Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of Apocalyptic SF

I waited a while for the bug-men to come back, or anyone else to show up, but finally I knew they would never

(gap)

About every ten or twelve years I’d try to kill myself again, but of course it never worked and I stopped hurting myself. That bastard who stole my death, you’d think he’d of fixed it so I could never feel pain, neither. Every time I tried to kill myself the cut would bleed and hurt like flipping hell but it always healed back.

The first few years weren’t so bad cus I found a stash of 3-Vs and a viewer and some power packs, so at least I could still watch holovids and that. I watched all the discs with stories on them, over and over, till I knew them all off by heart. Then I finally got so bored I started watching the educational discs too, and I learnt some physics stuff and that. Things got worse when I couldn’t find more batteries that worked and I couldn’t recharge the dead ones.

It’s so bloody not fair. Batteries get to die but I don’t.

I was never much for reading, but when I couldn’t watch any more 3-Vs, I found a library that had thousands of textdisks. I tried to read one, but the viewers wouldn’t go. Then in the cellar I found hundreds of those old books and mags people had before the disks. I was off my nut with boredom so I started reading.

Then I thought I’d have a go at writing and that’s how I started this diary. Not that anyone will ever read it, unless the bug-men come back. I couldn’t thumbtext like how people used to write, but I found some old pens and that.

I decided if I was to write things down then I should do the job properly and learn all the right spelling and commas and apostro-things and that, and maybe learn some big words if I could find them in books. So I tried to keep a proper diary of all my

(gap)

I stopped counting the years a long time back. It was easier when there were different seasons. After I went immortal, winter never bothered me except for being harder to travel and all. After all the plants died, I could still keep track of seasons because of winter coming and going. The best part about winter is there are fewer insects.

For a long time, the mosquitos wouldn’t leave off me. Nor the flies. But they all seem to be dead now. Except these beetles. Everywhere I go, millions of beetles. I wish they would die.

I wish I could die.

By now I know I’m at least three thousand years old, except I’m still only sixteen.

I still remember my father. I still remember him shouting at me, and beating me. I hate him I hate him. Besides me, the only thing that never dies is the hate.

(gap)

The sun gets bigger every day, and redder. There aren’t seasons anymore, unless you count it’s always summer.

Getting hotter. I sweat a lot but that means the nano-bastards inside me just work harder to replace it and my fadge melts more of whatever I sit down on to get more energy and mass and that. I forget most of what those doctors told me but I remember that part.

I remember the moon. Before all the grass went away, I used to like going to sleep in a field under the stars, looking up at the friendly moon while I drifted to sleep.

The moon went away a long time ago. I don’t know where it went.

Once in a long while I try to

(gap)

Somehow the nano-things changed. A while back I noticed that I don’t need to sleep any more. I’ve tried sleeping but it never comes. I’m tired all the time but I can’t sleep.

It’s just so bloody not fair. All this long time, the only thing left about me that was still normal is that I could sleep. Now the bastard who stole my death has stolen my sleep too. At least make it so I stop getting tired!

When I twigged that the nanobots had changed inside me, I started hoping I could die soon. Some hope! I’m still here.

After the seasons stopped, for a while I started counting days and nights. All the wood and most of the metal are just dust rust now: only plastic and porcelain are left from when people were alive. And stone. I found an old piece of light plastic I could make scratches on, and I added a scratch every morning when the sun came up. Little scratches, rows of ten. I took the plastic with me whenever I went somewhere else, to keep track. By now everywhere I go looks a lot the same as everywhere else.

After I made 1,347 scratches on the plastic, I ran out of room to make more. After a long time, I found another piece of plastic I could scratch. I scratched 1,347 at the top, then kept adding one scratch every day in rows of ten. I did that for a long time.

I’ve been alone for at least 12,000 years now.

I’ve decided to forgive my father.

(gap)

I’m going blind in one eye. The left one. I can’t remember the last time anything excited me, but I got excited and all when I noticed it. If something’s going wrong with me and now it doesn’t heal, maybe those stinking nano-things are finally breaking down inside me.

My teeth wore down to stumps a long long time ago. I remember one of those lab doctors telling me this would happen and offering to yank all my teeth while I still had them. Now I wish they’d done it. I had one toothache that lasted about three centuries, but it finally stopped.

I think the years are getting shorter now, as if it’s taking shorter whiles for the Earth to go around the sun. It’s so bright all the time, I have trouble telling when it’s night now, and all the

(gap)

I WANT TO DIE I WANT TO DIE I BLOODY DAMN WANT TO DIE

(gap)

Even though I stopped needing to breathe a long time ago, I just always kept up breathing by reflex, and that. Sometimes when I got bored enough I’d hold my breath for six or seven hours, but when I stopped it I’d always start breathing again. Without trying. I remember a very long time ago, when I could still sleep, one night I put my head in a plasti-cling and I tied it tight round my neck so there was no air. When I woke up the next day I’d stopped breathing for several hours but it didn’t make a difference, so I took the thing off and my breathing started same as always.

That was long long long ago. It’s been getting harder to breathe for a long time now. It’s not me that’s changing, it’s the air. It feels thicker than it used to be, and hotter, and stickier. I think there’s something poison in it too, but not poison enough to kill me. For a long time it hurt to take a breath, and I got excited again cus I hoped I was dying. But it just got harder and harder to breathe, and it hurt more and more.

One day I noticed I wasn’t breathing any more. I hoped my body was shutting down at last at last at last but no apparently it just decided from now on breathing was too much work so it just slacked off.

A long time ago, every once in a while I’d find a river that was mostly nasty stuff instead of water but I’d take a quick drink just to remember water. I can’t remember the last time I saw a river. Nor lakes.

The cities mostly went to dust a long time ago. I went back to the seashore, where it used to be I mean, so I could see the changes in the ocean. I’m sure all the fish died thousands of years back. For a while some of that algy-stuff was still alive in the ocean but now I don’t think so.

The ocean’s getting smaller. Every time I walk down the beach the sand and stones are longer and the ocean is shorter.

For a while, there were some kind of nasty wiggle-things alive I never saw before. I’m sure they weren’t around until after all the people died, so there’s no science-y name for them. Ugh! Just wiggle-things with too many legs and all slime. And long feely bits instead of eyes. They came up in the mud near the ocean, when there was still mud. For a while I was actually glad to see them because at least something new was alive. They’re gone now.