August 6

Leon left this morning.

We all stood in front of the front door as Leon put on his shoes and turned towards us. "Thank you for all this."

"And you're sure you can't stay?" Mom asked.

"I— I'm sorry. I just can't," he said, and his voice began to crack. "I have to go. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Mom said. "Sometimes, there are things that are just beyond our control. There's no need to apologize for them."

"I know, but it's just that I wish things were different."

"Don't we all," Mom said and sighed. "C'mon, give me a hug."

Leon and Mom embraced each other.

"Safe journeys," she said. "I hope everything's great in New Mexico."

"I'm coming back," he said. "Sometime soon."

But when they released themselves from their hug, I could tell by the expression on Mom's face that she thinks Leon might not return. Even if the government finds a way to make everything alright again, fixing up the roads and infrastructure connecting states will take years to do. And who knows what might happen during Leon's journey or what kinds of hardships they'll face.

"C'mon, give me a hug," Dad said and they hugged each other. "If you ever cheat on Mira, I'll kill you."

"No, sir, I won't," he said and blanched a bit white. But when he saw Dad's small smile, a tiny smile appeared on Leon's face.

Leon gave me a hug. Normally, I hate hugs, but this one felt different. Warmer, sadder, more final, like it was really the end.

"Stay safe," I said.

And when Leon hugged May, her last words to him were, "Don't die."

"Of course," he said with a chuckle.

Leon then hugged Grandma and Grandpa, thanking them for the wedding meals. Grandpa said a couple of things in Chinese, which Mom translated for Leon.

"It means farewell," Mom said.

The last person he talked to was Mira. They looked at each other, gazing into each other's eyes. Mira's face was flushed red, not the embarrassed red, but the red of tear-soaked cheeks of early morning crying. Leon gently touched her palm. "Please, please come with me."

"We talked about this," she said, and her voice cracked with sorrow. "I just can't."

Leon kneeled down in front of her, holding her palms. "Please change your mind. I'm begging you. Please."

"I'm sorry," she said, and tears began spilling out. "I'm so sorry."

"We should give them some privacy," Mom said. "Let's go."

So all of us moved into different corners of our house. Mom and Dad went to the garage to get the greenhouse thing working, May went to her bedroom, Grandma and Grandpa went to their room, and I sat in the living room, watching the grey skies through the windows.

I could imagine Mira and Leon's conversation. Leon, kneeling down, pleading, begging, promising everything in the world if she came with him because despite his outward optimism, even he knew that this was probably going to be the last time they ever talked to each other. Mira, holding his hands and making a sacrifice so great that I can't imagine how hard it is on her, pleading Leon to stop talking and breaking her heart, all because of a stupid lie that I told her and some pointless arguments with Mom and Dad.

And then, I could see Leon's heart breaking in his eyes as his last-ditch efforts to convince Mira to leave were ignored. I could see Mira trying to stay strong even though there's a part of her that just wants to leave. I could see them embracing for one last time— possibly the last time they'll ever do so— and I could see Leon reach into his bag and pull out a letter filled with all the things he wanted to say to her.

I heard some soft sniffling and the gentle closing of the door. I went over to the front door and saw Mira staring out of the window, watching Leon's car disappear into the ash, fading into the dust, like everything around us. Love, life, family all just crumbling to ashes.

And when Mira pressed her hand on the window and began crying silently as love slipped away from her fingers, I suddenly felt angry. We've all been so selfish. Mom and Dad just not getting over the fact that Mira is an adult. May for being so cruel to her in the beginning. Me for that lie that made her feel like she had to stay to get to know me better. We were all so self-centered and so mean that we made her want to stay here instead of finding a better future.

And with nothing better to do today other than gathering the meager amount of food from the food drive, which happened without incident, I began re-reading my old diary entries, and I just wanted to rip them to shreds.

How could I be so ambivalent about everything that is happening? It's like I was so afraid of college and of getting a job and everything that comes after it that I'd rather have the world end than leave my childhood behind. I feel almost guilty that while I was kinda-celebrating the apocalypse while Mira was just struggling with the Mooncrash and losing the people she loves.

I know that getting angry doesn't help anybody and it's just pointless, but I just can't help feeling this way.

August 7

Mira was awfully chipper today.

May and I were both completely confused about Mira's behavior. Mom was feeling a mixture of happiness and anxiety at Mira's willingness to fold the laundry and wash the dishes and do all the housework that we all reluctantly did.

"Did an alien come in and snatch Mira's body?" May asked.

"Maybe," I said. "She's been acting super weird all morning."

