Chaos evolves

To create something new, must something else really die? To be reborn, must there always be pain? Why must change breed so much fear? And is it within this fear that we find ourselves needing a God? One definable point to which we may go for guidance, to lay the blame, to project our demand for reason, for purpose? In these hardest of times, I drown in questions, fear, until change brings it's movement, it's voice. Until chaos evolves into hope, by way of faith, friendship and the simple will, to keep going.

Does matter not the 'why'?

A fog has slowly settled upon my spirit. Dense with chill, it provokes tension within me. A fear of all I cannot see through it's opacity rumbles in my belly, a beast waking. Though the time is fine, rain comes, rain goes, floods have not yet risen to destroy, so why? I ask, why? To sleep to perish, or to cry? Wither slowly & die? Tomorrow's rain or brightening sun, none can burn this fog undone. Does matter not the 'why'? For a cure then, cry these eyes, cry.

Marcus

Marcus is everyone's best friend, when he needs something, or you do. And, so it seems, Marcus always finds whatever it is that is needed. Either by his personality of persuasion, his creative problem solving skills or his ways of business bartering, he finds what is sought every time. Most agree they feel he cannot be fully trusted, such is the way with any merchant that has come before, though. His abilities are so useful to so many that we find ourselves constantly in his debt, each in his or her own way, to the appreciation and disdain of all.

Forced to forage.

We are the survivors of the greatest movement of land that our recorded history has ever witnessed. No one is quite sure the details of this fallout, but we know our former maps are now in essence useless. There exists now water where should be land, mountains where once were plains, roads have split and nature has recaptured so much already. With each day of our travels, we have attempted to rediscover and remap this new land within which we are forced to forage. People are now scattered across foreign countrysides, unprepared for such suddenly independent survival. So many have died in the quakes and subsequent fires, flooding and anarchy. Survivors of these after effects were then faced with a yet deadlier battle, one our group has come to conquer, it seems - the search for potable, or in any way treatable, drinking water.

City of reputation

We are brought news of other new "towns" similar to ours by travelers passing between and beyond. One, we heard, has a type of military leadership, to which a transient's requests for temporary stay are all but ignored. The number of people inside, and as to each's willingness or desire to be or remain within the town is still unknown to us. How a city with such reputation even comes to be, after all that's been lost and learned, is beyond me. And yet, our group is not naive enough to be blind to this, life's little reminder to us, that our new home has not a guarantee of safe haven. Precautions must be taken, a consensus determined, by all in our community, as to where we stand should dire immediate decisions need to be made to ensure the safety of as many of our group as possible.

Fabric of our futures

Our colony is on a round, flat oval of ground, encased in light brush and trees around it, set in a small valley beside what appears to be a consistent source of safe drinking water from a stream. We started building on this seemingly solid land we have found. Thoughts of hope, mixed with anticipation, thread through our camp, weaving this new colony into the fabric of our futures. Beyond our first buildings new buildings, we have cleared three large plots for fields. It feels like something out of a movie... "Movie", a word some of the children might no longer even remember... Building temporary shelters wasn't hard for our experienced and strengthening limbs, but engineering permanent structures has been a project greatly discussed and debated. After all the movement of earth we have witnessed, the ever changing terrain we have traveled, to assume we know what to expect in even the coming year alone would be suicidal. None can predict the moods of the seasons in this new place, the ferocity of wind, rain or snow we may be forced to endure, or what groups of people may come across us here in this valley. Survival, we have learned, is not only ensuring water, food and warmth for all, but also, defense of all.

Mary Beth

Mary Beth always has a plan. A solution. A suggestion for a better way of doing, well, just about anything, really. And any hardship we might encounter could have been prevented or avoided had we simply listened to Mary Beth, at least according to her. The problem that has developed is that her ideas generally are not realistic, revealing much naivety in life prior to our meeting. In our current situation, she resents any who do not bow to her desires for personal placation. Ideas accepted by the group after much debate and discussion, yet not her own, are met with her righteous disapproval, though they are tolerated out of survival instinct, I imagine.

Echoing Valley

A new page, a new day, met with a new sound on the horizon. His men marched to a beating drum as they traveled. How many footsteps it prompted was masked by echoing valley's mimicking percussion.

Dirty faces & far away places

We had crossed paths with other survivors before. Some trying to stay alive but staying alone. But most, like us, have banded together however chance fated. Hodgepodges of ages, sizes, colors & shapes, dirty faces & tales of far away places - such are life's visitors now. We offer welcome, friendship, what little we have to offer. Some stay & travel alongside us, while others keep on in their own chosen direction. But each new face offers hope for a future we often question inside ourselves.