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Jasper Cromwell

Jasper's Journal, [Book 4] entry # 2

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Sunlight breaks free like a captured beast from a cage. I head southwest and move along the ridge-line until I find a poorly maintained dirt road leading to a dilapidated farmhouse. I push the small white fence gate inward and the top hinge breaks lose issuing a SNAP that turns my muscles to glaciers. I'm greeted by the master of the manor crawling towards me inside the perimeter of the low picket fence a bad break on his left leg. I continue around the side of the house to the back yard where I find the contents of a toolbox strewn about next to a ladder leading up to the roof, I begin to form a happy little image of the farmer up there patching a hole or replacing some worn shingles the wife bringing out some chilled lemonade or such in her stark white apron when, unfortunately the farmer loses his footing and tumbles down, ass over tea-kettle only to revive a moment later with a different kind of thirst.

In the middle of the yard stands a tree 100 years old if its a day, it seems this plot of land was centered around it, centered around its protection from the blazing summer sun, centered around its offer of low hanging branches perfect for the tire swing that still sways gently in the breeze.

As I pass the swing I notice the rope is nearly brand new must have been replaced shortly before the farmers long fall and sudden stop, maintained even though it was clear from the regrowth of high grass under it, the swing hadn't been used in quite some time. The barn is located just beyond the fence line secluded in its own paddock I push my way through the side door the place was fitted for a horse but of course the horse was gone. I find what I'm looking for hanging over the workbench, the ax. Kept out of the elements the ax is in relatively good shape still razor sharp though the handle is worn smooth, I made my way back to the front yard and notice as I do a perfect little dog house tucked in the corner of the yard with "Peter" written in a child's hand over the entrance, the injustice of it all really hits me then, not only did this disease or virus or act of God whatever it is deem fit to take our families it also took our best friends, how long has it been a year, maybe two? Longer? I don't know I stopped counting. In that time I haven't seen a single sign of a horse or dog, my heart is heavy. Back at the front yard I stopped to have a little chat with Mr. Farmer "excuse me neighbor, I just stopped by to see if I could borrow your ax? It seems mine was whisked away in the dead of night by some low life marauding sonovabitch." There are many things in this new world that are difficult, freeing these people of this affliction is no longer one of them, a single swing and a sound, that's usually all it amounts to anymore.

I walk into the cool house the once immaculate interior now tarnished by the inch thick dirt and dust blown in through the open door covers everything muffling my steps, and everyone else, I keep the ax raised. I move along upstairs where I find the bedrooms a child's room no doubt to my left identified by the soccer posters and pictures of some scantily clad women on the walls doesn't seem to have been occupied for some time on the desk inside is a toy compass hopefully it knows north. To my right the door is closed I press my ear to it listening for tell tale signs of infected but all is quiet.

I try the handle, it turns but the door wont budge I hit it square with my shoulder with a crack it swings free, on the bed I find Mrs. Farmer at her feet is Mr. Farmers 12 gauge on the walls and ceiling behind her I also find Mrs. Farmer along with the markings of the one round used. Clutched in her hand is an old flannel shirts (Mr. Farmer's) on the nightstand is a letter I pick it up there is a lipstick stain down near the right corner of it. The letter reads,

"Мама, хорошая новость Светлана беременна! Мы скоро будет дома, чтобы увидеть вас обоих рассказать папе, чтобы качели готов я просто знаю, что это будет мальчик! Я люблю тебя и, до скорой встречи!

-Микаил"

I can't read Russian so I copied it out in hopes of translating it later, I back out of the room and head back down to the kitchen more specifically the pantry.

I find some canned goods and fill my stomach wood near the stove arranged in the fireplace for later out behind the barn is a well and i fill my canteen three times quenching my thirst, ground water seems to be drinkable despite the virus. I go back to the front yard and hoist Mr. Farmer upstairs and lay him and his wife down on the bed once again I close the door. on a downstairs book case I find a Russian to English dictionary I'll be keeping that, I'll spend the night here and translate the letter I set off for the south-coast in the morning.

~Jasper

Update: here's the letter I'm putting it back where it belongs before I go.

"Mama, great news Svetlana is pregnant! We will be home soon to see you both tell Papa to have the swing ready I just know it will be a boy! I love you both, see you soon!

-Mikail"

I read somewhere that the saddest short story ever written went something like, "Baby shoes for sale, never used." I think that's true.

~Jasper

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While these are massive reads, try and keep them all in one separate thread. It's just to avoid clutter and all of that.

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While these are massive reads, try and keep them all in one separate thread. It's just to avoid clutter and all of that.

Do you mean keep all of my journal entries in a separate thread? Please be more clear, I thought it was o.k. to post these here.

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I mean just posting them in one thread, it could be this one or the one previous and can easily be done by simply renaming the thread 'Jaspers Journal' [book 4]. :P

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