Memento Vitae
In the year 3085, the world ended. Just like we knew it would. It started with the weather. As more and more pollution and carbon fumes were released into the atmosphere, the ozone layer dissipated, and the sun's rays were no longer sweet and warm but scorching. In the warmer countries, people stopped going out during the day. Things got even worse when the ice caps melted. Floods, death, destruction. After that came the famines and diseases. World War III was a fight for resources - water, fuel, food. Humanity was stripped of its very nature as every creature on this planet strove for survival. We were no longer superior to beasts but equals in our daily scavenging for nutrients. Day by day, death grew more and more widespread. It seemed like the planet itself was attempting to put an end to all living things so as to start anew. Little by little, all animals disappeared, then all edible plants, finally humans. It all came to an end, just as we had all predicted. At this point in time, you may be wondering who I am and how I am writing this. That is, if these writings are ever found once the world repopulates itself. Well, let me tell you how I lived. My father was a scientist, and my mother was a doctor. Both incredibly gentle souls, who never believed in violence, or the survival of the fittest doctrine Darwin was so keen to impose. From a young age, they instilled in me the knowledge that life was precious and that nothing mattered more than that very gift my mother and God had bestowed upon me. The year was 3081. I was 5 years old when my parents packed all they could carry and, unbeknownst to anyone, fled to a remote region of Reykjavik, Iceland. We were completely alone in a desolate land. My parents had begun to hoard years and years’ worth of canned goods and water in a large shed behind our cabin 5 years before I was born. How did they know you ask? Well, let's just say my parents perceived very early on what would happen. Both knew they had to get away to a place where no one and nothing could reach them. Both knew secrecy was of upmost importance. So they began preparations as soon as they envisioned having a daughter. As the world began to end, we vanished from the lives we lived just as they had always planned. However, it is impossible to live a life without a trace. And that is why, on my 15th birthday, having taught me everything they could possibly teach me to survive, my parents made the ultimate sacrifice. They left, never to return. They went back to a world of chaos, hunger, and wreckage so that I might live in secrecy and that the world would never know of my existence. I don't know how they died. I don't know when. But I know they intended to. I still remember that chilly morning, as I stood at the front door of the cabin trying to hold back my tears. My father, ever the cheerful soul, laughed loudly and gave me a big bear hug before jumping on the boat. As he got ready to leave, I saw his shoulders shake but he never looked back. My mother held my face in her hands and gave me a sad smile before kissing my forehead. She had tears in her beautiful green eyes, but she was smiling. Her last words to me were: "Smile my sweet Agara. Today is the beginning of a new life". Then she walked away, got on the boat and they both left, never to be seen again. My parents named me Agara. Derived from the Latin and Gaelic dialects, it means something along the lines of "beloved gift". It's one of the only things I have remaining from them. The other is a locket my mother gave me when I was ten. It has a small image of their smiling faces inside. I've not taken it off since the day she gave it to me. I guess part of me fears that if I do, I'll not feel them near me anymore.
