2020- Chapter 1

I’m Miranda, sixteen year old survivor of the ‘end of the world’ epidemic. The Mayans were right, in a way. The magnetic poles were reversing, weakening our layer of protection from an unstable sun – or a solar flare. The Galactic Alignment, where the sun, Earth, and the Milky Way Galaxy are all aligned, causes the sun to be unstable, and therefore causing a solar flare coming directly towards us while our veil of protection was weakened. I shouldn’t be giving a history lesson, but it explains a lot. The magnetic poles were late about 500,000 years in switching, because the average time they switch is about every 300,000 years. We had really bad luck. Thousands died, and 98% of those still living were prepped for this. But the Black Plague’s making another round, so the human race is more than likely going to go extinct.
My parents died of the Plague when I was eleven, three years after the end of the world and one year after they taught me to survive on my own. So far, I’ve been able to avoid all human contact and I’m hoping to keep it that way. If anything, human contact is the deadliest. With the Plague, and those few who didn’t prepare raiding our supplies, and then the shoot-now-when-you-hear-something-oh-sorry-it-wasn’t-dinner-but-I-guess-it-is-now people like me. Without technology, the world is quiet – peaceful. I was in mid-Alaska when the solar flare hit, so even in dead of winter it’s not that cold. I take no risks, which means no free time. There’s always more food to be hunted, more layers of protection or camouflage to my branch, more hiding places, more weapons, more everything.
My branch is basically my home. Originally, we lived in a huge lean-to, but I didn’t risk it being infected. I found a relatively large branch sheltered by dangling leaves from higher branches, plus extra leaves and dirt and bark for warmth and protection. But I’m guessing that most of us are hiding in the cities, raiding abandoned stores and supermarkets for food. I don’t even know why I’m writing. I should be adding another layer of leaves above my hideout, or getting more snakes for fish bait. But I’m not, which means I feel I’m safe enough. For now, at least.
I should feel frightened, and I was for a very long time, but I’m not. Maybe it’s because I know these woods now. I don’t know, it could be that I’ve been on my own for five years. I hope that I’m not the only human survivor left that doesn’t have the Plague, because I will not damn any children that I might’ve had before to this hellhole of a world. I’m probably not going to meet a guy anyways. I just hope that no infected idiot crosses my path, because that means I’m going to have to waste an arrow or spear. I’m not using anything that has been touched or used by anyone who has/had the Black Plague. And because of zero technology, again we have zero cures. Anyone who gets the Plague dies. Period. End of story. If I do get the Plague, I will cram my Glock 31 in my mouth and pull the trigger. There’s no way I’m gonna die of illness.
I guess this is a sort of journal, but I don’t know what month it is, let alone the date. I have a general idea of the seasons, by the temperature and the amount of flowers and stuff, but I don’t know if it’s Friday, Monday, Wednesday, whatever. It doesn’t matter at all. Even though it might be slow going for the few who live in abandoned stores and shops, time flies for me, and that’s good. I only give myself so much time to do one thing, which means six hours of sleep (3 per morning and night), four hours of hunting, four hours of making and setting up traps and snares, five hours of getting food from snares and resetting them, two hours of cooking and eating, and three hours of fortifying and camouflaging my branch. I’m always busy, so I guess when I finish something early I'll write this.