July 25, 2029
My name is Charlotte Matheson and I am twenty-three years old. Shit. What else do I say? I don't remember much about electricity or anything before the blackout. What I do remember feels more like a dream than reality. I remember cartoons and cold air inside houses and pink ballet slippers and ice cream.
I've never kept a journal before and I have no idea if I'll write it this thing very often. It was a birthday present from Aaron. He reminded me that back in Wisconsin I loved to write. That's been a while. A lot has happened since Wisconsin.
My Dad was killed in Wisconsin. That was right before we left. Danny died not long after. Militia killed them both. Militia. I hated them. I still hate them, except they don't really exist anymore. Nuked a year ago by the god-damned Patriots. If I hate any group of people more than I hate Militia, it's Patriots.
Monroe used to lead the Republic and the Militia. For a long time, he and my uncle Miles ran the Republic together. Not that you'd know it to see either of them now. As I write this under the light of a setting sun, the former leaders of the Monroe Republic are having an honest to God pissing contest. Clearly, they've had a little more whiskey than is advisable.
Monroe wins by about six inches, or so he says. This irritates my uncle, but it doesn't take long before all is forgotten. It's strange really, watching them together. When I first met Miles, he was hiding from Monroe. Then for a while, he wanted to kill him. Texas did the honors – executing Monroe as part of a big public spectacle. I didn't like Monroe back then, but even I thought it was too much. Besides we needed his help. My Mom, who hates Monroe more than anybody, actually ended up saving him. After Monroe was resurrected, he and my uncle started to get along a little better.
It wasn't until a couple months ago that things really changed though. Miles asked Monroe to help him kidnap the Patriot president. Miles put a lot of faith in Monroe that day. Not everyone thought Monroe would follow through, but he did. Ever since then, those two have been slowly working their way back to a friendship – a real one.
Sometimes, watching them together makes me feel like I'm looking back through time. When they are laughing and teasing each other, they are at their happiest. It makes me wish I'd known them before the world went dark. In some ways, I bet they haven't changed at all. Miles was probably just as snarky and sarcastic as he is now. Monroe was probably just as smooth and charming and sexy.
Shit. Sexy? Don't know why I said that. I don't think Monroe is sexy. I barely tolerate him. I'm certainly not noticing how tight his ass is or the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. No. Not even a little bit. Mostly, if I think of him at all, I think he's annoying.
For example, just now he asked what I'm doing. I said writing in my journal. He scooted over like I was going to let him read it. I told him to take a hike. He laughed, asking if I was writing about him.
"Why would she be writing about you?" Miles asks. "You're a douche."
"A douche who just kicked your ass in a pissing contest. Don't forget."
"Doesn't mean shit." Miles grumbles.
"Means my dick is bigger."
"First of all, size doesn't matter."
Bass cackles, "That's what guys with little dicks say."
"Secondly, the fact that you peed farther than me, means nothing."
"Except that my dick is bigger."
"Thirdly, your dick isn't bigger."
"Eww." I interrupted. "I so do not need to know how you know whose dick is bigger."
"We've been friends since first grade. We have no secrets."
"Just stop." I yelled, but by now I'm laughing too. Hanging out with these two is like being a kid again, which is weird because earlier today we were in the midst of a battle. Nobody was acting like a kid then. In fact, I killed four Patriots while the guys were fighting off some others on the far side of some trees. We'd been separated and ambushed. It wasn't a good scenario.
Monroe came running through the trees as soon as he could. He had his swords ready, and his eyes were wild. He surveyed the bodies lying on the ground at my feet and the way blood was spattered in my hair and on my clothes. "You killed em all?" He looked both impressed and relieved.
"Well, yeah. What else was I supposed to do with em?"
"Nah, you did good, Charlie." He'd grinned at me then and it was probably the Texas heat, but I felt this weird clenching in my gut. "Real good."
