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About this blog

Francis Engelhardt

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"Listen, sir. Once, I knew why I helped others, but now... I can't help but to admit it turned into an addiction. The slightest smile I see in this Wasteland, makes my life worth. What about you, mister? How many smiles do you get a day?"


Hello. This is a test for a Journal I'm planning on doing. If everything go as intended, I'll make it so every week there's a new entry. This new Site will help on that manner, but will make it harder on other aspects. But anyway, I have faith that it'll work... Eventually...

For now, it's a W.I.P






Entries in this blog

Rogério SkyLab

Chernarus, Североград Окраина - 17:57 PM

Francis would be sitting in a wooden chair inside a secluded house in the middle of the forest. The book that the little girl gave him was left open over the table in front of him, and he would be handling the pen, spinning it trough his fingers, thinking about what to write. Suddenly, raindrops started falling down, and a cool breeze would enter trough a small gap on the closed window. Inspiration was not something that random for Francis, even though he was a creative man.

After some minutes, while eating a small portion of tuna in a can, he started writing some stuff that happened within the same day, as the past ones were not that exciting.


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As Francis finished writing, he had also finished his tuna can, and the moon was rising up in the sky. It was already time to have some sleep, as he couldn't really keep his eyes open anymore. He went to the make-shift bed that he mounted inside the house and laid over it, closing his eyes.


Rogério SkyLab

Chernarus, Балота - 10:23 AM

Francis would look out the window, observing the beach and the endless blue sea. His mind was locked to the image in front of him, as old memories began to pop inside his head. He remembered the time he spent in Haiti. He could actually remember every single aspect of that moment. A beach, an endless sea, and right before it, a big wave of destroyed buildings and smoke from cars passing over the sand and dust on the streets occasioned by the massive destruction of the 2010 earthquake. He could remember the sirens from the firemen and the police, as he heard the heavy wind passing by him.

As he came back to reality, Francis closed the window and took a deep breath, recomposing himself. Proceeded to go to the other room of the house: A medium sized bedroom. In there, there was three persons. Two sitting on the bed, and one laying down with a bag of ice over his knee. The one which was laying was a 11 years old boy, sleeping like an angel. Sitting beside him, a 13 years old girl and their father, whose name was "Emile". As Francis stepped into the room, Emile got up immediately offering his hand for a hand-shake with Francis, whilst he said:

"Thank you for all, mister Engels. You saved my son" - his voice had a recognizable Russian accent -

Francis responded the offer with a firm handshake, as he said, with his strong German accent:

"No worries. I did my job, and that's it." - he looked at the sleeping kid - "Your son is brave. He will survive."

"Yes! He will" - he turned around and took something from his daughter's hands, and offered it to Francis - "Here. It's book. My daughter wants to give it to you"

Francis picked the object, and opened it, revealing about two hundred blank pages:

"But there's nothing written on it" - he said, confused -

The girl stepped up and said, giving a pen for Francis:

"You..." - she couldn't say the english words that well - "Write"

Francis picked up the pen, and looked at the girl, and her father placed his hand over her shoulder, as a sign of approval:

"Oh... So it's for me, so I can write a book?" - Francis kneeled down, as the girl waved her head confirming his statement - "Thanks... Thank you very much!"

The girl hugged Francis, and he standed up once more and looked at Emile, whilst saying:

"Emile, you must keep them safe, and this place is not the ideal one for that."

"Why? I was born here."

"People tend to come to the shoreline to travel long distances. They might find you and harm you, and your children."

"What can we do?" - he asked, curious -

Francis thought about it for a second and, with a sign of relief, said:

"There is a fixed car, inside one of the garages on the next city. If you manage to get there, you can move further North, where you will find safety."

Emile looked back upon his children, and after some seconds of thought, he turned back to Francis, saying:

"Ok." - he said vigorously, as he sat on the bed again with the rest of his family - "If it's best way, I will do it"

"I have to leave now, Emile. Stay strong. And if you ever need help, you know where to find me" - Francis patted the russian man on the shoulder -

"Safe travel, Doctor Engels." - Emile said, whilst still looking to his son - "Keep good work"

"I will" - the doctor smiled, and turned away, moving to the kitchen -

He picked up his backpack and attached the belt to his torso, so it wouldn't be loose. He placed the book and the pen inside a side-sack on the left side of the bag, along with his radio and pieces of cloth. He would step off the house and proceed to walk the road going up North, on the direction of Novy Sobor, where he had previously made attempts to clear the place and set up a small medical station, which didn't go very well. He could probably scavenge some medical stuff he had left there to use another time.


19:16 PM

As he sat by a tree, with a small fire by his front, he picked up the book and pen that the girl gave him. The stars up above were barely visible because of the density of the trees. So many leafs if actually blocked the sky and the moon-light, making it hard to see inside the woods. The good part is that not many people were going to bother him there, and that's why he picked a place like that.

As he brought the book up and opened it over his lap, he clicked the pen, which tint was black, and started writing some stuff that was in his mind.



He ran out of ideas, and simply put the book back inside the side sack, without really trying to finish the sentence. He was tired, and needed some sleep. He opened the bag, grabbed a water bottle, drank some it, and placed it back in, returning to his sleeping sack, and proceeding to sleep, as the next day would be ten times worse.