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.
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.
Another town... nothing more than endless searches through houses accompanied by burnt bodies.
Everything coated in ash.
Especially my lungs.
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.
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.
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 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.
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