Saturday, August 24, 2030

I buried my mother today. The stress of life thrust upon us by a virus that humanity was not ready for took her and has now changed our entire society to the core. It has slowly taken everyone I love. My father when I was young. I can't even remember his face. My brother three years later and shortly after Gary, our friend who cared gently for a dying Danny on that farm. Mother and I moved off the farm after that. The two of us began moving around, living lives as nomads. Whole towns were deserted, in those we could stay for longer, if we could dodge the scavengers. Other towns and larger cities were hotbeds for this virus, and others still now ruled by the strong. Those we avoided completely. Stories of forced work, firing squads for the sick, and strict enforcement of the whims of the ruling class, lead us to live as wanders among the ruins of the world that I was born into.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Our world never recovered and our numbers continue to dwindle slowly. For all our medical marvels from our species, we were no match for this. Nothing we had or have can do anything for it. Mother said I am one of the lucky ones that survived this but that does not mean I will be that lucky again. I am just glad I cannot remember it. For now, I will remember what she told me. Once that last bit of dirt is in the hole, there is nothing left to grieve. Survival does not wait for the passage of loss. It is a savage beast that requires our constant attention. I have her and my father's memories in this diary to guide me and for now I have one job, to live.

(The story continues with the Wander's Journal as per request from my wife and daughter. Blame them :-) )