#this is called spot the references to other stories in my end of theworld series

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

O’er All The Weary World: Extracts From a Diary

February 7

It’s weird, the things that survive the apocalypse.  The building had been torn apart before we got there, ransacked by scavengers I assume, but this notebook’s fine, and I even found some pencils.  I’m not really sure why I’m writing all this, but I guess it’s something to do.  None of the old stories about the end of the world ever mentioned the boredom. Although I suppose being bored is better than a few months ago when everything was really falling apart.  No one could accuse that of being dull. Just frightening.  

News doesn’t travel at all anymore really, but we know people are still dying.  Mark and I have been avoiding cities mostly because of that, although there’s better food there.  He’s trying to learn how to hunt; the animals may be dying too but they seem to be doing better than us.  There are still deer around.  That’s something at least.  He’s not very good at it though, and we don’t have any guns or knives or anything.  We’re trying to make traps but ugh it’s going so badly, I don’t know how much longer we can do this.  It’s still too cold for anything to grow, if we don’t warm up soon it’ll be the end for us.  Or more of the end than it’s already been.  

Mark and the baby are asleep, thank heavens.  We still haven’t named her, Mark was right to suggest we hold off in case she dies. This isn’t any life to raise a baby in. Still, it’s been a month and she’s still here, and she’s surprisingly healthy.  Maybe she’s here to stay.  There are a lot of good names out there, why not give her one to hold on to?

I’ve been thinking we call her Eve.  I’ll talk to Mark about it in the morning.  

 February 21

The food we found at our last town search ran out two days ago.  We haven’t been able to catch or find anything else.  I can’t say I’m surprised.  Or upset even, I knew this would happen eventually.  It’s the apocalypse, who are we to survive? Silly little city couple.  

Eve is crying.  She’s just as hungry as me and Mark.  I wish she wouldn’t.  I want someone else to find this diary, maybe write in it, but no one will do that.  Who could do that? Who’d be left to do that?

 February 23

We’re walking to find Mark’s sister Sarah, but really we’re walking because there’s nothing better to do, and I’m writing because there’s nothing better to do while walking.  

That’s basically illegible isn’t it.  It doesn’t really matter.  

A lot of people are walking.

We stopped at a house two evenings ago, the rest of what used to be a suburb was abandoned but there was one family left there, a family and some random kids they had picked up. I collapsed in the doorway.  I can’t remember much of what happened but they had food somehow and a torn mattress and I woke up that evening not dead, which to be perfectly honest I hadn’t expected.  

The house was warm, they had covered up holes in the walls with old blankets and there were a lot of people all crammed together.  One of the kids, Oswin I think his name was, told us all stories to fill the evening.  He had a whole bunch of them stored up in his head, one of the little girls told us, and he’d tell you any if you asked.  She looked happy, happier than I’ve seen anyone look since it all started.  Maybe the kid’s stories are really that good.  

There was one I liked, about two sisters.  One of them vanished, stolen by an evil king, and the other had to go and find her.  

I miss Mary.  I don’t know if she’s dead.  She probably is.  When we were little I was the only person who could understand her, I had to translate for our parents.  Now even if she is alive I’ll never see her again, Delhi could be the moon and it would be easier.  At least if she were on the moon I’d be able to see her every night but I can’t and I don’t know if she’s alright and you know what sometimes I just can’t bear it, sometimes I think it would be easier to just stop, not even to do anything drastic, just to stop moving, stop looking for food, stop walking because I can’t do this anymo

 Evie woke up hungry and I had to feed her.  I wonder if she’ll be as happy as the girl in the house.  Even after everything.  I’ll tell her the story about the sisters, I think.  That’s something at least.  I think she likes stories.

 March 13

There’s news being passed around about camps setting up in big old buildings, shopping malls and hospitals and service stations.  Places for people to settle down in, at least for a while.  We haven’t run across any but we’d like to.  Mark’s shoes are falling all apart and his feet are getting cut up, we need to find something better.  

Oh, but this is something! About a week ago we met a woman who was travelling our way, so we joined up for a little while.  She taught us how to set real traps and how to skin some of the animals around here, and she gave us a flint and steel because she had two and our matches ran out a week ago and she said we needed to be able to make a fire. Yesterday she branched off from us saying she was headed east.  We could have gone with her, but Sarah should still be south, at least that’s where she was living last, so south we’re still going.  

But! we made a trap today and we caught a rabbit! We’ve just been living off what we’ve found in old buildings before, this is the first time we caught anything, so it’s really exciting.  And we skinned it and we took out all the insides and we’re cooking it now over a fire. Evie’s laughing and clapping her hands, she loves fire, and Mark looks much less tired now he’s off his feet, and I certainly am, I feel better than I have in days.  

Her name was Iosune, and I hope she finds her son.  

 May 2

Attacked on the road, Mark injured, probably dying, lost so much blood, God God God what do I do

 May 3

Mark unconscious I can’t move him God knows why I’m wasting time writing this

 May 4

We lost all our food to whoever it was who attacked us.  Mark couldn’t move, broken leg and ribs, deep lacerations.  

Earlier today a foraging party found us.  Their camp is in an old hospital, they took us there, I’m sitting outside the doctors’ room now.  

