Perished Provenance

I told you earlier the events of a few days ago...near the end of it all. However, now that I start to convince myself there will be a future, I should share with you the past.

July 06, 2012

Events have happened recently to prompt me into keeping a journal. "These are historic times." I've heard that throughout my life. I've seen the phrase uttered in movies of my past, movies of my parents' past. Yet today it can be said without hyperbole. We, humanity that is, have entered into a new world. This world, so different than yesterday's, cannot be described to a person from the past. As a person of the present I find it incomprehensible. But perhaps a person in the future, should there exist a future, could interpret and explain the recent happenings.

I write this just having witnessed the death of my best friend, so pardon me if my handwriting is a bit shaky. He and I grew up together, and until today we were colleagues. He possessed great skill. Ironically, I, a man of science, would refer to his gift as magic. He, a man of faith, described it as nothing more than routine surgery. The lives he saved are countless. Most should never have made it. But there was something to his touch. It was more than great skill with a scalpel. He had a gift. Had I died in his place, he'd be out saving lives, not writing a journal. Unfortunately for mankind, he drew the short straw.

It started with fire falling from the sky and water rising out of the ground. The unity of the two opposing forces would theoretically bring about an equilibrium in which the water would put out the fire and the fire would dry the water. My friend and I stood outside his house, expecting that to happen. In reality, it brought turmoil. The water quickly flooded buildings, blasting them with waves. People were thrown in every direction. The fire fell into the water without extinguishing. A slight touch with the fire and my friend burst into flames before my eyes. The water lifted him high above me and slammed him through a glass window. Then I felt myself being lifted up.

I found myself with five other people, thrown by the waters, onto a top of a building. It was a building I had never seen before. From that location I could see the waters lowering, until there was no more water. And in the sky I could see the dissipation of the fires, and they finally stopped. It brought little relief as the image they left behind was unbearably bleak. Burnt bodies soaking in debris and blood lined the horizon. The image that frightened me most was that of a white labrador impaled on a bent street sign post through his left eye. His teeth were visible and he looked angry, as though he was ready to rip the street sign apart.

Next came a noise. It was like nothing I had heard before. It started pleasantly with a melodious bellow and a high-pitched hum that echoed inside my body. The higher tone grew louder. A man nearby me started to scream, holding his hands to his ears. As the bellowing bass slowed its rhythm, the man started to run. He ran over the edge and fell to his death. I could see his body lying in the parking lot, his hands still held to his ears.

I began to feel pain resonating through me. The hum became even higher and louder. It seemed to split into several fragments, as though it was a frayed cloth. Each strand sounded with great intensity. Those on the building with me were all covering their ears. Some had fallen to their knees, while one was wallowing in a puddle of his own blood. Suddenly, I fell flat on my back, struck down by the sound. It was as though I was hit in the head by a whole note thrown by some dreadful instrument. Staring up into the purple sky I could smell roses as I closed my eyes.

I awoke to silence. My first thought, my first hope, was that it had all been a dream. But as I stood up I could see that my nightmare was reality.

"Over here!" a man yelled. I glanced behind me to see an extremely obese man waving me over. "We can go down the fire escape, into the building."

I staggered toward him. Following me were two women. It seemed the four of us were all that was left of our merry band of six. Perhaps we were all that was left of humanity. By the look of the scenery, it would be very likely. As I stepped off the side of the building onto the iron stairwell, I glanced down at the street corner below. There was the post that had held the labrador, but there was no sign of the dog.

We all used the fire escape to enter into the building. The interior looked good. There was no sign that anything had happened. I found this notebook in a desk drawer. It belonged to someone named Claire Coleman, an international account specialist. The notebook was empty, but the cover had "Journal" written in red marker. I don't know why she never got around to writing anything in it. Perhaps she was waiting for something to happen worth writing about. Wherever she is, I hope she finds another notebook, as I'm sure she has something to write about now.