It is the end as we know it.

All the things we knew are gone. All the things we held dear are nothing but rubble. All the people we loved are dead or dying. We are the last ones left.

I am writing this journey entry as a final testament. Maybe someday humanity will rebuild itself and they will find this journal. Maybe they’ll keep it as a reminder of our end and their beginning, or maybe it will become one with the dust. I don’t know. All that I know is that I and these other people I am with will probably not last.

It is grim, I know, but I have interpreted death differently than others. It is a part of life. Everything dies. Friends, family, animals, plants, you, and I. We all die. I try not to think of it in the way everyone usually does. It makes the pain less.

This is different though. Millions of people are dead. Everything is dead. If it’s not dead yet it will be soon. Like us.

How the world came to an end was the typical movie version. Weather became our worst enemy. Famine followed afterwards. People rioted. Diseases broke out. Hospitals shut down. People died by the millions. That is how the end came. Now all we have is this pile of rubble and dust.

My name is Sandra. Sandra Claris. I am a journalist for a now forgotten newspaper. I guess you can say I am your typical journalist. The only thing I am missing is the glasses. I have them, of course, but I refuse to wear them. I only need them for seeing things far away anyways.

You wouldn’t think the journalist would survive this long. Usually she dies early on or hooks up with the main character and reveals herself to be a beautiful model. Ha. I am not that beautiful, and there is no main character here. There is only me and this group of people.

This group is meant to fail. We are a ragtag group of adults all with different but useless skills. None of us know how to build forts nor do we know how to find food. Try we might, I already know we are meant to die. Most of us are sick already. I am one of them.

I am dying. I can feel my life slipping away bit by bit. Some would be upset by this, but I have come to accept it. I have come to accept that I will die. It is all right. At least I get to go wherever people go when they die. I hope that world is better than this one.

So goodbye, and good luck.