"We should ask Mira a question that only the real Mira would know," May replied. "Like what her favorite animal is."

"Wouldn't the alien-her already know that," I said. "Since it's controlling her mind."

"Well, have you got a better suggestion?"

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe it's a coping mechanism or something for Leon being gone. Some people like to throw themselves at work when they're grieving."

"Well, that's a really weird way to grieve," she replied. "But I'm perfectly cool with it since I don't have to do the dishes."

I nodded along with her. People do grieve in weird ways. I remember reading an article a long time ago about people who laugh during funerals instead of crying. But something was just off with Mira. I went over to her as she was scrubbing an old t-shirt.

"You need help with that?" I asked. "You've been working all morning."

She looked at me, her red hair tied into a messy bun. I noticed that the color was fading, just like everything around me. "No, it's all good," she said. "It's been very meditative, you know. Maybe that's why some people de-stress while washing things."

There was an awkward silence between us.

"Is—" I said but hesitated before continuing. "Is everything alright?"

There was a small break in her smile, just enough that I could see the sadness in her mind. "Everything's good. Well, everything except for the weird glances May has been giving me all morning."

"Well," I said. "You've been acting, I don't know, super weird and stuff."

"Don't need to worry about me," she said. "I'm fine."

I was going to follow up with a question about how she's been dealing with Leon's departure, but then, I stopped myself. I've already caused enough pain for her. There's no need to tear open old wounds and make her relive these memories. Maybe it's better that she's cheerful and happy. The anger that I felt yesterday has subsided because I'm bad at staying angry, but the guilt is still there, lingering like dust in a room.

We moved back to the two can diet yesterday, and my stomach is still rumbling. We were spoiled by Leon's two-week trip here, and now, moving back to less food has just been hard. I can't even think about the wedding without feeling a twinge of hunger. Yesterday, each person only got 5 cans of food for the week, and while we can afford two cans a day because of our food stores, for Charles and his family, they won't even have one can a day. I hope he and his family are doing alright.

The only surprise of today was a question Mom asked me around dinnertime. "Do you know when school is starting again?"

I didn't know what to say for a few seconds. School felt so long ago, like a distant memory that's been dusted by the volcanic ash around all of us.

"I don't know," I said. "There hasn't been any mail or anything about it."

"The mayor said something about schools reopening," Mom replied.

"He's said a lot of things that haven't come true," I said. "Like power returning. Anyways, that was so long ago, and a lot has changed since then."

There was a bit of quiet between us.

"But if school returns—" I said before Mom cut me off.

"You'll still have to study for your classes," she said. "With everything being the way that it is, we all have a lot of time on our hands, so we might as well get something done instead of staring at the walls or the skies."

"I was going to ask if we had to actually go to school," I said. "Like being physically present."

Mom sighed. "Maybe, if it's safe, and they've got good air filters and power."

"Wouldn't it be better just to stay at home since going to school without cars means that we'll breathe a lot of ash."

"I haven't even thought about that," Mom said. "I just want to give you guys a sense of normalcy because everything that's happening now is far from normal."

"So is that a yes to home-schooling?" I replied.

"I don't know," she said. "But if you're staying home and doing school that means you need to have some schedule—"

"Why are we talking about school?" May asked as she burst into the kitchen. "The world is literally not going to get better."

"Weren't you the one saying that the world was going to get better?" I asked rhetorically.

"I changed my mind," she replied. "People are allowed to do that, Neal, even if you like to stay the same."

"Whatever," I said.

"Anyways," Mom said, butting in. "You guys are still going to have to pursue academics even is school is out—"

"But—"

"No buts," Mom said. "Both of you are going to pick a subject or two to study, and if you're staying home, I'm going to make a work schedule, so that everyone contributes to the housework."

"That's literally not fair," May said. "Not only do we have to deal with school, even though the world is ending—"

"Don't say that."

"Well it's true," May replied. "But on top of that we have to deal with doing housework. Who knew that the apocalypse would suck so much?"

"I'm pretty sure that everyone knew that," I said.

"Whatever," she said and turned to Mom. "So what do you want us to do today, dictator?"

"I don't know, yet," Mom said. "That's why it's still a work in progress."

"Well, then, I'm going to go now and stare at the sky because there's just nothing to do during the apocalypse."

May stormed away into her room. Mom looked at me weirdly. "What's up with her?" Mom asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know."

Mom sighed and went to the garage. I haven't gone there in a while, but I hope they've made a bunch of progress. Today was pretty cold, somewhere around high forties in the middle of the afternoon, and we all were bundled up in sweaters, thick pants, and ski socks. There was no ashfall today and the sky was clearer than usual, but the sun was still hidden under the gray.

