September 17

"We're going to use markers," May said.

"Markers?" I said. "That's the best idea that you came up with?"

"Well, in a perfect world, we'd just chop off the bottom of the axe handle," she said. "Or better, we'd just poof the name out of existence. But reality sucks, and using a sharpie to cover it up is our best option."

"But isn't it an engraved name, so wouldn't he still be able to see the outline? And either way, you'd still feel it."

"Well it's better than what's under there right now," May said and pointed to the axe lying close to the fireplace this morning since Dad had to chop some of the larger logs so that they'd work better.

The tape was already one loop unraveled and a strip of pink tape was just flapping around freely. Tape unraveling is like a snowball on a hill (or, if I want to quote biology class, like hemoglobin with oxygen), where one it starts rolling, it'll continue to get larger and larger, or in the case of tape, more and more unraveled. We have maybe one week, at most, before Dad ripped it fully off.

"Well I'm going to cut the tape right now," May said. "Maybe that'll buy us more time and stop it from bugging Dad so much."

"Are you guys doing an art project?" Mira asked, arriving at the most inopportune time. "I heard that you were cutting something. What are you making?"

I think Mira was trying to be nice to May because while they had made up some ground on the spa day, they've still not gotten to the status quo of before, much less to how close they were on the market day. I guess it's nice that she was doing this, but did she seriously have to pick that exact moment and not some other moment two minutes in the future.

"We're cutting off the dangling tape thing on the axe," May said.

"We should just rip it off," Mira said. "It gets the whole job done, and plus, cutting the tape only delays the inevitable."

May and I both looked at each other before I blurted out, "Anyways, I was telling May that we shouldn't cut it or mess with the axes because we're borrowing them from the community garden and we don't want to mess anything up, you know."

Mira gave us a weird glance before going to water the plants in the greenbox. The mustard plants have grown quickly and are about three or so inches tall while the pea plants just sprouted their first leaves a couple of days back. The onion plants have stopped their wilting, and the stalks are standing tall and straight, but the potatoes were still potato-like, though they looked a bit green.

As soon as she was out of earshot, May whispered, maybe a little too loudly, to me. "Why'd you say that?"

"What do you mean?" I said. "I literally saved us."

"Not only did you stop me from being able to stop Dad from ripping the tape off, but you also made sure that we won't be able to rip the tape off to mark out the name."

"Well, what would you have done?"

"I don't know," she replied sarcastically. "Maybe say some of the fancy science-y things about how cutting the dead piece of tape helps it last longer."

"Easy for you to say," I mumbled. "Anyways, the markers wouldn't have worked since they wash off, and Dad will get really mad if his hands are stained black every single time that he touches the axe grip. And plus, if he actually looks at the axe handle, he'll see the engraving, so yeah, markers aren't working."

"Then, what do you think we should do?"

"I don't know. You're the plan person," I said with a shrug.

"Fine," she said and stood up before huffing and walking away, kicking the axe by the fireplace, as the steel grinded against the stone by the fireplace and catching everyone's attention. But no one bothered to say anything, and we continued existing.

There is an easy solution to our axe problem: telling Mom and Dad the truth. We took the axe and the solar panel from the Hunters because it was necessary for survival. Without it, we'd probably have a quarter of the wood that we have right now, and that we'd have to go wood gathering every single day to survive the winter storms up ahead. The greenbox wouldn't exist, and we'd be forced into more and more dangerous activities to get enough food. We need the axe and the solar panel, and they'd understand what we did because without them, we wouldn't be able to survive.

But I just can't. It's just too risky because Dad can be too prideful for his own good, though maybe he'd be this one exception. But either way, both of them will be mad, and I can't risk getting grounded because Charles and his family are dependent on me for food. If I get cut off, that's it for them, especially how I stupidly missed last week's food delivery because I was just too distracted by everything around me. Everything has to remain the same— or at least as similar as it can be with everything going on.

It's too bad that everything's changing with Mom and Dad's new rules.

Mira had to leave early because she missed her shift yesterday and needed to inform them of the reason why. But instead of heading out the front door, Mom and Dad took out two chairs, putting one on our side of the fence, and then, after Mira hopped to the other side of the fence into our (now non-existent) neighbor's backyard and placed a chair on that side. Every time that we had to go out, we had to use that, just in case that someone was watching on the street, so that they'd head towards the wrong house.

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"Can't they just see our smoke from the fireplace?" I asked Mom and Dad. "So this is a bit pointless."

"Oh, yeah," Dad said, his words trailing off awkwardly. They took down this setup half an hour later and probably sent it back to the drawing board before going back and putting it back up.

"Why are you keeping it up?" I asked.

"Skies won't be clear forever," Dad said. "Someday the winds will fade, and the ash storms are going to return again, and the smoke will just disappear into the clouds."

I would've asked him about the light from our house or the fact that diverting people to the house right next to ours doesn't stop them from heading to our house right after they see our flickering shadows behind curtains or the orange glow of the fire. But I didn't say much because I didn't need Dad getting annoyed. It's kinda funny how I'm lying, so that he wouldn't get as mad when my other lie gets exposed. It's like that expression: "Fighting fire with fire."

I just realized that I haven't read my book in a while, but I guess I've been feeling down about this. It's like the book is supposed to be authentic and realistic, but every time that I think about it, it feels like a fantasy because I guess I'm just having a hard time relating with them since every other page talked about how attractive or stylish they are, and I'm just not. Maybe I'm being cynical and probably too self-pitying, but how else am I supposed to feel?

