The Dystopian Diaries

by K. W. Callahan

  This could be bad…bad…BAD! Why didn’t I think more about this before I did it? But what could I have done? I guess I could have told them that I didn’t have any food. I guess I SHOULD have told them that. But I didn’t. I’m just so STUPID!!! Stupid and naïve! And now it’s too late. Now I have to deal with any repercussions that may await me from my act of kindness. As they say, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

  2:49 p.m.

  I’m sitting here in the lighthouse’s third floor, watching out the small window that faces out over the open expanse of Lake Michigan. I’m feeling extremely lonely, vulnerable, and exposed here now. Before, this was my safe place, now it feels like anything but. Any minute I expect to see an armada of boats headed my way, ready to raid my safe haven like pirates storming a stronghold. My mind is spinning, trying to think of what I might do in such a situation. I have to admit, I really don’t know. I guess I’d have to fight back. But I’m not sure how well I’d do. I’m a decent shot, but I’ve never fired a round in anger, and I’m not a sniper. I’m sure that hitting a stationary target (that’s not a human) is much easier than hitting someone who is trying to avoid your gunfire. And the tiny windows in my tower fortress don’t make for great range of vision or angle of fire.

  I really don’t want to have to shoot at someone, let alone think about hurting or even killing them. Every time I look out the window, my stomach knots up with angst, hoping I don’t see anything other than water.

  The one thing I’ve done (in addition to finally dismantling the pipe that hangs over the platform side) is piled a bunch of supplies inside my canoe and shoved it over in front of the lighthouse door as a barricade. It isn’t much, but it will at least slow the entry of anyone from the outside.

  September 18th

  1:31 p.m.

  I know that it’s been a few days since my last entry, but I’ve just been in such a funk lately that I haven’t really felt like writing.

  The weather is starting to turn. It’s been overcast, colder, and the days are starting to get noticeably shorter.

  I’ve been spending almost all my time inside the lighthouse. This might also be affecting my mood. But I haven’t wanted to go outside since the boat incident. I guess I should call it an “incident,” it was more of just a meeting. Either way, I haven’t wanted to expose myself to the possibility of being seen by others. Although if word has gotten out about my presence here, I guess it’s too late to do anything about it now.

  Following that line of reasoning, it may be time to take a chance and break from my hovel to get some fresh air. Maybe I’ll give it a try tomorrow or the next day, weather pending.

  In an effort to kill at least a little time, I’ve gone back to reading more of Thoreau’s ramblings and mental amblings regarding his time on Walden Pond. His thoughts on certain subjects are becoming much less appetizing than they were just a few weeks ago.

  Befitting my own situation, I decided to re-read Thoreau’s thoughts on solitude. They take on a far different meaning to me now than they did just a short time ago. Like when he writes, “Why should I feel lonely? Is not our planet in the Milky Way? This which you put seems to me not to be the most important question. What sort of space is that which separates a man from his fellows and makes him solitary? I have found that no exertion of the legs can bring two minds much nearer to one another.”

  Great…just great, Thoreau. Who knows if there will even BE two minds left on the planet to grow nearer to one another with the way things are going lately.

  Then he writes:

  “I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time. To be in company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating. I love to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude. We are for the most part more lonely when we go abroad among men than when we stay in our chambers.”

  Oh yeah? Guess old Thoreau never had to suffer through the apocalypse, stuck inside a lighthouse. Were he forced to do so, he might have had a change of heart. He might even have found himself longing for the companionship of others…others who are not trying to kill him or begging for food that is.

  For as much as I respect Thoreau’s opinions on many fronts, sometimes I think he was a little bit of a baby. People came to visit him at his cabin. He could choose when he wanted to go in to Concord or hunker down at home. People weren’t ransacking his cabin or threatening to kill him. He wasn’t forced to hide away inside a lighthouse for fear of being slaughtered by marauding bands of renegade pillagers.

  It was real fun for me to play Thoreau on my own terms…until it wasn’t.

  September 21st

  11:16 a.m.

  This is terrible. I’m so completely bored out of my mind. What’s the point of living if it’s going to be like this?

  I’m trying to push the negative thoughts aside, but it’s hard…hard as hell!

  I’ve been inside for almost a week and I can’t take it any more! I’ve got to get outside! Even if it means risking being seen by someone, I’ve just got to get out. The silence here is deafening! I used to love solitude, but now I crave sound…sound of any sort! I am RAVENOUS for sound!!!! I’m going berserk in here!

  It’s relatively warm out today and sunny. According to my thermometer, it’s currently 49 degrees. As they say, I guess I should make hay while the sun shines.

  3:09 p.m.

  I did some fishing. It was actually far more productive than I thought it’d be. It seems like the fish are kind of congregating around the base of the lighthouse in certain spots. Hey, I’ll take it! A little luck is definitely what I could use right about now.

  I might have spent a little longer outside, but there were angry looking black clouds rolling in from the west.

  So back to the fishing. I caught a total of five fish. I kept three alive, putting them in a bucket so they remain alive until I can get to them. I’ll change out their water regularly so they don’t consume all the oxygen and suffocate.

