It was dawn. June 6th, 1987. I awoke to the usual sounds, or lack thereof. Rustling of a few leaves, grass blowing carelessly in the shallow, hot breeze. “I sure miss the morning chirps of those cardinals”.

I ate my meager breakfast which consisted of a handful of peanuts I found in an abandoned airplane. After my meal I wipe my face with an old handkerchief, place it in my shirt pocket, and continue on with my daily activities. I trekked through some woods to get a to a small stream, the only source of clean drinking water around here for quite some time. As I get closer to the stream, I couldn’t help be feel like something was a little different in the air today. Perhaps it was a change in the direction of the wind, maybe a little less smoke in the air today. No, I know what this was. It was a scent, a beautiful aroma. I dropped my canister in the dust, and ran toward its origin. I got a little scrapped up by the bushes and brush, but eventually came to a clearing in the trees.

The sight before my eyes was one of a beauty that I have not seen in ages. It was a flower, a rose to be more precise, growing out of a small pile of rubble just above ground level. “Well hello there” I said to my new-found friend, “I haven’t seen one of you in…quite some time. And what a lovely perfume you have, which pervades your bright magenta petals. I believe I have just the place for you”. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small mason jar, covered in a thick layer of dust. I ran back to the stream, and washed it out carefully, drying it on my worn shirt. Running back to the clearing, I slowly kneeled beside the plant. “There we are”, I spoke while placing my prize rose into her home ,“a lovely house, for a lovely lady like yourself”. I continued on through my routines, collecting firewood for the ensuing evening, organizing my collections and samples, and digging out a new latrine. A sound then broke through the silence of my labor, a rumble and grumble, originating from my stomach. “Through all my work, I completely forgot to get something to eat, and with only about two hours of light left”. I finish up my chores, and head off to town to find something to eat.

Passing through the deserted city, I search for a grocery store that’s still standing, and of which I haven’t cleaned out myself. I go by news stands, the papers still shouting the same headlines from a decade ago. “Wait”, I spoke to myself, “is it really the tenth anniversary today? I can’t believe how such an important date could slip my mind!” I chuckle ever so lightly. Ten years ago, on this date, 1977, was the day that everyone I knew, everyone I loved, my friends, enemies, family, and all of the beauty from which this Earth was made, was taken away from me.

I can still hear the sounds of people screaming, women and young children praying, and newscasters telling everyone to “remain calm” and “seek shelter underground”. Did they not realize how hard it is to find a basement, or any type of underground structure in Florida? The next sounds you heard were explosions. Massive ones. Drowning all other forms of noise and screams. The shock-wave followed, large gusts tore apart houses, ripped every plant from its roots, and scorched everything else. No one stood a chance. Those who managed to find some sort of shelter came to their demise after wondering into the open air, and absorbing large amounts of radiation. I was fortunate enough to have be-friended an elderly gentleman, who, while everyone thought he was absolutely insane, stocked up enough resources in his custom bunker, to survive the next 5 years after this incident. If only he himself had made it in time.

No one would have ever thought the cold war could have led to such a violent ending.

Listen to me carry on about days long since past. I grabbed a handful of snack cakes, chips, and other foods with enough preservatives to survive being on a shelf for 10 years, and headed out toward the ocean to eat under the sunset. As I walked through the debris, tar, and oil which littered the beach I came across a large patch of soft sand, and decided to settle down. “Hm, the water appears to be getting a lot bluer and clearer since the last time I was here. Much better than that dull grey, and cloudy appearance”. After consuming my short meal, I reached into my side pocket and pulled out my friend from earlier.

I opened the jar, and the aroma poured out. The sweet smell brought tears to my eyes, as memories came flooding back. Memories of a better time, a time in which I wasn’t alone, in which the world was a beautiful place, filled with different creatures, plants, and landscapes. Where wars were merely fought with guns, and swords, and arrows, not with weapons that could kill millions of people in a blink of an eye.

I will stand up, Rose in my hand, and walk toward the shore, into the wide open arms of the ocean, and my maker. Why I wrote this journal, I do not know. Perhaps to pass the hours, or perhaps someday someone will read this and know my story. They will understand me, and they will not have to grow up under the threat of destruction.

“Hey Paul, come and look at this”.

“Yeah, Richard? What’s up?”.

“It seems old Jerry here finally passed on. Another one of his stories are in his hands, too”.

“Another one? Still from the 80’s huh?”

“Yeah, poor guy. I wish the treatments were enough to help him, instead of having to be locked in this asylum for a decade”.

“Yeah. Alright, I’ll call up his doctor and let him know. Time of death: June 6th, 2010, 7:34 pm.”.

End