes sure she's all alone, usually when we're asleep and she closes off her side of the tent (her and Daddy sleep there, but Daddy's not always around). I don't like seeing Mommy cry, but it makes me feel better when I cry. I know I'm not alone. My parents tell my brother and I that things weren't always like this. That's all Mommy says, but Dad tells us more when he cries and he's alone. He says something bad happened, and it didn't have to happen. I think he lost his friends. He doesn't always know where he is. Mommy lost friends, too, but she tries to hide that. She talks to people sometimes. Sometimes when no one's around. She cries, too. But she tries to hide it. I don't know why she cries, but I cry too. Maybe that's why we cry.
My brother and I have been together forever. We stand up for each other, play together, and cry together. Mommy said we're the greatest gifts she ever got. I love my family, but we all cry. I'm not sure why sometimes. I ask my brother, but he can't answer. I wonder what it's like away from the trees and tents in this mountain. I wonder if it's warm at night in other places. I wonder if there are more people like us somewhere. I wonder what animals are like when they're alive. I wonder why my family cries.
Nights are getting colder. We keep bringing back less and less food. The kids are hungry, and people are getting sick. We're running out of medicine. People are dying. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Austin can't even remember anymore. It breaks my heart every day when he asks about home. There's nothing I can do for him anymore. Ally Dawson/Moon.
It's cold here. The plants are dying. The skies are getting black. I remember what it was like with dez and trish and home. its cold here and i cant sleep well or I dont dream when i sleep. I really like Ally, but i nevr know what to tell hre. too tired to keep
Last entry of Austin Moon before his passing several days later. Buried in the night.
Beck Oliver stopped keeping a journal several months before Austin died, but Freddie and the kids kept writing. Maybe this is the end: the sky's glowing red and yellow, but it's two o'clock in the morning, and it's getting colder. Ally Dawson.
The End.