Climate Diaries

I choose to tell myself that I shot that bear out of respect. A courteous bullet diving deep into its massive chest. At the same time, I can’t get the image out of my head. Whatever fur remained on the bear’s body was a quilted pattern of gray, brown, and black. I really couldn’t tell what kind of bear it actually was. As my conscious overtakes my emotions and my memories replay the moment, I cook pieces of the tough meat over a meager flame. My conflicted thoughts are won over by the urge to survive and eat anything my body will accept. I was never cut out for the life or death decisions I now make on a daily business. It’s hard to say exactly how a bear tastes. I was worried that the meat might make me sick since the bear was clearly not in a healthy condition. My stomach chose otherwise. The leg was tough with muscle, but with a flavor similar to beef. The fox didn’t want to partake in my meal, so I gave it half of my final can of tuna. After gorging in a hefty meal of a new cui...

Chapter One - An Unlikely Companion Every morning I watch as the sun creeps up the horizon’s foggy glow and the moon tiptoes back to sleep. I make sure that I rise early enough in the morning to catch these fleeting moments. Once the sky has settled, I turn and slunk back down the alley toward my flimsy tin shack. I rub my eyes and took a nip of water from my canteen. After pushing the shelf I used as a door out of the way, I set my rifle by the wall and lay down on the worn cotton lump that I call a mattress. The night prior was as dreadfully cold as any other. I remember the wind rattling the aluminum lining of my shack, keeping me awake and alert. I had to put on a third layer of pants and fourth sweater before I was able to fall back asleep. My dreams once again startled me to bolt up in a sweaty jolt of fear. Perhaps that is why I began rising so early in the morning. I check my watch and mark my calendar. My journal helps me take my mind off the horrendous world surrou...

I feel a gentle nudge on my shoulder. As I roll over, I see the fox looking down at me with a dry snout and dimly lit eyes. I close my journal and return it to my pack. While in there, I rummage around and create a mental checklist of my remaining food. A can and a half of tuna. Check. Six slices of bread. Check. Half a canteen of rain water. It will have to do. Meanwhile, I have this damn fox begging me for breakfast. I spent most of yesterday trying to shoo the thing away. I should never have fed it in that abandoned pub, but I didn’t know at the time whether it would be hostile or harmless. Now I know that it’s just using me. That part of me knows how frustrating the fox is; yet, a part of me also welcomes the companionship. It’s so quiet all around me and I prefer not to be stuck to the thoughts racing in my head. I feel like I could whistle and the fox would come running to me like an old dog I’ve grown up with. As of this morning, I’ve chosen to accept this furry fellow as my ...

I think about the bats. The furry creatures hanging tirelessly as they stare down at the piles of brown lumps. I think about the white. That powder wiping out friends and family. Drug-induced zombies. I think about the scientists. Stepping on the crunchy corpses. Bagging bodies like deli meat. Helpless to face the cave-dwelling plague.

I feel a hand slide slowly over my shoulder with a careful swiftness that says, “are you awake”? I roll over the silky sheets while wiping the sand from my eyes. My sight adjusts to the glowing light breaking through the window curtains and, for some reason, my first thought is that my body feels like a warm calzone wrapped up in the oven of sheets I call our bed. Her eyes smile back at me with the same vibrance of light that shines through the window. “How are you feeling?” she asks, chin propped up on a pillow. I reply with a heavy breath that stretches every limb in my body. “Glad to hear it. Let’s stay in bed a little longer. These sheets feel like a big bear protecting us from the frigid cold.” I glance up at the screen in the wall portraying several news stories I can not read. In the top right corner, I can make out the animation of snowfall fluttering slowly down the screen before disappearing into a pixelated world. “I couldn’t agree with you more,” I mumble. ...

"Kryptonite" Although technically classified as Esperite , I decided to name this rock Kryptonite because that is the first thing I thought of when I saw it. Hidden behind a black curtain in the back corner of the museum, this rock, among its vibrant relatives, emits a radiant green color similar to the glowing green of Superman's nemesis. I was unable to determine its texture behind glass, but I think its safe to assume that it would either give me super powers or burn off my finger. For me, the neon rocks were clearly the most eye-catching part of the museum. A close second was the display that scattered the colorful rocks across the rainbow spectrum. In terms of the big picture, this is a rock that seems to be a two-in-one. In daylight, it looks like any of its other rock friends. Once the backdrop of night falls, this rock would give away its position from extended distances. Perhaps it acted as a beacon for now-extinct species that used it as a rendezvous...

I’ve spent the past two weeks in this small blue collar town. Well, at least what remains of the town. I believe I’m somewhere in Northern Connecticut, but the nameless town is desolate and doesn’t give off any character. Like many places I’ve traveled through, the roofs are mostly caved in to the crumbling buildings. I’ve spent a lot of time on this main street foraging for supplies. About three blocks up on the left is Clark’s Hardware where I gathered the supplies needed to build my alley shack. There is very little left on the shelves. Most of the tools have been looted by violent packs of survivors with the intent of creating short-range weapons such as nail-covered baseball bats. This is a weapon I only thought I’d ever see in zombie films or Batman comics. Across the street from Clark’s is the MegaMart. Similarly, most of the shelves are barren, but I’ve been able to stock up on the few canned goods that remained. I used their shopping carts to transfer supplies across to...

Every morning I watch as the sun creeps up the horizon’s foggy glow and the moon tiptoes back to sleep. I make sure that I rise early enough in the morning to catch these fleeting moments. Once the sky has settled, I turn and slunk back down the alley toward my flimsy tin shack. I rub my eyes and take a nip of water from my canteen. After pushing the shelf I use as a door out of the way, I set my rifle by the wall and lay down on the worn cotton lump that I call a mattress. The night prior was as dreadfully cold as any other. I remember the wind rattling the aluminum lining of my shack, keeping me awake and alert. I had to put on a third layer of pants and fourth sweater before I was able to fall back asleep. My dreams once again startled me to bolt up in a sweaty jolt of fear. Perhaps that is why I began rising so early in the morning. I check my watch and mark my calendar. My journal helps me take my mind off the horrendous world surrounding me. It has become an escape for me...