The Cabin by the River

April 3rd, 1958

The world ended a long time ago, children,” my Mother said whenever we asked about the outside world. I felt this response was a bit dry, but it was good enough for my siblings, so it should be good enough for me, right? I don’t talk much, and my Mother is a terrifying woman, so Piers, my twin brother, usually asks the question for me, but he’s dead now.

She is too, so I guess that isn’t really a problem.

There used to be six of us in this great old house of ours, but now there’s just two. Well, technically seven, but I don’t think it would be fair to count my Father. He left and just didn’t come back when I was a baby. Ever since, Mother has forbade us from going outside.

My oldest sister, Francesca, she told me stories about the outside. She was the only one old enough to remember it. Or, I guess she ‘is’, because she’s not dead, so saying ‘was’ would be inappropriate. I’m not good at grammar. I might slip up a couple of times, but I doubt it would matter too much, yes?

It’s not like anyone will see this journal.

Francesca gave me this, a couple days after everyone died. She said it would be good to catalogue my feelings in one, which was quite odd. Francesca usually tried to hit me with her shoe and ignore me and call me a freak before the deaths, and after the first week she just ignored me completely. I don’t know why she stopped loving me. Even before the deaths, she would at least make an effort to protect me from Mother whenever she got into one of her rages, but now, now it’s like I’m not even there.

But whatever- it’s ok! I don’t mind so much, I have my memories. My favorite memory was probably when I was around 12. Me and Piers shared a room, and he had come home late from the greenhouse. A little backstory, our home is sectioned into three parts- the actual house, with the bedrooms and such, the Greenhouse, where we keep our plants, and the Storehouse, where we store things. I only really think of the house part, with the kitchen and library and such, as home. You sleep in a home and cook in a home and live in a home. I guess you could cook in the Greenhouse, and maybe you could sleep there, but it would be much more uncomfortable than sleeping in a bed and cooking in a kitchen.

Now, you might assume I could get some glimpse of the outside world by merely looking out the window, or peeking through the glass in the Greenhouse, but no. Outside the glass, it just looks like T.V static. Sounds like it too- but it seems I’m the only one who hears it. Everyone else just sees it. I don’t know how- it’s really quite loud, and I have to wear headphones most times to keep the sound out.

The only reason I know so much about the outside world is through the library, and what a glorious library it is! Filled to the brim with books about things I could never hope to dream of, like a group of boys who got trapped on an island in the year of 1965. This is quite fascinating to me- how does the author know what happened in 1965 if it’s not 1965 yet?

I must admit, it has been April of 1958 for quite a while now. Ever since I can remember, the little calendar that hung behind the big, wooden desk in the library had the April page open. I had tried to flip it, but someone must have glued the pages together really well because there were no pages. It was quite odd.

We also have a black and white telly in the living room, where I watch shows that describe the states of America. It’s quite hard to listen too- they speak so fast I can barely understand them! But I appreciate it, because a glimpse of the world is still a glimpse of the world.

I’m not completely devoid of knowledge on the outside- I read a book about a place called Italy, and the pictures! Oh dear, the pictures. They are all black and white, but I like to run my fingers over them and imagine what it would be like to be there. It really is quite a shame the world ended in static- I would have quite liked to be a part of it.

Ahhh, I see I went off on a tangent. Please excuse me. Now, anyways, my favorite memory was when Piers had come home to our room late from the Greenhouse. Everyone had weekly chores, and his was to tend the plants. This was about two months before he died, so I don’t count this memory as soured. Every memory a month before they died is sour.

He looked quite tired, and I remembered what Margot, my other sister, told me earlier that week; “laughter is the best medicine.” I had read about a disease called ‘Insomnia,’ so I thought he needed some medicine. Margot, my second favorite sibling and first favorite girl and sister, also taught me Morse so I would not be yelled at by my mother for not communicating, and I tapped out;

“What do you call a fork that fell on the floor?”

Piers had turned to me, looking like a raccoon with the circles under his eyes. I also read about those. They are my favorite animal!

“Listen, I’m really tired A-“

But I interrupted him.

“A floork!”

He stared at me for a minute, and I stared back at him, a grin slowly forming on my face. Within seconds, we were hysterical, our eyes tearing up and our faces turning red. We were so loud we woke up Francesca, who was in the room next to us, and threw something heavy at the wall to get us to shut up. It worked, but we snickered to each other until the soft hand of Sleep brushed our cheeks and sent us gently into our dreams.

I do not try and take that memory out often- only when I’m really despairing. After all it is my favorite memory, and if I remember it too much it’s happiness might start declining!

However, as Margot used to say, “Not all of life will be so joyous.” O Diary, what a shame it must be to be subject to my inner thoughts! You may not feel it yet, for I have just begun to write in this after I cleaned my room and found it under a floorboard, but trust me, its coming.

The deaths of Annamarie, Francesca, Margot, Diane, and Piers Van Doren were neither merciless nor swift. I am just glad they didn’t stay alive to endure the torture longer. I really don’t know where I would be without Francesca- she saved me. I don’t know how she saved me- I went unconscious in a pool of blood that wasn’t just mine, and when I awoke, I was in my bed. I don’t have all my limbs- I lost an arm and a leg. Literally! I am a walking- actually, scratch that- I don’t walk much anymore. My post is on the couch. I have a cane, but it doesn’t do much to help me walk. Francesca made me a litrle peg-leg, but it helped about as much as the cane. I appreciate her effort, though.

I just miss my family. I know I cannot afford to dwell on them for too long, for I have a chance againsg a cold, but despair is quire another thing, bur it’s so hard. Piers was my best friend, my other half. Margot was my mentor, my teacher. I looked up to Mother. Diane was the first person to hold me.

I know I am still breathing, but I fear a part of me died that will never come back.