  I felt bad eating their two friends, but they were delicious with a side of rice and canned green beans.

  While I was outside today, I also emptied my bathroom bucket. It was getting a bit ripe to say the least. I’ve been keeping it, with the lid closed, down on the lower floor of the lighthouse to keep odors to a minimum.

  I have to say, I’m feeling a little bit better after getting outside, getting some sun, getting some fresh air, and even meeting a couple friends (in the three fish I have in my bucket). While they don’t make for the best of conversationalists, I’ll take what I can get. At least I can talk to THEM. Sometimes the best companions are the ones who don’t answer…right? See? You can tell I’m feeling better already. I’m starting to sound like Thoreau again.

  9:19 p.m.

  Wow! It is REALLY storming outside! If I thought the last storm to blow through here was big, it was nothing compared to this!

  I’m lying here in my bed, huddled beneath the covers, writing by flashlight as the wind howls around me. It almost feels as if the lighthouse is reverberating with the impacts of the waves.

  The temperature got all the way up to 58 degrees today, but now it has dropped dramatically. It must have been a warm front passing through (probably the last of the season). As it left, it has apparently brought with it the cold again as well as some hellacious winds.

  I noticed the chop in the lake picking up this afternoon, but I had no idea anything like this was coming.

  I can feel the wind coming through the little window beside my bed. It’s bitterly cold. I’ve used some extra socks I brought with me to try to wedge in around the gaps. They help stem the flow of chilly air a little bit – at least through this particular window. But the lighthouse itself is like a big colander, all full of cracks and gaps, and there’s no insulation to help keep the warmth in or the cold out. I can’t imagine what this place will be like come winter. Hopefully things will have calmed down on the mainland by then.

  Speaking of “mainland,” I wo
nder how things are going there. I suppose I could go check it out, but having no idea what the situation is, I’m kind of afraid to go back. What lies in wait? Is everyone dead? Are those people who shot at me and looted my cabin dead? Are the people on the boat dead?

  Maybe I should give returning a shot. I’m not sure how I’ll stay warm in this place should I have to remain here through the winter. Never mind the warmth, how will I maintain my sanity?

  The storm just keeps growing in intensity. It’s pitch black outside, but I can hear the waves crashing and breaking over and around the lighthouse platform.

  Well, I wondered what it was like for those who lived here prior to me. I guess I’m finding out – kind of cool, but pretty damn terrifying too.

  September 22nd

  10:02 p.m.

  This is bad…bad, bad, BAD!! I’ve got a major emergency on my hands. I’m in the midst of dealing with it. I’ll write more later.

  11:47 a.m.

  For as much as I enjoyed listening to the sounds of the storm last night, I’m paying the price now. I’ve got water inside the lighthouse. I guess it started coming in through the lighthouse door and several cracks in the walls last night, and it has continued coming in all this morning. I’m in the process of relocating and trying to salvage what remains of my supplies that I had stored downstairs.

  Give me about half an hour or so and I should be done.

  1:34 p.m.

  Great…just great. That took a little longer than expected. So let me explain what has happened in a bit more detail.

  When I woke up this morning, I heard some weird noises coming from downstairs. I was just feeding my fish friends their breakfast (one of the first things I do in the morning). At first, I thought the sounds were coming from someone trying to get inside the lighthouse because I heard a lot of bumping and thumping around below me. But then I heard these weird noises. When the waves break outside, they make a sort of thumping or smacking sound when they hit, and then hissing noises as they break and recede, and this was not what I was hearing. These were more gurgling, sloshing sounds.

  That’s what drew me downstairs.

  When I got down there, I found the lighthouse’s first floor filled with at least six inches of water…maybe more. My supplies were bobbing around everywhere. The canoe had floated away from where I’d had it blocking the front door and tipped over, spilling its contents into the water. The front door was pushed open and water was rushing inside each time a wave broke onto the lighthouse platform.

  My first act upon realizing the severity of the situation was to run back upstairs and gather my flashlights and lanterns to light my work. The second step was to enter into the shin-deep, ice-cold water and start fishing out my floating or submerged supplies.

  I found that I could only work for a few minutes at a time in the water, especially when fishing out the submerged items like the canned goods. Thankfully, I’d put many of my supplies like rice and beans in large plastic containers or buckets. However, even this wasn’t enough to salvage several of the containers that had toppled over and either spilled their contents into the water or leaked.

  I’d say I’ve probably lost a good 30 to 40 percent of my total supply, especially when it comes to things like boxed pasta, oatmeal, and other goods that weren’t in sealed plastic containers.

  Maybe even worse, I see that somehow the bottom of Oscar’s canoe has been penetrated. It must have happened when it began to float. I’ll bet one of the heavy, hard-plastic containers I had set inside it toppled over. It looks like the corner of the container hit the bottom of the canoe just right and tore a multi-inch gash in its side right at the waterline. It doesn’t surprise me. The canoe hardly looked water-worthy to begin with, but as they say, the hits just keep on coming.

