weather's not letting up at all.
I just took Mr. Ages out to go. The wind just ripped my breath away.
The snow and wind have scattered dead branches across the yard.
Trees make sounds like firecrackers when they fall. A big old tree in the next yard fell when we were out there. It made my heart jump and Mr. Ages ran to get back inside.
I have a winter coat now and boots. They're a little tight, but they don't let snow in.
I'll live.
I'll live.
I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live.
I'll run and hide.
Jan 10 NOON
It sucks outside.
None of the food here is edible.
Even though I have supplies left, I can’t stay. Not unless I'd gained supplies.
I don't want to be trapped.
Mr. Ages just trusts all my choices. I wonder if he ever doubts me.
Tomorrow we head out, no matter what.
Jan 16 2:49pm
I woke up to voices. They weren’t just in my head.
Someone said, “I think she’s coming around.”
“Just be ready for anything,” they were saying.
My vision was blurry at first, but my sense of smell was working fine. I smelled campfire—no, it was charcoal. I could hear something sizzling.
I tried to sit up and two large hands closed on my shoulders, both helping me and slowing me down. He smiled hugely and hollered over his shoulder—“Yah, she’s awake.”
He asked if I was hurt. I shook my head. I didn’t think so.
“Think you can eat something?”
I asked for something to drink first.
There were three males and four females of different ages.
There was an improvised clothes line.
A lot of camping gear—some of it I thought was mine. I am sure was.
A young man squatted in front of a little Weber grill. He said, “You can have a beer if you don’t mind it warm.”
Beer?
“Yeah,” I agreed.
It was colder than he gave it credit for, but did nothing for my thirst.
“This might seem quick, but we are mostly on the go, so it might be blunt, but if you feel like it you could probably come with us in the morning,” said the cook. He turned over a hunk of red meat, revealing beautiful grill marks.
“With you?”
The cook forgot the cooking for a second and turned mostly toward me—his eyes were deep and penetrating dark blue. Like a night without stars. Eternally deep—easily drowned in.
“You’re gonna be okay—I promise. You’ll be with us.”
Promise?
“Promise?”
“Yeah—as long as you promise not to hurt anyone.”
“Okay,” I said dumbly—90% of my attention was on the beer.
The guy had let go of my shoulders and went to retie the clothes line higher.
The woman there leaned in—I couldn’t hear her, but her lips asked, “Is she okay?”
The man shrugged, but said, “Sure.”
I heard heat bugs, cicadas whirring. It seemed like it would be warm, but wasn’t. It was cold, in fact.
A woman my age cast me an earnest, reassuring smile.
“What is that?” I asked the cook. I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth—but I worried that was exactly what it could be.
“Beef,” he said nonchalantly, jabbing his tong at a “somewhere” over his shoulder. “There’s a pasture over there.
“Would you like some coffee?” a lady asked—it was suddenly later.
“Man in the bathroom?” I said absently.
“That’s right,” she laughed. It was contagious. I kinda knew it would be. The group laughed with all the flat emotionlessness of cardboard. I opened my mouth and all the motion and expression of laughing came out without sound.
It was nightfall, I had eaten and felt truly welcome—they talked to me like we were old friends.
It finally registered that it was summer. It was summer again. My watch was dead. I’d lost months! I asked what happened to me, if they knew. They looked confused. The cook answered:
“What happened to all of us.”
That’s when I heard the screams. My heart shot up my throat like vomit and I shook too hard to hold my hammer
I just took Mr. Ages out to go. The wind just ripped my breath away.
The snow and wind have scattered dead branches across the yard.
Trees make sounds like firecrackers when they fall. A big old tree in the next yard fell when we were out there. It made my heart jump and Mr. Ages ran to get back inside.
I have a winter coat now and boots. They're a little tight, but they don't let snow in.
I'll live.
I'll live.
I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live. I'll live.
I'll run and hide.
Jan 10 NOON
It sucks outside.
None of the food here is edible.
Even though I have supplies left, I can’t stay. Not unless I'd gained supplies.
I don't want to be trapped.
Mr. Ages just trusts all my choices. I wonder if he ever doubts me.
Tomorrow we head out, no matter what.
Jan 16 2:49pm
I woke up to voices. They weren’t just in my head.
Someone said, “I think she’s coming around.”
“Just be ready for anything,” they were saying.
My vision was blurry at first, but my sense of smell was working fine. I smelled campfire—no, it was charcoal. I could hear something sizzling.
I tried to sit up and two large hands closed on my shoulders, both helping me and slowing me down. He smiled hugely and hollered over his shoulder—“Yah, she’s awake.”
He asked if I was hurt. I shook my head. I didn’t think so.
“Think you can eat something?”
I asked for something to drink first.
There were three males and four females of different ages.
There was an improvised clothes line.
A lot of camping gear—some of it I thought was mine. I am sure was.
A young man squatted in front of a little Weber grill. He said, “You can have a beer if you don’t mind it warm.”
Beer?
“Yeah,” I agreed.
It was colder than he gave it credit for, but did nothing for my thirst.
“This might seem quick, but we are mostly on the go, so it might be blunt, but if you feel like it you could probably come with us in the morning,” said the cook. He turned over a hunk of red meat, revealing beautiful grill marks.
“With you?”
The cook forgot the cooking for a second and turned mostly toward me—his eyes were deep and penetrating dark blue. Like a night without stars. Eternally deep—easily drowned in.
“You’re gonna be okay—I promise. You’ll be with us.”
Promise?
“Promise?”
“Yeah—as long as you promise not to hurt anyone.”
“Okay,” I said dumbly—90% of my attention was on the beer.
The guy had let go of my shoulders and went to retie the clothes line higher.
The woman there leaned in—I couldn’t hear her, but her lips asked, “Is she okay?”
The man shrugged, but said, “Sure.”
I heard heat bugs, cicadas whirring. It seemed like it would be warm, but wasn’t. It was cold, in fact.
A woman my age cast me an earnest, reassuring smile.
“What is that?” I asked the cook. I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth—but I worried that was exactly what it could be.
“Beef,” he said nonchalantly, jabbing his tong at a “somewhere” over his shoulder. “There’s a pasture over there.
“Would you like some coffee?” a lady asked—it was suddenly later.
“Man in the bathroom?” I said absently.
“That’s right,” she laughed. It was contagious. I kinda knew it would be. The group laughed with all the flat emotionlessness of cardboard. I opened my mouth and all the motion and expression of laughing came out without sound.
It was nightfall, I had eaten and felt truly welcome—they talked to me like we were old friends.
It finally registered that it was summer. It was summer again. My watch was dead. I’d lost months! I asked what happened to me, if they knew. They looked confused. The cook answered:
“What happened to all of us.”
That’s when I heard the screams. My heart shot up my throat like vomit and I shook too hard to hold my hammer
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