Who We'd Die For

If You're Out There Somewhere

Chronicle 1

Helix X-2 64

I'd like to tell you at what time it is that I am writing this letter. I really would. Maybe it would help you put things into perspective. Hell, maybe it would even put things into perspective for me. Unfortunately, I have literally lost track of what time it is. . . Just like we lost our one and only functioning watch somewhere in the middle of wraith-infested woods a couple of weeks ago. Needless to say... that wasn't my fault. But we are never, ever going to get it back.

I'd love even more so to tell you where it is that I am writing you from, but guess what? I have no clue about that either. When it comes to maps anymore, they're rather useless really.

But I'm going to take a guess here and tell you that it's almost the end. All of this, everything, it's almost over. Whether that be just for me, for him, for everyone left, if there's anyone. . . I can't tell you. But this is it. This letter is the record of the final countdown, those last precious days that stretched into seconds and then got lost somewhere along the way. If we're being honest, I never thought we'd make it this far. But if I knew what I know now, am I so certain that I would have tried?

I have gone through my entire existence believing in a single truth. Life is but a series of befores and afters. Which one we live in. . . well, that choice is up to you. Looking back now, I find it sort of ironic the way I had always viewed life before and now after the whole world went to hell in a hand basket. Sitting here telling you about it now I almost. . . almost. . . feel like laughing out loud. I mean, I'm chuckling on the inside, I promise. What can I say? I have always had a twisted sense of humor.

Looking back at everything I have been through though, I still can't seem to figure out how when the apocalypse finally arrived and the world decided to crash at my feet. . . I managed to get stuck with him. Of all the few living, breathing, fairly-human, non-corpse beings left on this planet, for some odd and still unknown reason I manage to run into his lousy ass. Him of all people, I swear. I get irritated thinking about it even now. I still don't understand why it couldn't have been some gorgeous-movie star-action hero-crossbow-wielding-stereotypical-"I'm here to save you from impending doom" kinda guy. I have yet to find my end-of-the-world sidekick who has the insane survival skills and princely charm. Something tells me I'm not going to. I can handle myself easily, but as for right now, I'm stuck with dumb and dumber all wrapped into one slightly attractive but totally annoying member of the dwindling male species. Great.

In all seriousness, if that's even a word, before chaos became normalcy and death became a gift, I would never have possibly imagined spending the rest of my life with him, or at least what I could make of my life in all of its circumstances. I, in total honesty, would have rather endured the end of the world before I spent more than five minutes with him. Well, the universe sure did bite me in the ass there. Funny how that works. The world ends and he is, as far as I know, one of the last human beings left on this planet who is still moderately sane in a non-diseased sort of way. And naturally, given my lovely habit of constantly running headfirst into absolutely horrendous situations by total and complete accident, here I am writing to whomever you may be accompanied by literally the last person I wanted to survive the apocalypse with. Seriously, if you saw my mental list of doomsday buddies. . . 

He. 

Is. 

Literally. 

At. 

The. 

Very. 

Bottom.

But don't get me wrong, I appreciate having somebody. . . even if it must be him. But if you expect to hear some beautiful love story, don't get too excited. I tell the truth, not over-glorified stories of some prince saving my skin when I can do it myself. You just happen to get attached to someone when they're all you have to talk to, even though I still can't find it within me to forgive him for what happened. . . though sometimes I get more conversation out of a rock. You can generally get a syllable or two with the walking-boxes-of-rocks now inhabiting the earth before you mercifully "go for the knees". . . so to speak. 

I'm sure they had a life before it all that was wonderful and full of happiness, but I am almost certain that if I were to look the real them in the eye now, they would ask me to do what I do. It's not always the easiest when you can still see that little bit of life left in their eyes. It's like their soul is screaming from deep down in that rotting abyss that they're forced to live in torture with now. You can see the inner conflict tearing them to pieces while they're helplessly trapped. 

Alone. 

I guess my point is no matter how much I hate him, at least I still have some living person here to despise.

I guess. . . just if you take anything away from this. . .

Appreciate the befores and the afters.

Before it all, I couldn't even stand to hear him breathing.

After it all, when I had no choice but to endure the most catastrophic event in Earth's history since those poor dinosaurs. . . I need him. Desperately. So much more than I would ever like to admit. He is all I have. I couldn't live without him. The person I used to hate more than anyone else has saved my life more times than I can count. What more can I say than that?

If there's anything I have learned, it is to always, always embrace the before and the after, because you never know what you'll have in your heart from each of them. No matter what you thought you knew, that will always change once you discover the truth about all of your befores and afters.

The thing is though, the after that I am used to, it's changing. I can feel it in my bones and hear it in the wind that whispers over the barren landscapes. Something is happening. I know it. We didn't volunteer to save the world, but it looks like we have no choice now. I just know that change is coming. A revolution is well in the works and the fate of our world might just be resting on our shoulders. Oh, what fun is to live through the sort-of-zombie apocalypse.

Coming to you from the edge of oblivion,

Snow Adelaide