Dear Diary,

I was so excited about finding the diary at the mall; I ran all the way home to the school. The small things in life bring me joy these days. Sadly, everyone I wanted to see was out; which is unusual. I started to wonder if I had forgotten to be somewhere.

I ran up the steps to the second floor and into the admin offices to find a guard on duty. I found no guard but the resident hamster spinning in his cage.

“Mr. Hamster, I don’t suppose you know where everyone has gone?” The hamster gave no reply but continued to spin.

“Fine, don’t answer me!”

I stepped into the hall and yelled “Is anybody home?” The silence was deafening. In my head, crickets were chirping.

My next stop was the media center, the Stewarts were always home. No stranger couple of three has ever existed. Marty and Gretchen have competing IQs. Their genius stirs conversation way above my level of understanding. Cecelia has a knack for fashion and organizing things. She is not very brainy but in true motherly fashion holds the little family together.

The Stewarts prefer to keep to themselves but I knocked anyway, waited a moment and knocked again. I started to knock a third time when Marty answered the door with an irritated look on his face.
“Can I help you?” He inquired. His face had the look of “Why the hell are you bothering us?”

Cecelia and Gretchen peeked around Marty’s shoulders and in unison sad, What do you want?” There are days when I get no respect at all but I wasn’t going to be persuaded to leave without sharing.

I held up my diary. ” I found this at the mall and it only cost 2 batteries and a bouncy ball!” I was so excited to share my find I started dancing in the hall.

Marty looked down his freckled nose at me and shook his head. “You were robbed.”

I was going to defend my bartering skills when the media center door slammed shut.

Yours Truly,
Madie

Dear Diary,

Today has been a good day. I found a new diary. This one!!! I’ve been writing my thoughts on random pieces of paper I plucked from the trash. It’s a horrible way to write. Keeping track of the assortment of papers is nearly impossible.

The mall grounds were crowded today. I think every gang and solitary drifter from who knows how far away gathered to trade. Fighting was minimal considering the number of people that were haggling over junk. As usual, makeshift kiosks and an assortment of tables lined the rows of the parking lot. The moment I stepped into the crowd the putrid stench of gutter-rats attack my nose. The smelly thieves were everywhere. Cunning and sneaky, the little pests hunt in well-organized packs.
Shortly after I started browsing the tables a commotion caught my attention. At the end of my row was an overturned table and a girl on the ground holding a crying baby. I put my hands in my pockets and backed away. I knew it was a trick by the gutter-rats, I have seen this particular act of drama before. Without a doubt dirty hands entered the pockets of several unsuspecting bargain hunters today. I’ve been a victim of their pilfering in the past but not anymore I’m wise to their mischievous ways.

Several rows of tables later I spy a diary with a key lock. I joyfully grabbed the book from the table.
The proprietor of the table was a skinny boy of 16 or 17. “Watcha gotta trade?” he inquired as he straightened his baseball cap. Without a doubt, the boy thought he would take me for everything I own.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the two batteries I won in a poker game a few nights back. “I’ve got these!” I tried to sound enthusiastic with my offer. Please note, I don’t excel in acting. I don’t have much of a poker face either.

The boy looked at the batteries and rolled his eyes. “You’re offerin two batteries?” He snatched the book from my hands. “No deal!”

I took a deep breath and retrieve a small bouncy ball from my pant’s pocket. “How about this?” I bounced the ball on the ground a couple of times. “You could bounce this all day and never get bored.”

The thought of not getting the diary send a pain into my stomach. “what’s a boy going to do with a diary, anyway?”

In the end, I successfully bartered. You are perfect. A bit scratched and worn but none of your pages has a mark.

Yours Truly,

Dear Diary, 

It’s been four years since my world fell apart. I remember the chaos as if it were yesterday. The craziness started with the evening news mentioning several patients at the local hospital were sick with a respiratory virus. A day or two later, my father came home from work and said the hospital was under quarantine.

My friends and I didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation. We jumped for joy when school administrators closed our school because of illness. I loved my teacher Mrs. Schmidt but thrilled to be free of homework for at least a week. I never did return to school.

Yours Truly,
Madie

The Awakening
My name is Ghent. I remember nothing prior to the time of my awakening; during my first conscious moments, my mind attempted to search for answers. I was not afraid but lost in blankness; there were no images to retrieve, no clue to my predicament. Limited to a space no larger than a casket, movement was minimal; I used my hands to search for a button or a lever that would allow escape from my captivity. While blindly searching the walls, a light above my head began to flash and change in color from red, to yellow, to green. The hatch released allowing external air to rush in; the sudden change in air pressure caused my lungs to take a series of unexpected deep breaths. The inhalation of fresh air was invigorating. I reached out and pushed the hatch aside. My first images of freedom were a metal grey ceiling lined with pipes and recessed lighting. Curious about my surroundings coupled with the desire to flee my confinement I sat up. To my surprise, I was not alone.

A room of strangers, both male and female from various places of origin, we looked at each other uncertain what to say. When words were finally spoken the language unfamiliar but recognizable to all. My first attempts to speak in retrospect were comical. I started and stopped sentences several times in an attempt to fix the malfunction in my brain. The words in my head English but what springs forth from my mouth is not.

I look around nothing is familiar. A placard on the wall suggests we are in a place called Dannick. None of us remembers entering the pods; our minds blank in regards to past events. Attempts to brain storm for answers ineffective; our imaginations run wild with possibilities. We can only speculate as to how, when or why our destinies collided in this place.

Our matching jumpsuits suggest we are members of a group possibly inmates or an elite band of warriors. I prefer to think we are the later or something comparable in respectability. I do not wish to be a criminal.

Collectively we decided to explore our surroundings. I suggest we are on a military vessel or in the deep dark depths of a research facility or possibly a fallout shelter; although a logical reason for being in either of those places is not apparent. I step toward the only door leading out of the room; it slides open. Two armed guards prevent my exit. The guards looked as if they were ready to shoot anyone that stepped out of line. I step away from the door.

Captain Addison enters the room; with all the joy of a proud father and exclaims “Welcome to the Dannick!” He called us recruits and congratulated us on finding our way here. My mind is confused. I try to remember what I have forgotten, to make sense of my circumstance. Captain Addison makes it sound as if we are here by choice. He seems nice enough but I feel as if all is not what it seems. I am a recruit for this vessel but something deep within says I do not belong here.

She was 15, and a talented graphic artist. The old man was retiring and selling his grocery store. He no longer needed a grocery clerk to clean and stock the shelves. Grateful for three years of honorable service, he labeled her flier as reliable, smart and pretty. She wished he had left off “Pretty”. Pretty attracted the wolves. Her portfolio held tightly in her hands, she prayed her new prospective buyer would have a need for her artistic talent.

The old man paid for a commercial endorsement highlighting her talents as a graphic artist. The ad would run on the large viewing screens three times during the day.