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Authors: Voss Foster
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suppose she could just be completely losing her mind in
here. But both of those are likely to lead to her leaving the safety of her
clothing shop. And as soon as she does that, I'm out and running to get that
man put away.
This is a stupid obsession. I know that. But I can't get
over it. I'm probably losing it as much as anyone else, deciding to go out and
pull that corpse out of sight, risking my life for some dead stranger. But I'm
already committed, and I haven't managed to talk myself out of it, yet.
And I've tried.
ENTRY END
JOURNAL 06TESS
ENTRY 004
DATE: 1/18/2075
I feel like I’m in a warzone. I’ve never been in one, but I
imagine it has to sound something an awful lot like this. Guns going off and
people yelling and things breaking. I’m trying to just cover my head and get
through it all without looking, but I don’t know. Sometimes I think what I‘m imagining
is probably worse than what’s actually happening. I’m too scared to find out
though. Instead, I’ve got some dresses and such wadded up to try to block out some
of the noise. If I press it all hard enough against my ears it almost works,
but not quite.
But you know, worse than the loud sounds and the guns and
anything else I’m hearing, it’s when things are just dead quiet. I can only
think so much when I hear screaming and all that, but when I don’t hear
anything I can come up with much worse. Terrible things I didn’t know I was
capable of until I came in here.
That’s why I decided to write. The gunfire just died off,
and that’s when it’s the worst of all, because you know for sure something
happened. It’s just a question of what.
ENTRY END
JOURNAL 04DANA
ENTRY 004
DATE: 1/18/2075
I made it. I made it across, and these are my last words. I
thought I had things figured out. The guards only shoot things in certain
areas, and I thought I’d gotten them mapped out pretty well. I don’t know if I
got them wrong or if I just misstepped, but when I ran, they hit me. And every
time they hit me, I slowed down more, got farther off my path, and they got
more bullets. But damn it, I made it across. Everyone thinks I'm too old, and
I'm too weak. Too weak, I can give them. That’s why I ran in the first place. I
was too weak to carry on by myself. But not too old. In the end, it wasn't my
age that got me. I died in a hail of gunfire.
I'm glad it wasn’t a quick death. I'm glad I'm getting some
time to record my final thoughts, even if they'll never be read by anyone. I'm
not glad for the pain, but I'm glad for everything else. If they'd shot me
straight dead, I'd never have done what I set out to do. It wasn't a big goal,
but it was my last one. I made it. I wanted to make it alive, stay with this
nice man until the end came. So I guess, in a way, I got that, even though it
was far too short. He took me into his shop. He tried to stop the bleeding, but
it's not doing anything at all, so far as I can tell.
I'm determined to take this gracefully. Otherwise I'd be
crying, and I wouldn't be able to write this if I was crying. Although I can
barely see to type as it is. So I guess it's not much longer for me. But the
world will know that I died with my own self intact. And that's impor
This is not the woman who started this journal. Not Dana, as
the tablet says her name is. I tried to save her, but she was too badly injured,
and I was not prepared to tend to her. She couldn't finish her journal, and I
only write this here to let anyone who may, one day, stumble across this, know
that she died. She was strong. She must have been to make it this far and still
insist on leaving her final words. Her death is a tragedy for humanity.
ENTRY END
09
JOURNAL 01MARCUS
ENTRY 005
DATE: 1/18/2075
I made it, but I still ended up shot. The old lady got away
faster than I figured, which gave the guards time to turn around and hit me in
the leg. In the harsh reality of it, though, I won’t complain much. It
here. But both of those are likely to lead to her leaving the safety of her
clothing shop. And as soon as she does that, I'm out and running to get that
man put away.
This is a stupid obsession. I know that. But I can't get
over it. I'm probably losing it as much as anyone else, deciding to go out and
pull that corpse out of sight, risking my life for some dead stranger. But I'm
already committed, and I haven't managed to talk myself out of it, yet.
And I've tried.
ENTRY END
JOURNAL 06TESS
ENTRY 004
DATE: 1/18/2075
I feel like I’m in a warzone. I’ve never been in one, but I
imagine it has to sound something an awful lot like this. Guns going off and
people yelling and things breaking. I’m trying to just cover my head and get
through it all without looking, but I don’t know. Sometimes I think what I‘m imagining
is probably worse than what’s actually happening. I’m too scared to find out
though. Instead, I’ve got some dresses and such wadded up to try to block out some
of the noise. If I press it all hard enough against my ears it almost works,
but not quite.
But you know, worse than the loud sounds and the guns and
anything else I’m hearing, it’s when things are just dead quiet. I can only
think so much when I hear screaming and all that, but when I don’t hear
anything I can come up with much worse. Terrible things I didn’t know I was
capable of until I came in here.
That’s why I decided to write. The gunfire just died off,
and that’s when it’s the worst of all, because you know for sure something
happened. It’s just a question of what.
ENTRY END
JOURNAL 04DANA
ENTRY 004
DATE: 1/18/2075
I made it. I made it across, and these are my last words. I
thought I had things figured out. The guards only shoot things in certain
areas, and I thought I’d gotten them mapped out pretty well. I don’t know if I
got them wrong or if I just misstepped, but when I ran, they hit me. And every
time they hit me, I slowed down more, got farther off my path, and they got
more bullets. But damn it, I made it across. Everyone thinks I'm too old, and
I'm too weak. Too weak, I can give them. That’s why I ran in the first place. I
was too weak to carry on by myself. But not too old. In the end, it wasn't my
age that got me. I died in a hail of gunfire.
I'm glad it wasn’t a quick death. I'm glad I'm getting some
time to record my final thoughts, even if they'll never be read by anyone. I'm
not glad for the pain, but I'm glad for everything else. If they'd shot me
straight dead, I'd never have done what I set out to do. It wasn't a big goal,
but it was my last one. I made it. I wanted to make it alive, stay with this
nice man until the end came. So I guess, in a way, I got that, even though it
was far too short. He took me into his shop. He tried to stop the bleeding, but
it's not doing anything at all, so far as I can tell.
I'm determined to take this gracefully. Otherwise I'd be
crying, and I wouldn't be able to write this if I was crying. Although I can
barely see to type as it is. So I guess it's not much longer for me. But the
world will know that I died with my own self intact. And that's impor
This is not the woman who started this journal. Not Dana, as
the tablet says her name is. I tried to save her, but she was too badly injured,
and I was not prepared to tend to her. She couldn't finish her journal, and I
only write this here to let anyone who may, one day, stumble across this, know
that she died. She was strong. She must have been to make it this far and still
insist on leaving her final words. Her death is a tragedy for humanity.
ENTRY END
09
JOURNAL 01MARCUS
ENTRY 005
DATE: 1/18/2075
I made it, but I still ended up shot. The old lady got away
faster than I figured, which gave the guards time to turn around and hit me in
the leg. In the harsh reality of it, though, I won’t complain much. It
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