I think I've got to stop thinking about this and focus on the bigger problem ahead: the axe. There's just no room for love or lust or whatever in this new future.

September 18

It's suffocating living at home with everyone. I can't believe I'm saying this because before, I'd never say this, but I just need to get out and breathe a little. Thank goodness, tomorrow is Tuesday.

Just before Mira, May, and I were going to do our weekly water gathering (which did not involve the usage of Mom and Dad's crude chair-backyard scheme since it was just too inconvenient), Dad pulled me to the side, "Son, I need to talk with you."

Those seven words are the worst words in the world. I had no idea what he was confronting me about, and the first thought was that he had found about the axe. But then I saw it in his hand, pink tape attached and waving in the air, and I was even more petrified because I had no clue about what I was being confronted about.

"I saw the books in your bedroom," Dad said, and before I could call him out for snooping, he added, "I was curious about what you were reading."

"Okay," I said because I knew that he had found my collection of books, but I didn't want to say anything.

"I know that you said that you were reading romance. But I didn't know that you were interested in reading this type of romance..."

I shrugged, trying to be calm and nonchalant, like usual. "I like getting a different perspective on things. That's it."

That wasn't exactly the truth because while it's technically true, like I did borrow those books to figure out myself and get an outside perspective beyond my thoughts and assumptions, the way that I said it makes it feel like a lie. And Dad definitely latched onto my lie because he then said, "Okay, good. I'm very supportive of gays and lesbians and everyone in their community, but I'm glad to know that, you know, aren't one of them because it makes things too complicated."

Then, I got a hearty slap on the back, and Dad walked away before turning back to face me. "Maybe you want to read something else that's less, you know, about—"

"Grow up, Dad. It's the 21st century."

I should've also said, "Grow up, Neal. It's the 21st century" and that there should be no shame about my attraction to guys. But I guess I don't really need to say that because I don't feel shame that much in that way. It's more like I can't talk about the idea of just having a romantic relationship with anyone really because I'm just irrationally embarrassed by anyone thinking I'm interested in someone. Everyone feels like they're moving forwards, from Charles talking about his imaginary girlfriend to the guys in the book being so open with their desires, and it's like I'm just stuck in a past way of thinking.

I know it's time for me to move forward too, with my views on guns and with how I feel when I look at the guy in the magazine, and that I shouldn't be scared. But I can't because it feels exactly like the college and jobs and internships of the world before. The moon was supposed to fix everything, but it's like everything just remained the same but worse.

Water gathering was painful, like usual, and by the third round, we all felt like we were dying. It's so annoying that our muscle strength is the only thing not changing in this world.

"Have you come up with a plan?" I asked May.

"No," she said as she lugged our fourth bucket of water. "You know these things take time to make?"

"Should we just tell the truth?" I asked.

"Then you go tell them."

"I'm not doing that," I said. "You're closer to Mom and Dad, so you can tell them."

"Mom and Dad like you better," she said.

"Well, I'm not doing that."

"Then we stick with my plan, whenever I figure it out."

"Figure it out soon," I said, and we stopped talking about this because we saw Mira slowing down in front of us before coming to a pause.

I don't even know why I'm so scared of telling Mom and Dad the truth to be honest. Well, I kinda do. I've lied to tell before about tons of smaller things, like how I'm feeling and other emotional stuff, but I guess I've never really admitted to them that I've lied to them. Maybe they'll be understanding. I mean they should be, but I just can't afford this.

On our last round, Mira walked with me. "You seem stressed. What's up?"

"Just the usual end of the world stuff," I lied. "Starvation, dehydration, hypothermia, all kinds of nasty water-borne diseases."

"You sure it's not about this?" she asked and pointed to her hip, with the pistol in her holster. Mom had allowed her to carry the gun around when we were doing the water pickup because of all the armed people roaming around. I guess I should've felt better since it's an upgrade (in terms of killing power) from the electric lighter.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know."

"How do you not know what's bothering you?"

I shrugged my shoulders and walked more ahead. I guess I was being too cold to Mira, and I probably shouldn't have, but I wasn't in the mood to talk and certainly not about something stressful and emotional. I've already got too many things on my plate to deal without having to deal with this.

I only paused when we walked into a different neighborhood (since we were trying to vary our walking paths to make sure that no one followed us) somewhat close to city hall and looked at the sky. There was this inky smoke that seemed to smear the sky, blotting out the blue and taking me back to the storm times, where the skies were clouded with an ominous dark gray.

"This fire is from the campfires the homeless people are making by city hall, right?" I asked Mira, even when I knew it wasn't true.

"I guess they must've burned city hall," she replied.

"RIP our government," May said.

"The food deal with Sacramento isn't going to pan out, isn't it?" I said, kicking at the hardening ash on the sidewalk because there weren't any stones.

"I don't think it ever was."

"It looks like we're on our own," Mira said. "We should probably walk closer to each other. It's safer. And better for family-bonding too."

"You can just say that it's safer," May muttered. "No need to add the family bonding part."

"Well it's safe and we can bond," Mira said, sounding just like Mom. "C'mon, let's go. My arms are killing me."

But we didn't move for a while, just staring at the sky. At that moment, I realized that we were all alone, and the last vestiges of the government were floating in the sky, little flakes of ash settling on the ground. There's no more dreams of food or Sacramento anymore. It's a bit lonely that we're all that remains here.