Time

The Compiled Journals of Partner Lem 

Day 112, 0 NE

Since the Calming, the trips, and films, and Wednesday nights at the bar, and all the other distractions are gone. Our days are filled with plodding travel; our hours with finding and preparing food, and the continual repair of machines slumping inexorably towards decay.

There are still point power sources here and there; off-the-grid homes, disconnected solar arrays, and the like. At first, people huddled around them like a warm fire or cool watering hole. But what good is a charged tablet if there is no network to connect to? We have begun to lose interest.

If I had told my previous self that his days would be spent in a continual silent fight against hunger and entropy, he would have done everything in his power to avoid it. An atrophied body fears the pain of exertion. A distracted mind fears the introspection of silence.

But with no clocks and nothing left to separate one day from the next, my actions change with the seasons, I wake with the sun, my heart beats out the seconds. I am no longer time’s slave; I am its meter and measure.

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