When civilization finally collapsed, the only thing I could think was that my husband would never let me hear the end of it. He had been predicting it for years, and I kept telling him he was paranoid. Because the human race, or at least the portion of it residing in the United States, was smarter than that.
Turns out I grossly underestimated the stupidity of humanity.
The saving grace that has made the last few months bearable is that the Liberals didn't start it.
He almost slept through it. I was laying in bed, playing mah jhongg solitaire on my tablet when I heard the first explosions. He had crashed out on the couch, watching reruns on Netflix. The sounds were distant at first, and since it was Saturday night, I attributed them to fireworks at the ball park. It wasn't until I heard the sirens going off everywhere, and then the jets deploying from the air force base 50 miles away, that I realized something big was happening.
I decided to start this journal because someone should record it... What happened, and how it feels for those of us caught in the middle, not taking a side, just trying to put the world back together.
History is never recorded from our point of view.
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This is the opening entry to my new serial novel, "The End of the World: And Other Stories" which will be published here every Wednesday, exclusively for my patrons! If you want to see what happens next, please consider subscribing. All levels are welcome and appreciated!