Maybe some miracle will happen, and the sun will come out tomorrow. Hopefully this happens. Everyone just needs a little bit more hope.

August 8

The sky became darker today. It's like the universe read my diary and decided to just make ash clouds denser just to mess with me.

Everyone except for Grandma and Grandpa went stick gathering today. We grabbed a small wagon from the garage, Dad's hatchet, and a couple of plastic bags and walked to the woods. Everything was eerily silent in the woods. All the leaves shed by the trees laid on the ground, dull and weighed down by the ash, leaving the branches bare, looking like skeleton bones.

I went through the woods, gathering dried up sticks and small branches and other kindling. How many months until the natural gas runs out and the water pumps and filtration plants shut down? It must be happening soon because if the government is running out of food, then they're probably running out of resources to keep those places powered.

I filled my bag up with sticks and walked to our meeting place, a stump by a tree with a USA banner hanging from it for some odd reason. May had already finished gathering the sticks, and I could tell from the look of her face that she was very annoyed by the way that Dad was cutting the tree.

"What he's doing is so inefficient," she said. "He could literally go anywhere and get a better axe, but instead, he's using that basically useless one. It's literally wasting everyone's time, like, why does he have to be so inefficient?"

It's actually quite funny when May rants about inefficiency. For all the time-wasting that she does daily, it's almost a bit ironic that she finds it annoying that other people are wasting time.

"Well, there's nowhere to buy axes," I said. "It's not like the Home Depot is open or anything."

"No, duh," she said. "But the Hunters will probably have a good axe, maybe even a chainsaw or something since they go camping a lot."

"Dad doesn't want us to take stuff from other people though," I said.

"Well that's a stupid rule," May said. "We're in the apocalypse. Who cares about taking other people's stuff? And anyways, they told us to take it. It's been a bit less than a month since they've left, and they haven't come back."

"Well, if you have a problem, go ask Dad about it."

"Well, it's not like he'll listen anyways," May muttered. "We all should've gone with Leon. At least there, I might see some of my friends."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Practically all of my friends left in the first few weeks—"

"But what about Clara?" I asked.

"That birthday party was her farewell party," May replied. "And my two other friends that came said that their families were leaving in less than a month."

"And you never told any of us because..."

"It's none of your business," she said. "So, yeah. Now you and Mira are practically the only people my age that I can talk to, and Mira is a stretch since she's like ten years older than me."

"She's not a decade older than you."

"Seems like it, and who cares anyways?" she replied.

Just after she said that, I heard Dad coughing. He was leaning forwards and coughing deeply into the mask. Mira and Mom came running from the woods as May and I went towards Dad, leaving our bags of sticks behind at the stump.

"What happened?" Mira asked.

"I'm fine," Dad said. "It was just a mild cough."

"That wasn't mild," Mom said. "Did you take off your mask?"

"No, no, I didn't," Dad said, but Mom gave him a hard look.

"It was only for a couple of minutes," Dad said. "I had trouble breathing and needed to take in a breath of fresh air."

"We're heading back," Mom said. "We've been outside too long anyways."

"No," Dad said. "I'm finishing chopping down this tree."

Dad took the axe and swung at the trunk of the tree.

"Avi," Mom said, and I knew things were getting serious since she sparingly uses Dad's first name. "We are leaving right now."

"I need to gather the wood," Dad said and looked at Mom. "We're going to need it to stay warm for the long winter ahead."

"We've already gathered enough wood," Mom replied. "And we can gather more later on next week—"

"We can't wait," Dad said, cutting off Mom. "It's getting colder and colder every single day. It's nearly noon right now, and it feels colder than most winter nights."

"So, what?" Mom asked. "You're going to just stand there and chop down the tree, your lungs filling with ash because you're taking off your mask to breathe."

"Yes," Dad replied defiantly.

"There's no point preparing for a future if you're going to be dead by the time it arrives."

"Well, at least you guys will stay alive," Dad said, his voice raised.

"Stop," Mom said. "I don't want you to even think that any of us are going to die."

"It doesn't matter what we think," Dad said. "I think that everything's going to get better, but it's not happening. We need to prepare for the worst, and if we don't gather enough wood right now when the weather is still bearable, then we'll all freeze to death in winter."

"Gathering one extra log will not prevent us from freezing," Mom replied. "It'll only give us a couple of extra hours of warmth—"

"Every hour matters," Dad said.

