A/N: I would like to thank my wonderful beta, Kimmae. She does everything perfectly and has a timely response, no matter how often I forget to send her my drafts. She's the best beta someone could ask for. Thanks, Kimmae, and thanks to anyone reading this.


I woke up in the middle of the night last night to that nightmare. Again.

That orange light…it's haunting me.

--

I am dying. The ash is killing my lungs. Slowly. Painfully.

--

I almost spoke with him again last night. I saw him, silhouetted against the orange light. He was staring at me indifferently, from what I could see f his face.

Maybe he doesn't love me anymore.

--

These are my memoirs.

I hope someone stumbles upon them before they are destroyed by ash and age and rain and ice and death.

--

I'm using a pencil. I haven't seen one in forever.

I don't remember where I found it.

Maybe I've always had it.

--

More coughing. A bit of blood. It's very thin and watery. It's
mixing with the ash on the road.

I am now forever a part of this world.

--

This brave new world.

Beautiful? Not in the traditional sense. Or perhaps in a super traditional sense.

Austere? Yes.

It is a beautiful austerity. Terrible and cruel. The ash makes this landscape a wonderful cold grey. Grey is my favourite colour... it's lovely. Especially at this time of year.

What time of year is it?

--

I saw a clock today. It was stuck on 2:17.

That means I've made some progress.

--

I hate this terribly beautiful world.

More coughing. More blood. It's getting hard to write. My hand is shaking so much.

--

I was almost caught today. I don't want to be raped and killed and raped again and eaten.

Goddamned cannibals.

--

Another town... nothing more than endless searches through houses accompanied by burnt bodies.

Everything coated in ash.

Especially my lungs.

More blood.

--

I saw some of them again today. It's like they're hunting me.

And that orange light came back. He wasn't there this time.

I called for him, though.

But he was to me what God is to this world.

He didn't answer.

He won't answer.

--

I found a fresh body today. It was covered by a tarp. I went to uncover it.

I stopped and went on.

--

I caught up with the people who must have covered that man. They were sitting around a fire.

Fire.

It killed so many of us. Now many of us would kill for it.

Oh, the irony.

There were several of them. At least six. A small boy was with them. He was sitting and staring at the fire resolutely. Tears were dripping from his face.

I wanted to reach out to him and tell him that it will all be alright.

But it won't be.

Even that small boy knows it.

--

I'm running out of paper.

More blood.

--

I found a small stream today, under a bridge. There were two bodies under it.

I think I've lost the trail of the small boy and his group.

It was his group. There is no question about that.

--

I want someone.

I want him.

It rained all day today. I went back to that bridge and sat under it with those two fresh bodies.

I'm used to death now but that doesn't make it any more pleasant. I
moved them up to the road. They were cold.

They were them.

--

The storm has been two or three days.

It's finally ending.

--

I found a small house today. I went in it and sat. There was a table.

I drew.

I drew a picture of the sun. It was smiling.

Then that melted into a dream, and the sun turned into an orange light, which turned into a flame, which turned into a massive inferno raging across the highways of the world.

There were people running.

None escaped.

--

I believe I am about to die.

Lots of blood.

--

Finally. I will see him. Along with all of the countless other souls who have perished with whom I want to be reunited.

--

I wonder: will God be there?

He probably has turned to other things.

He has for