diary entry no. one
It’s been two weeks since we crashed into this absolute nothingness of a landscape. At one time I would have said how amazing it was, how otherworldly, how perfectly reflective. Now, it's only so cold we can hardly breath. At least most of the crew can lick the ice cubes that hang from their beards. Unfortunately I don’t have this gift.
There are many things I am still afraid to say out loud, even worse to say in writing. This journal is tucked into my clothes. I wear it. Around here we can only hide what is tucked inside the twenty layers of clothing we constantly have tethered to our bodies. And although no one knows about the peanuts in my pocket, I bet all of us have peanuts stashed in our pockets. Just ask. Follow the trail, like Hansel and Gretel. I wish it were that easy for us.
We're finally waking up from the fog of the crash, gaining a bit of clarity after the shock, the death, the injuries. We realize that physically hypothermia and frostbite are our biggest enemies. And psychologically learning to forge for food and sticking together as a group are extremely important.
Yesterday we buried the pilot at sunrise. I wish I still had the words and heart to say it was a beautiful moment.
It was a beautiful moment.
I felt our spirits rise after this event. It gave us all some courage.
Today we tore out the rest of the useless remains from the plane wreck and actually began to build something we can call home. Everyone gave up some clothing for insulation and we began to make pockets to organize and store what is important. At the moment this means a few tools, books, and the drop of whiskey left in the bottle. Our new insulation will help keep in what little heat is generated over night, with all of us curled up in a mash, breathing thick and heavy dreams of warmth and home.
Speaking of dreams, I keep having the same one, like a rerun every night. In the absolute dark I am out on the ice wandering around. The moonlight lights my way. Suddenly a small village of strange shacks floats up in front of me. All of them have warm lights glowing in their windows and mythological beings are singing karaoke. I am in there with them; their big carved horns and furry coats brush up against me. I am singing Joy Division and I wake up.
The morning is the hardest reality. It is also the most beautiful light.
We held our first meeting today since the accident. Each of us agreed to take on certain aspects of daily living and to teach each other the skills we know and will learn. Now that we all have jobs to do our lives will be structured around survival. This will keep us going for a while. This will keep us strong and hopeful.
For a while.
I wish we had a croquet set.
Posted by S.U.R.V.I.V.A.L. at 11:39 PM