text: -First Log of Day 202,777,575- During the month of May, the sun rises at approximately 5:28 AM. It begins as a hazy smudge of molten orange and gradually bathes the world in a sharp luminescence as the hour spans on. I’ve noticed that the sun has come to arrive much earlier now than in the winter months. If I was younger I might have pursued this phenomenon with a more able-bodied enthusiasm. Although my outward appearance has remained unchanging, my once smooth joints have become sluggish and spasmodic. The sunlight has begun to lack that wonderful rejuvenating aura it once did. Rather than pondering the timing of the sunrise, I only wake earlier. -Second Log of Day 202,777,575- There are things to be done. The house must be readied and food must be scavenged. It has never been known when the guests shall arrive. It would go against proper formality to greet them with clutter and no snacks. Of course, the house was cleaned yesterday... and the snacks were never eaten. But who’s to say guests will not come today! As someone I can’t recall once said, “ By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.” -Third Log of Day 202,777,575- The windows are dirty. They’re always dirty. The morning light irradiates the grime tauntingly. I thought it would finally give today. Yet, no matter how much I scrub it hasn’t budged. It sits there... aflame with that molten orange, mocking. -Fourth Log of Day 202,777,575- Sojourner always loved mornings. She used to prance about from room to room waving a fluffed cloth chasing after dust. When she was done the tiny particles would always glitter in the light. Sojourner would say they reminded her of stars. She had been the oldest of us, but she was always the most excitable. Bitterly, I’ve begun to recall her longing eyes more than her smile. Because she was the first of us Sojourner was the first to leave. She wrote--for a little while--but communications quickly ceased. Like her name, she was a person who resided only temporarily... in our lives and her own. -Fifth Log of Day 202,777,575- Before you know it, morning slips into noon. The sun is high and at its brightest. Midday in best days to provide the finishing touches on the food and general order of the house. The light is irritatingly cherry. It reminds me of Spirit. A shiny little fool. When Spirit was still around, it was common to decorate the doorways of our homes and sometimes even the table. Spirit often favored streamers. She enjoyed the way they sparkled in the sun. “Like beacons! ” She would say, “ They will guide the lost guests to the propper house!” I was inclined to agree with her logic. In a land bathed with light, something shiny was bound to stick out. I also believed our guest to be rather... misplaced. Spirit had been our emotion, our character, our soul. Yet as the second eldest, she was the second to leave. She took our hope as she fled with the noon. I have never hated my sisters... but a certain inner torment did arise. Spirit kept in sporadic contact but eventually, she got ill from her journey. It hurts less to say she just faded away. -Sixth Log of Day 202,777,575- Afternoons are the time after which the guest should have arrived; when the sun is setting. The moldy food is placed in the fridge that long ago stopped working. The table that is more moss than wood is casually brushed down. The decaying house is to be neatly tidied up before I am allowed the freedom of the outdoors. Afternoons had always been Perseverance’s favorite time. She told me that when the light was fading and when the moon was just beginning to become brighter, that if any guest were to show up it would be then. I never understood her logic, but I’m not too nice to admit that she was my favorite sister. She stayed by my side the longest. All the same, she left with the fading day. Perseverance, the youngest, kept in much better contact than our two incorrigible elder sisters. She’s still in contact. I’ve always been more proud of that than any of her glorious adventures while searching for our guests. I hope she soon finds them. -Seventh Log of Day 202,777,575- It is the night that is my favorite time. The darkness. The coolness. The silence. I would rather become one with the many murky shadows that roamed that crumbling house than be exposed to my sibling’s beloved light. I’ve grown tired of it. The light has become painful. Tiredness. Memories. Hope. It is pleasing to watch the stars without the concerns of a weak roof and mice hogging the moth-eaten covers. Neither do I need to worry about the strange scuttling coming from within the cracked drywall. I would much rather concern myself with the slow movement of the night sky than listen to the raccoons arguing in the attic. Sometimes when I locate a star that perhaps is just barely moving faster than the others I behave rather illogically. (I’ve begun to blame my sisters for my growing lack of logical thought and action.) I’ll cross my fingers and squeeze my eyes as tight as they go. It’s the only way to take wishes seriously. On this night it is much harder to make it up the hill. My precious secret spot feels far on with my stiff joints. I make it, I always do, but tonight there's a finality in my arrival. The grass is cooler than normal as I lay on it and the stars are covered in clouds. My empty Earth feels darker. With Perseverance away from home am I the final remnant of humanity on this forsaken planet? It hardly matters. Perhaps someday someone will discover this half-hearted diary. It hardly matters. I close my aching eyes and plunge into a dark unknown. -Final Log of Day 202,777,57 6 - Tonight I don’t wish, my beloved log. ~Curiosity