Entry
1 - Day 1
I
know not what has befallen me. I fear that the devil�s curse has captured my
soul and will not release me to my peace. My life has been set to ruin.
Perhaps,
I should start this first entry with a brief explanation of my torturerous existence.
Impossible as it may seem, these words reflect the truth as my mind remembers
it.
I
was borne in the Kansas territory in our lord�s� time of 1858. At a very early year I was carried by my parents to
acreage in southern Missouri to be reared. I passed my days with the chores and
responsibilities of farm life, even up to the passing of my parents.
It
was an early spring day. I lost track of time behind� plow in the lower east field. I was caught unawares of the storm
clouds building, blocked by the ridge behind me. I finally took note of the
clouds during a stop to rest the mule. I heard the terrible thunder. Setting
the animal free to seek cover, I raced toward my two room shanty. At that
instant, I saw a flash, and was thrown from my feet. I have not seen my home
since.
This
morning I woke, as I have every morn since this began, in a place that I hadn�t
seen before. This time. the heat was unbearable and I don�t really know if it
was the bright sunlight or the sweat beading on my face that woke me. A dilapidated
building, a house , was the only structure in sight � in fact it was the only
thing in sight.
Bare
ground was visible from horizon to horizon. Trees, flowers, animals, nothing
was to be found. In the short walk to the doorstep, I noted not a sign of birds
or a blade of grass. Wind, hot as if it was blowing from a field afire, blew
fine dirt grains, instead of smoke and ashes,�
around me and into my eyes and mouth.
The
door opened grudgingly, encouraged by a shove with my shoulder. The hinges creaked,
loud in the silence. Even with the blinding brightness outside, the room was
dim, the window glass pitted and dimmed from the abrasion of the dirt.
Furniture was torn, tattered, destroyed, almost unrecognizable.
I
wandered from room to room, slightly more than half a dozen in all, looking for
some indication of what misfortune had befallen the former inhabitants. Not a
hint was found. Nor was there fluid to drink or scrapes to eat.
It
was in a corner, covered be fallen debris , that I found this book and pencil.
The first pages had once been covered by writing that had long since faded.
These are the pages that I now record this tale.
There
is little to do here now. I sit, my back to the wall, head in hands. Sweat
pours from my body, but my clothes dry almost instantly in the dry air.
I
write these words down and when complete I will secure the tome inside my
shirt. Then I will lay down and pray that sleeps takes me.
You
see this is the way it happens. When I wake, it is often in a different place
than I fell asleep. My eyes have seen green lands, thriving cities, crafts that
fill the sky, and dead bodies covering battlefields. I witness the glories of
man�s birth and surely this day is after his death.
I
write this down in hope that it will prove or disprove the clearness of mind.
If these are dreams, then surely the book will be gone and the demons are ones
I have created for myself. If the diary�
still remains, then I am in the one true hell.
May
God have mercy on my soul.