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 forming words in my mind and wrangling them into straight lines before I commit them to paper. Thinking like this is 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 used to be. The warning pings and ready chimes, the hush of fans, and incessant hum of power. Then it all fell silent and calm like we’d closed the door on a storm.
I miss graphs. I bet you find that bizarre—I certainly do—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.