Day Five Hundred Seventy Six #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

Container after container have been lifted out of the hold. They were transported away as soon as they hit the dock.

By day’s end only the cargo meant for the port we skipped, remained below.

The Captain spent the day ashore chasing down leads for possible buyers for his ship. In so doing he learned that all the other ships at this port had been purchased by the transport service of the global authority, and are awaiting the arrival of their new owners.

This fact laid to rest everyone’s fear of an attack on the port.

Elijah kept out of sight in our special cabin in the daylight hours.

I entered after he emerged, in response to a growing dread.


Day Two Hundred Seven Late Morning #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

Enough writes:

Slept past the time I meant to start out. Consequently I reached the desert’s edge but no farther.

Looking at this high dune in the burgeoning sunlight fills me with dread. There will be no path now. Pray for some direction.

Searched for and found some pebbles. Will suck on them to combat thirst.

Don’t Stop the World, I Don’t Want to Fall Off

Dont Stop the World

Dread was the word.


It best described my feelings whenever it was announced that we were going to drive up to my cousins’ house in Spokane.  But it wasn’t their fault. We liked our cousins. We just didn’t like what we had to go through to get there.


We lived on Maxwell Avenue and Cedar street on the north side of Spokane. The property was right at the edge of a ridge that looked over the downtown area.  And beyond downtown was the other hill upon which our cousins lived.


Come time to go, Dad loaded us up into the backseat of the 1953 Nash (which my father always cursed for having an inferior power plant). We made our way down to Monroe street and it was a straight shot from there. Straight down the hill to town and then up the other side.


The other side was our terror. The car made a “whump” as it hit the first incline and we were thrown back against the seat. And our father always made it worse as he would tease us with the exclamation that “hold on, we’re falling backwards.” As we looked forward out the front windshield, we could believe him for all we saw was sky.


The street leveled off at a cross street, but only momentarily, as another “whump” followed and the process repeated itself. And even then we weren’t out of the woods, a second cross street, a third incline and a third and final “whump.”


We arrived at my cousins with whitened knuckles.


Such are the fears of a child. Fears that were outgrown, then replaced by other more grown up fears.