"That's not my point," Mom said. "Sacrificing yourself to get one extra log is pointless. We need everyone to be healthy and strong for the times ahead. Flu season is coming up soon, and no one here knows if the hospital is even open, so if you damage your lungs and get sick, you might die."

"So go put your hatchet in the wagon, and let's go," Mom said.

Dad gripped the hatchet tightly and nearly went to keep chopping down the tree, but I could see the gears shifting in his mind. Mom was right. Sacrificing yourself pointlessly won't help anyone and will only make things worse. He sighed and dropped the hatchet in the wagon. "I'll finish cutting down the tree next week."

"You won't be doing it by yourself," Mom replied. "Next week, you and I are going to be doing alternating shifts."

"But—"

"No, buts," Mom said. "It's happening."

Dad shook his head and sighed. When Mom wants something, she'll always get it. There's virtually no talking her out of something once she's put her mind to it. We pulled the wagon behind us, creaking softly as the chilly ocean breeze brushed our faces.

Once we got home, May jumped into the shower, and then I went after her. The shower is about the only place in the house where it's actually warm, thanks to the fact that our house has an old-fashioned water heating system reliant on natural gas with no electrical components. I can't even imagine how people with electrical water heaters are showering.

When I got out of the shower, I went to my room to call Mira to shower after me. I saw her looking down at something on the desk. I knocked on the wall. "It's your turn to shower."

She quickly dropped some small pieces of paper before turning around and plastering a smile on her face. "Give me two or three minutes."

"What—" I said before pausing for a second. "What were you looking at?"

She sighed. "Just some old photos."

I went over and peered at the photos on the desk. Mira and Leon were smiling into the camera, dressed in traditional Indian clothes. "I don't remember this," I said. "When was it taken?"

"Early in the morning," Mira replied. "You guys were probably asleep."

There was silence in the room. Mira had a small smile on, her thumb placed just under Leon's grinning face in the photo. "You miss him?" I asked.

"I do," she replied. "I really do."

Another awkward silence graced the room. "I'm sorry," I blurted out, breaking the silence.

I have no idea what went through my brain at that moment, but that just came out. Mira looked at me quizzically. "Sorry for what?"

I could've said something about being sorry for her loss or something along the lines of that, but I chose to say what was on my mind. It would be better that way.

"For lying to you about Leon in June and being part of the reason that you stayed and didn't go off with Leon or—"

"It's not your fault," she replied, cutting me off. "Don't blame yourself."

"But it is," I said. "And I guess I feel so guilty about it, you know, because I feel like I'm the reason that you're not happy and living your best life and—"

"I chose to stay because I wanted to stay," she said. "And it was the hardest choice I've made in my life because it meant that I had to lose my husband."

"And even if you never told that lie, if whatever you think made me stay here never happened. I'd always chosen to stay because it's right," she said.

I wanted to believe her, but there was something familiar about how she said her last part, where part of it felt like a bit of the truth and part of it felt like a lie, something that I do a lot when I'm too afraid to tell the truth. But it felt nice, you know, being absolved of any guilt, even if part of it didn't feel real.

"Anyways," Mira said. "I better go shower since the water's getting cold."

"Yep, go ahead," I said.

Nothing much happened after that. Dinner was just awkward. Mom and Dad weren't really looking at each other. Mira, May, and I were just sitting there in silence and eating mushy corn. The only people that were talking were Grandma and Grandpa, who were talking in Taiwanese, which only Mom knew how to speak, so the rest of us just sat there as they chatted away.

Tomorrow, Charles and I are meeting for my bucket list. I'm not completely sure why we're meeting in the library, but hopefully, it'll make sense soon enough. I hope he and his family are doing better now.

August 9

I woke up this morning and realized that Charles never told me what time we were meeting. I assumed that it was sometime around when we usually met, which was around two or three in the afternoon. But because of this, I had to ask Mom for an extension, and that's when things started to go downhill.

"Mom," I said. "I might be gone for a bit longer than the permitted hour today."

"And why is that?" she asked while sweeping the floor.

"Charles and I were supposed to be meeting at the library today," I said. "But I'm not exactly sure when we're meeting, so I might have to be out for over an hour."

"Okay," Mom said and put the broom to the side. "So how's the gardening going?"

My heart began to beat faster as I tried formulating a lie. "It's doing well. The fruit-vegetable plants, like the tomatoes and eggplants, have mostly died, but the root vegetables are doing fine."

The whole garden was dead, but if I told Mom that, she might bar me from ever leaving the house. "Do you think we're going to have a harvest soon?"

"Maybe," I said and shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know."

