Back to the cabin
On bad days, like today, it occurs to me that this planet on which we have landed, this Godforsaken place, this land of the giants, will be our home for the rest of our lives. Our home and our final burial ground. Fitzhugh will be the first to go, I think. The running, the climbing, the stress of being hunted - his heart can't take much more. Actually he's not my main concern, cruel as that may sound.
Barry, that's the one that really hurts. He's just a child, but circumstances are forcing him to become an adult overnight. He's as sharp as a tack, and always eager. God, he's more reliable than a dozen Fitzhughs - I hate seeing his life wasted. Barry will never get to drive his first car, or go to the prom with his best girl.
And that's another thing - amazingly, love seems to be flourishing in this war zone. Mark and Val. They think they're keeping it hidden, but we all see it. The quick kisses, the lingering touches. It's sort of ironic. Mark and Val are the two most stubborn, self-centered, pessimistic people I've ever met. I guess it isn't always opposites that attract. They're out there right now, 'gathering firewood'. Lord, if you're listening, thank you for giving them the comfort of each other's arms, but we already have seven mouths to feed, please don't let them make it eight. A baby would never survive out here. A baby needs too many things. I couldn't stand it, the added responsibility.
Sometimes I feel like I'm being crushed. There are too many decisions to be made. Who'll look for food? How far should we go? Should we venture into the city? They expect too much of me. They expect me to know all and see all. I am not allowed to make a mistake. I am not allowed to make a wrong choice. I'm tired already! Tired of it all.
On bad days, like today, I hope I'm the first to die.
Written by Cynthia Liljeblad, Summer 1990