I like how he doesn't call me Kid. Miles still does, but Monroe doesn't. I'm not a kid. It's nice that someone realizes it, even if it is just Monroe.
I wonder about my Mom sometimes. And Aaron. They left Texas shortly after the war started. Something about the Nano. I really don't know. I don't even care as long as everyone comes home safe. While they're off chasing answers out west, I'm left with these two buffoons. Well, Grandpa is here too, but he keeps to himself mostly. He never has really approved of Miles or Monroe. I go see him when I can, but it's not often. Most of the time it's just me and the guys – killing or drinking. Sometimes we take a break, but the breaks are few and far between.
Luckily, the action is dying down. Miles said once the war would be over by the end of the summer. It might take a little longer than that, but he's probably not off by much. For now, we just keep doing what we do best – wiping the floor with Patriot ass.
You know what? It's amazing that these idiots ever ran anything bigger than a lemonade stand together. Just now I heard Miles say something about a snake. Monroe jumped up and danced around like he was having a seizure. Miles was trying to act tough, but clearly he was antsy too.
I put down my pen and this book and walked over to them.
"I hate snakes!" Monroe whined, glancing at the ground nervously.
"Not my favorite either." Miles admitted, standing on a rock.
I just shook my head. "I watched you guys gut Patriots today like it was nothing, and a little snake has you all hot and bothered? Jesus."
"Shut up, kid." Miles says. "Maybe climb up here on this rock with me where it's safe."
"I'm not a kid, and for the record, I know whose dick is bigger."
"Oh yeah?" Monroe asks.
With that, I bent over and stabbed the stupid snake, holding it up on the end of my knife where it squirmed until it was still. "Mine. Mine is bigger."
August 8, 2029
Miles got hurt today. He'll be fine, though to hear Miles bitch about it, that's almost hard to believe. A Patriot jumped him and cut a gash in his thigh that's about fourteen inches long. Grandpa stitched him up and gave his some antibiotics.
The Patriot didn't get off so easily. Antibiotics and stitches won't help him at all.
August 22, 2019
Miles is better. Thank God. He was driving us all crazy with his whining. Monroe threatened to cut out his tongue if Miles didn't shut up. I'm not totally convinced he was joking.
I miss Aaron. I hope he's okay. My mom too obviously, and Priscilla. They've been gone three months now and we have no idea what's going on, or if they are okay, or even if they are still alive.
The skirmishes with Patriots are getting to be fairly rare. We've heard that a ship full of them was seen leaving the port in Savannah. Rumor is they've turned tail and are going back to Cuba.
Good riddance, I say. Hope they never come back.
Monroe surprised me yesterday. He's been pestering me about this journal, always asking what I write about. I won't tell him of course – nosey son of a bitch, but I have taken to keeping it tucked in my back waistband so he can't snatch it while I'm not looking.
Anyway, he figured out through one of our conversations that I love to read and used to do it a lot. Yesterday I was roasting a rabbit on a spit and he plopped down a package next to me. Inside were three books. I've not read any of them before and can't wait to start. He said he found them in an abandoned house and figured maybe I'd like to give them a try. I said sure. It's funny. When Monroe smiles, you kind of forget all the stuff he used to do…all the stuff he's capable of. That smile…well, it's nice.
The books he brought me are "Diary of Anne Frank", "Gone With the Wind", and "Slaughterhouse Five." He said he's only read the Slaughterhouse one (go figure), but that he remembers it being good. I'm going to start that one tonight.
Miles says there's been some Patriots spotted out west of Arnette, so we're on the move again. So much for that intel about Savannah. Shit. Was really hoping that was true.
A/N: This story will be a series of short-ish chapters. Charlie won't update her journal every day and some entries will be a lot longer than others. This story will be told through Charlie's eyes exclusively and will show us how things (including her feelings about Monroe) progress for the first year after the show's finale. There will be some sad parts and some funny parts and yes, there will be smut. You're welcome. Leave a comment if you have a minute.