The Last Journal Entry

September 20th

Everything is changing. The same as every year, it starts with the colors. Amber splotches grow and spread through the trees and the green fades from the ground cover, leaving a dull gray blanket across the land. Nonetheless, it's always been my favorite part of the year. The whole world seemed to be getting ready to rest its weary head. God knows it needs rest.

These days there isn't much to do but sit and ruminate on things, and I've grown quite fond of observing the changes around my small cottage. For years I've watched the ebb and flow of life as it's developed and come to thrive. The flocks of migrating birds and butterflies grow larger and larger, and as they conquer the sky, so too is the land below under conquest. Those furry things that scurry and climb in branches likewise have claimed their homes, livening the canopy of the forest with their constant rusting and scuttling that created a sort of hum in the warm hours of the day. The creatures that tred the earth push their borders, roaming far and wide across the land. Many animals I've seen roam into my hamlet and many I've never seen again after they had their fill of what this place had to offer. But of all the creatures that roam here, it is the deer that I find the most elegant. They were some of the first animals I observed venturing into my little hamlet and have since blossomed into a healthy population. Every year I'd see more fawns and calves traipsing through the shrubbery and for a long time they hadn't a need to be watchful for predators. But soon they were not only traipsing but being chased. Dogs, mostly, but on occasion I've seen the odd coyote and heard their shrill howls carry across the night air. But the scuttling of wildlife slowed as the winds whipping through the trees began to cool and this time of year it was rare to see either deer, dog, or any of the other small creatures that have had such a startling conquest.

More startling still is the change in plant life. Few things I've seen have been able to exert such aggression, yet practice such patience, as a plant with space to grow. The trees have always been here but the grass and shrubs had to claw back their hold on the soil. Their campaign was swift and ruthless, starting with the grass. It seemed to find its way into every crack and crevice and pushed at them, eventually overtaking the stone. Then the shrubs, riding upon the victories of their allies, took root and claimed their place. Soon the landscape was painted a lush green and buzzed with insects. Then the green was suddenly overtaken by beautiful splashes of crimson, yellow, and blue. Through the seasons the flowers would die and bloom in cycles. New colors would cover the grass and then, as if deciding that their hue did not quite accent the space well enough, they'd move on. Currently, the flowers are purple, thistle-like oddities that wag wildly in the breeze. 

The horizon has seemingly shrunk over the years. The tips of the trees now stretched into the sky and their branches cascaded down under the weight of knarled vines. They made a thick net of the trees and pulled them into a mass that seemingly moved as one when the wind hit it. The city buildings that had once dominated the horizon are now just barely visible past the tops of the trees.

My favorite building in that once imposing skyline, a hexagonal glass superstructure that is often obscured by cloud cover, glistened like a beacon atop the forest. Its partial collapse had left it with a jagged silhouette and I often muse that it is the great upturned fang of some long-dead beast deep in the heart of the woods. The many stories my imagination has made with this thought are partially why it is my favorite. Admittedly, it is not so much my favorite as it is burned into my memory. Back when it was necessary to go into the city, I was returning to my hamlet and perched upon a highway that overlooked the city when I heard that great churning sound rumble across the landscape. The road led directly into the city, and from my vantage point, I could see down the streets that were covered in pieces of the once-great buildings that towered above them. The top of the hexagonal building sat at a precarious angle and jutted into the street. It hung over the surrounding buildings like a threat. Soon it would join the great shards and rubble that littered the city streets. Again the great moan of the building's steel skeleton finally succumbing to its age rang out in warning. Then all at once, the building set itself to motion, steel grinding like a great dying beast as the top lurched towards the ground, tumbling into the rest of the structure and exploding the glass panels into a shimmering snowfall that misted in the sky. The largest piece of the ruin fell and as it did an eerie silence overtook the city for what seemed like a lifetime. It almost looked weightless somehow as it fell. The silence broke as the debris barreled into an adjacent building and seemingly dissolved into powder, leaving behind a great ominous hole where it met its end. The scene settled and stillness returned long enough for me to almost turn heel and make my way. But then the sound of rain came. There was no rain though, I quickly realized, though I think one would forgive me for making the mistake. Listening more intently, it was those thousands of shards of glass shattering all at once as they finally met the ground from the top of the building among the clouds, falling in waves. It washed across the city as the last of the rubble settled.

I then decided to no longer be interested in the city.

The great roads stacked upon themselves, however, I particularly enjoy. They weave across the land like rivers and some isolated overpasses, collapsed on either side, stand looming over the land like floating islands. Various vines and ferns hang from their edges as if reaching for the richer soil below. They now make a haven for animals that can make the climb, isolating them from the predators below.

In my youth, I had camped atop one of these great islands for several weeks. In my time there I couldn't shake the feeling that I was an invisible observer walking amongst a distant world. The birds would not flutter when I approached. They would meet my gaze for but a moment and carry on about their business without a fuss. Neither would the squirrels flee from me or any other animals I encountered there. The entirety of the place was beautiful. The sight of the sun setting on the horizon of the forest from atop my own smaller, but no less magnificent forest made the whole place thick with an air of magic. It did cross my mind to stay at that spot and try to make something of it, but alas, the lack of any source of water but rain became a problem.

In any case, it was of little use to try to make something of anything however beautiful it was. For all the hard work it would have taken to live there, it would have been my tomb. I figured I'd find a place to die a lazy man.

At least my tomb would be peaceful in my hamlet. That couldn’t be said for the rest of humanity who were sequestered to those concrete monstrosities hidden deep in the earth. The last breath of civilization was spent building prisons of iron and stone to hide away from the world they built in. That world rots now, nothing but ghosts to chatter in the cities, spinning tales of how great they were.

I should indeed count myself lucky to die in the open air among the trees.

Humanity should count itself lucky that it won’t come to an end at the bottom of a hole.