From the compiled journals of Partner Lem

Day 7, 0 NE

Apparently, we’re supposed to write.
I don’t think I’ve done this since I was a child learning the alphabet and simple sentences in grade school.
I’m not used to structuring my thoughts this way, with all my ideas forced into straight lines, where all the things I write become permanent. I have to form my thoughts and words in my mind and shape them there before I commit them to paper. It’s slow, clumsy, and exhausting.
But we do seem to be living through historic times, and the System assured us that writing about it is important. I’ll do my best.

It’s hard to believe it’s only been eight days since the System died and everything grew quiet. Just a few days ago, the world was ordered, logical, and clean.
The transition from the systemic era to this new one was dramatic, even in the tiny town of Prower where Eryn and I happened to be at the time. I can only imagine what it must be like in the pop-centers right now. But since we’re several hundred miles from anywhere, and there’s no facts or stories or images, I wonder if we’ll ever know.

I never noticed how loud everything was. The warning pings and ready chimes, the hush of fans and ubiquitous incessant hum of power. Then it all instantly grew silent and calm as though we’d closed the door on a storm.

The one thing I find myself missing are graphs. I bet that seems bizarre—it certainly does to me—but there was a type of comfort I drew from knowing if the temperature, water consumption, or the death rate was on the rise or the decline. There was the sense that there was a structure underpinning the world, that the truth was knowable and comprehensible. So, yeah, I miss seeing a good solid trajectory.

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