  After I got my supplies hauled upstairs, and my frigid extremities thawed, I set to work drying out and salvaging as much of my remaining supplies as possible.

  I still have a fair amount of stuff to subsist off of, but not nearly as much as I did yesterday. And with the canoe now pierced, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get back to shore when the time comes. I might be able to mend it in some way. I’m not sure. If I can’t, I might be stuck here until spring.

  The only bright side of all this, if there IS one, is that I now have plenty of damaged food to feed the fish. At least THEY’LL be happy. Someone around here needs to be.

  God my hands and feet are FREEZING! I put my little camp stove down on the floor and keep cranking it up full blast in an effort to warm them. I hate wasting the fuel, but I’m afraid of frostbite otherwise. I leave the stove going just long enough to alternate hands and feet to a nice level of warmth. But in this cold concrete environment, and with no other heat source, they are cold again within minutes at best. It makes it really hard to write since my hands keep cramping up, so I’m going to be done for the time being and go put my gloves on with an extra pair of socks overtop those.

  4:04 p.m.

  THIS SUCKS!!!!! I JUST CAN’T WARM UP!!!!!

  The lake has finally calmed, and the lighthouse is slowly draining its waterlogged bottom, but the damage has been done. I’m half frozen and I’m still finding food that was ruined by the incoming water.

  I’m going to go have a talk with Lucy, Fred, and Ethel…my fish. Yes, I named them. So what? They’re the only friends I have these days.

  September 24th

  12:12 p.m.

  I know that it’s been several days since I wrote last. But so what? Nothing happens here. And my only friends aren’t doing much to keep me company. I’m almost tempted to let them go. I feel bad keeping them here. They just hover in their bucket of water, occasionally bumping into its side or one another. They look about as miserable as I feel. But they at least give me some object for my affections, and they provide me some purpose for my lonely existence here.

  Other than befriending Lucy, Fred, and Ethel, nothing much has happened since the storm. Oh, I almost forgot, I finally found the entrance to the lighthouse’s lower level or “basement” I guess you could call it even though it’s not below ground. I found the entrance the day after the storm. While I was upstairs, continuing to go through and organize my sopping supplies, I heard some weird noises coming from the level below. At this point, I had become somewhat acclimated to the sounds of the waves breaking and the water sloshing around downstairs. But this sound was different – almost a gurgling, slurping sort of sound. I asked the fish what they thought the noises might be, but they were of little assistance with the matter.

  Therefore, somewhat begrudgingly, I headed back downstairs. Thankfully, with the storm having passed and the breaking waves having largely subsided, the water downstairs was draining from inside the lighthouse. When I entered this section of the tower, I was glad to find that there was only about an inch of standing water remaining on the floor. My ever-frozen toes certainly appreciated this as well.

  It took me a few minutes of searching, but I finally found the source of the sucking sounds in a far corner of the tower’s entry level. There, somewhat hidden by the lighthouse’s old pump system was a hatch in the floor I hadn’t noticed before. It had apparently been covered by a piece of plywood prior to the storm, and the incoming water had caused the plywood to float free from the top of the hatch.

  Upon closer inspection, I found that there were several holes in the hatch that was allowing water to drain through. Where the water was draining, tiny swirling whirlpools were being created that occasionally sucked, slurped, gurgled, and gulped water down into the unknown depths below.

  By the end of the day, the water in the bottom of the lighthouse had finally dissipated enough to allow me to open the hatch. It wasn’t any magical discovery or anything like that. I was just kind of curious what was down there.

  Upon opening the hatch, I found a metal-rung ladder (similar to the one I mostly dismantled on the platform’s exterior) leading down into the darkness. After shining my flashlight around, I realized that
there was water within the foundation. Not knowing how secure or sturdy the rung ladder was or how deep the water was, I decided to forgo any further exploration. But at least I figured out what was making the noises as well as where the access to this portion of the lighthouse was located – not that it really matters.

  September 25th

  1:42 p.m.

  It has warmed up nicely – finally! I’ve come outside onto the lighthouse platform. The sun is out, and for once, I actually feel warm. I checked the thermometer and it reads just a hair above 50 degrees, but the sun is helping to make it feel much warmer.

  Earlier today I worked on trying to patch the canoe. I don’t have many supplies with me with which to work. I’m kicking myself because I had a roll of duct tape that would be perfect for the job. The problem is, I left it behind when I came out here. I told the fish what an idiot I was for making such a foolish error. They agreed that it WAS an egregious error. I tried to explain myself to them, saying that I was in a rush and I just wasn’t thinking clearly about all the things I might need here, but they thought that was no excuse.

  Sheesh, the last thing I need here is my only friends calling me a loser. I tried giving them the silent treatment for a while, but the silence here is like nails on a chalkboard to me, so it didn’t take long for me to give in. When I asked for their advice on how to fix the canoe however, they still seemed put off and wouldn’t offer any tips. For spending all their time in the water, they sure weren’t much help on figuring out how I might repair the only vessel that could help me return to land.