Day Six Hundred Seventeen #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

Tomas hammered away all morning at Elijah with reasons why we should travel to the other side of the city and seek refuge with Mr. Kagi’s uncle.

After Elijah dealt with each argument in turn, Tomas proposed going by himself. This idea in particular upset the Captain greatly. Tomas reminded him that nothing can happen to either of them apart from one another, if they are to believe the prophecy spoken over them.

The Captain countered by agreeing with him in that instance but was at pains to point out that other outcomes equally undesirable were also possible.

“Like Tomas,” I interjected, “being scooped up as an army conscript. What would we do then?”

Waiting can test the best friendships.

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Day Five Hundred Seventy Eight #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

The port has been a study in contrasts today. All the other ships were abuzz with activity, while ours was just sitting by the dock, waiting.

Waiting for the Captain and P to return. (If they return at all). Waiting for news of what comes next.

Small boats were plying the waters constantly between the warship and the shore. We spotted one unit coming in that we were sure will be paying visits to the shrines of the city, claiming them in Stan’s name.

At one point Tomas was called for. He brought back word of the Captain’s imminent return, and a suggestion that we depart.

Neither Elijah nor myself sense that our time aboard has come to an end.

Day Four Hundred Fifty Five #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

My time ashore yesterday had been brief and under heavy surveillance, more than on the ship where one of them watched all of us. Ashore it seemed like each of us had its own team of three, scrutinizing our every move.

In short order with my reporting done I was back on the ship.

It was an uneasy night. A battery of spotlights were trained on the ship the whole time.

And we have endured more waiting today. Elijah queried me about what I saw. By my estimation I believe the population of this port is even smaller than its sister city. Are they trying to hide that fact?

By sundown the three containers were secured aboard.

Tomorrow we leave.

Day Three Hundred Nineteen #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

Though I had those dreams, I’ve kept them to myself for now. I’ve no need for an interpretation, the meaning is plain enough. It’s only a matter of waiting for the right time and place.

What is most disquieting is that it will involve the world government official who is currently on board. It makes me the more curious to see him – I wouldn’t need to meet him – and to see exactly what is in their container. Though I am sure that it would make no difference to Elijah.

The weather remains clear and optimum for a swift passage. The Captain tells us that we should sight the island later today and make landfall tomorrow.

I am not so sanguine.

Day One Hundred Forty Eight #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

Both Lyle and I sense that the future is crashing in on us. I, at least, want to stop and take stock. Lyle is all for charging in and removing Kip and Grazie from their situations.

And that is the question, is it time for action or time to wait?

Circumstances made the decision for us.

Some of the east end leaders came to Lyle demanding that he make a deal for the machines. So he was tied up meeting with them and for the most part he was successful in dissuading them from that folly.

It was afternoon before we met with Kip. Good news. He’s on track appointing a successor. Our remaining concern is how to help Grazie.

Day One Hundred Twenty Eight #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

Today was a day of waiting. For answers. For people. For the appointed hour to come. In short, a trial in patience.

Lyle went to meet with Kip in the west end. I kept busy with chores until they were complete. Which was early. I  needed something to do, so I went for a walk here in the east end.

I discovered a quiet place, a walled courtyard, set off from the main thoroughfare. In short order, I walked its whole area and took in its sights. Then I sat in the quiet.

Later, the rustle of leaves stirred me from my reverie and I returned to the widow’s house and news of the vote.

Stan won.

We wait again.

Day One #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

A young tree yields before the wind, but often we won’t yield to anything, much less the Holy Spirit.  It’s a matter of pride, don’t you know.

That is probably why I stood planted on the street corner, watching the throngs ebbing and flowing.

Unable to say a word of warning or greeting, shuffling from one leg to the other, keeping the blood pumping against the cold. Connecting the dots between that which was brought to remembrance in my mind’s eye to that in my field of view.

Is this the day? Is this the time?

Not yet.

I’ve not heard the call. Nor the sound of the trumpet.

Only the echo to remain ready and to watch the skies.