Sunday, June 19, 2011

A 2012 Journal:New American Museum (2777A.W.)

“The war of 2012 came as a surprise to those existing in that time period, despite numerous signs and warnings. Unearthed from the newly discovered ruins at Stone Mountain, were priceless artifacts of those who survived, allowing the human race to continue and evolve into the enlightened society we have today.
 On display here, is the Journal of a woman named Angela, who crossed thousands of miles after the war, looking for her missing child. This is the first part of her story to be restored. We are currently working on clearing the centuries of debris from the rest of the pages of this unique look into a world most of us have never known.”
 American World Museum, 2777

“My name is Angela White. I am a doctor, a mother, and a survivor of more than one war. Some also call me a witch because I can do things that others cannot but this is no tale of magic. This is my record of how I survived the war of 2012. I keep this to teach future generations that the old ways are the bad ways and this is what happens when lust and greed rule.”

Christmas Eve, 2012

I lost my baby in the war and my soul aches ceaselessly. It's a hole, a pain, that I know will never stop. 
   As I dug his tiny grave, the draft trucks swarmed the neighborhood and unlike my fellow citizens, I didn't run. The miscarriage drained my strength and at that moment, death was okay, better than the hurting in my heart.    
   Thankfully, they left me to my grief but the other tenants suffered their wrath for trying to hide and the gunshots echoed like bombs. During the chaos, I kept my solitary vigil over the newly placed earth under my fingers, mind numb. I could hear it but I couldn't believe it. Our world has ended.
   But I haven't lost everything yet and I comfort myself with that thought as darkness falls over my broken country. My firstborn son is out there in this hell and as soon as I am stronger, I will find him or die trying. Not that I don't feel dead already. My innocent baby, laying in the dirt! He's been there for days and I still fight the urge to dig him up with my bare hands for one last embrace. I'll take a pill instead.


It's Christmas and I can't stand the sight of the tree and it's merrily wrapped presents but I'm too weak to take it down. I covered it with a sheet instead. Wish someone would do the same for the bodies I can see from the basement windows, where I'm hiding.  

   The rioting is out of control, no soldiers enforcing the martial law, and I can see fires burning all over the city. Yet, I hear no fire trucks, no sirens at all, and the radio is static on every station. Thank god the power is holding.

   The television that used to feature over four hundred channels now has two, both with haggard looking reporters and the pictures are staggering, unbelievable. Planes have crashed in the city and there was a murder on live TV, a camera crew, and the gunfire in the distance grows louder even as I write this. 100 million Americans dead, 30 million sick or injured, and hundreds of thousands being exposed to toxic levels of fallout. New York and most of the East coast, gone. Florida, Michigan, Arizona, and maybe Texas and California as well. Texas. My boy! The pain is so bad, I can't describe it and I have to believe he survived. Surely the cadets would have been evacuated too?


   It snowed last night, thick, black flakes that look nearly a foot deep at dawn but the warm temperatures melted it in under an hour. I’m glad. Now I can see my baby’s grave again.
 The weather is becoming more unpredictable, I swear I heard thunder while it snowed ashy sleet, and it's like a bad dream I can't wake from. The looting and fires are spreading out from the city, the pillars of thick, black smoke rising from everywhere I look, and layers of it were so thick this morning, that I could barely see the outline of the sun.
    The bodies are stacking up and no one has come to take any of them away. There's no sign of authority at all. The two TV stations are still on, the only shell shocked faces I see, and their reports are so ugly! 
   Fallout clouds are headed this way, jails have been overrun, their dark inmates loosened in a world suddenly without law, and the roads are now impassable from all the abandoned cars and wrecks that were not being cleared.  

   The reporters sound almost angry at the people for leaving their cars but I'm sure the Draft made the choice for them. The soldiers were merciless, killing store and farm owners who refused to let them strip supplies and as if taking the unwilling adults wasn't enough, they stole our kids! Even those as young as five were taken in the draft, most from schools, never to be seen again by their families and my heart goes out to those parents even as it burns with loss and worry. If my boy survived, he is now in one of the bunkers with the other 'draftees' and how I plan to get him out, I'm not sure. What I know is that I need help. Will Brady come for me now? The Witch inside says he would if I call out to him but the fear of my man finding out keeps me silent. Kenny would kill me.


   I think there was an earthquake around dawn but it could have been an explosion. There's been a lot of those. Hard to tell through the screams and gunshots. A large group of people came up the hill from the city today, fleeing, and I wished them luck. It was hard not to throw in with them but my health is fragile right now and I would only be a burden to be left somewhere. 
It will be at least a month before I can go and my heart hates it. Each hour crawls by and it's a struggle to stay here.

   I sleep a lot, pills, and worry all the time. I drew up a good plan, chose where to get the supplies I'll need, but the thought of venturing out into that other world fills me with dread. How will I ever find the courage to start this journey? How will I live with myself if I don't?

"This is Safe Haven Refugee Camp. Can anyone hear me?
Hello? Is anyone out there?"

The Survivors
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