Another woman took Evie, promised she’d feed her and take good care of her, so I’ve been left alone. I don’t know how to feel about the rescue to be honest, if Mark dies then maybe it would have been best for me and Evie to also

Absolutely not we are not thinking like that.  It is better for Evie to live.  And I need to make sure she does.  

 May 5

Mark stable but unconscious. The people here are kind.  Except for the doctors’ assistant.  She’s kind of a bitch.  

 May 6

Mark has woken up, and the doctors (there are two of them here) say he’s going to be ok.  He’s eaten something, and he’s still really pale but he held Evie and he talked to me so that’s something at least.  He’s asleep right now, holding my hand, so I’m trying to keep still while writing this so as not to wake him.  

I really thought he was gone.  I thought everyone was gone, I thought everyone would be gone.  I thought we would all be dead by now.  Maybe we were meant to be.  

But we’re not.  

 June 27

Honestly there are days when I wish we stayed at the hospital.  I know we’re still trying to find Sarah, but the road is long and hard and life was much more stable there, doesn’t matter how little time we spent staying.    

I’m writing this while we walk, Evie’s on Mark’s shoulders.  It’s warm but not too hot, right in the middle of summer, so that’s something at least.  The trees are good shade as well.  Sometimes I can’t believe there are still trees, but there are and they’re wider this year than they were the last.  Can you imagine?

 July 10

It’s my birthday.  I only realised this afternoon.  Last birthday I had a party, all lights and champagne and friends.  All my friends.  And Evie was barely showing.  Perhaps my friends are still alive.  I hope they are.  I hope they’re doing as well as they can.  And Mary, Mary has to still be alive, and the doctors at the hospital, and everyone there, and Iosune, and that family with all the adopted children, and the old man we met on the road who gave us shoes for Mark because he had picked up a spare pair and the young couple we passed who sang to each other to keep up their spirits and the group of teenagers with that massive dog who loved Evie so much.  I believe they’re alive.  I believe they’re well.

Mark and Evie sang happy birthday to me, or at least Evie babbled along.  The evening was warm and we had food.  It was a good day.  

 September 13

It’s getting colder, and we still aren’t near where Sarah used to live.  I think we’re lost.  Even Evie is cranky.  We haven’t given up though.  That’s something at least.  And it’s not raining.    

 November 26

It’s snowing.  

I suppose I should be worried.  It’s making everything wet (and heaven knows it’s hard to keep things dry even when it’s sunny), and it’s freezing and I have no idea how we’re going to keep Evie bundled up enough.  But somehow I can’t be worried.  She’s never seen snow before, and she won’t stop staring at it or trying to catch it.  It looks soft.  It feels soft too.  Mark almost made a snowball before giving up half-way through, looking sheepish, like he was acting without thinking.  

I’m gonna throw one at him.    

 November 26 – Evening

Evie’s first snowball fight is something, I suppose.  And that’s what we’re living on right now, somethings.  

 November 28

We’re staying in Sarah’s old almost-not-quite-dead suburb, only a few houses still lived in.  She’s gone, but one of the men says he saw her leave, so she may not be dead.   No children here, so everyone’s fussing over Evie like she’s the world’s saviour.  An old man saw how red my hands were as I passed her to him to hold, and gave me an ancient pair of knitted mittens, all dirty and frayed.

I made an excuse and ran away to cry, I’m afraid.  I’m still crying, Mark’s with the baby and I’m hiding at the back of a house writing this.

I honestly can’t remember when I last cried.  There’s not much time for it during the apocalypse, funnily enough.  

They’re not even very good mittens.  

They’re green, I think, underneath the grime.  

I’ve got to be getting back, they were cooking something over the fire (a lot of animals have started wandering back into the cities, everyone’s gotten good at hunting).  It smells good, even from here.  

 December 2

They’re singing.

We heard from the last group of people about a camp in an old service station where Sarah might be, there were rumours of it anyway, so we set out.  We’re definitely getting close to something, we can’t see any buildings but the wind is coming from before us and there’s this sound on it, and I couldn’t figure out what it was until I did.  I think they’re singing.  I think it’s hymns, advent songs.  Dispel the shadows of the night.  Rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.  Last winter I didn’t even think about Christmas, we had lost too many people to celebrate anything and being heavily pregnant in the apocalypse is not a good state.  We were all just waiting to die and Christmas seemed out of place for that.  

The singing’s getting louder as we get closer.  Mark’s carrying Evie (and on a side note, look at how good I’ve gotten at writing while I walk! I can actually read my own writing now!  Maybe in a few years Evie will be able to read it too).  They’re listening as well, he’s humming along quietly. I haven���t heard these songs in so long.  Let us find our rest in thee.  I can’t believe I recognized them, I can’t believe they’re still being sung.  

Mark just started, almost shouting out the melodies.  He hasn’t sung in a year, I just realised.  He used to sing all the time.  He sounds different than I remembered, he sounds better.  We can see the top of the camp on the horizon, or I hope that’s what it is, we’re just following the music now really.  I’ve heard stories of how awful life is in some of these places, but how awful can it really be if they get to sing?  We’ll only know when we get there, I suppose.  All we can do is hope.    

The hopes and fears of all the years.    

I guess it’s Christmas.

@inklings-challenge for the Inklings Christmas Challenge

This story is part of my End of the World series.