Mom picked up the broom and began sweeping the dust into a corner. "After what happened to your father yesterday, I think we might need to stop going out so much."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe limit your meetings with Charles to one time a week," Mom said. "All that ash in the air isn't great for your lungs, even with the masks on."

"But—"

"He'll understand," Mom replied before I could say anything.

"What about the garden and—"

"You said it yourself that the garden is dead," Mom said. "Even though I'm not a great gardener, everyone can tell that there's nothing that'll really grow in these conditions."

I knew that I had already lost this battle. "So what?"

"You both can see each other once a week," Mom said. "Indoors only, though. Nothing farther than the library. No intense exercise or work."

"That's a lot of restrictions."

"I want you to be safe, that's all," Mom said.

"And it's starting this week?"

"Yes," Mom said.

I nodded and walked away to put on some clothes and a backpack since if I were going to the library, I might as well get some books. I tightly fastened a mask around my face and walked outside, heading towards the library.

The sky was gray like usual, ashes caking the cracked asphalt streets and roofs of the nearby houses. The wind had died down from the previous few days, though the smell of salt lingered in the air. The empty houses, long abandoned by everyone who lived here, stood proud, like monuments of a past long gone.

It was strange to think about what life would be like if the apocalypse didn't happen. Today, I'd most likely be walking, or possibly driving if I took the driver's test, to school to take photos for my junior year. The sun would be shining through cloudless skies, surrounded by a faded cerulean sky. We would all be complaining about the heat and eating popsicles to cool ourselves off and maybe even going down to the beach to bathe in the amber sunshine as the sun descended behind the horizon.

But now, school may never reopen and there's no gasoline to power any of the cars. The sun is shrouded in gray all the time, the blue sky disappearing into the ashes, as the day struggles to hit the high forties. The beaches are deadly, the tsunami tides washing away the seaside manors, sinking and pounding them every day until nothing will remain. And with all the ash in the air clinging to our dreams and hopes, it's hard to imagine a different future if the asteroid had never struck.

When I got to the library, there was virtually no one there. Just one lonely volunteer sitting in the desk position, reading a book under a lamplight. When I entered, they looked at me and nodded before going back to their book. I guess with the world ending, reading up all the good literature is not a bad idea.

I waited for what felt like twenty minutes before I decided to go up to the library volunteer, but then stopped myself because it would be kinda weird to ask if someone had seen another person walk into the library earlier. So I just sat on the bench and waited.

After about ten minutes, Charles walked through the door. "Took you long enough," I said.

"It's a long walk to the library," he replied.

He stood in front of me. He looked better, his face less sallow, his walk with a little more energy, his eyes glinting with a bit more life.

"Your family doing alright?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "A lot better. Thanks."

"Anytime," I said. "So what's with the whole meeting in the library thing?"

"I thought it was obvious," he said. "We should probably get a flashlight and get going."

We went up to the library volunteer and asked for a flashlight. "Don't steal any batteries," he said and looked at us seriously.

"Of course not," Charles said.

"Have fun then," the volunteer said and leaned back in his chair, fully engrossed in his book. There didn't seem to be anyone else in the library and we disappeared into the shadows of the building, armed with only a flashlight.

Pale light streamed through the library windows, illuminating the dust that's floating in the air. I turned to Charles. "We're not just looking at books about Hawaii, right?"

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. You'll see."

We turned a corner, heading into the geography section, tall shelves lined with books that no one will ever check out again. "We're definitely looking at books about Hawaii," I said.

"Well, like pretty much every bookworm would say, books can transport you to different places," he said. "Obviously we can't go to Hawaii, so it's the best I've got."

"Well, you could've been a bit more creative," I said. "Just saying."

"My first idea was for us to pretend we were in Hawaii, you know. Dress up in Hawaiian shirts, crank up a heater somewhere, dress in flip-flops and pretend we were doing the Hawaiian dance," he replied. "But everyone would think we're crazy. Hell, I'd think I was crazy if I saw myself doing that."

"Yeah, it was probably better if we didn't go with your original idea," I said.

He nodded and pointed the flashlight at the shelves. "Found it."

I grabbed the book from the shelf and pointed my flashlight at it. Ten Hidden Gems of the Hawaiian Islands. I flipped the page open, seeing photos with small captions under them.

"This doesn't even count as a book," I said. "I thought it'd be a reading book or something."

"If it's got a cover and pages with words on them, then it's a book."

"What happened to using my imagination to get transported to another world?"

"I'm making your life easier with images," he replied. "Anyways, let's just get started. Since you've got a limited amount of time anyways."

"Actually, I got a couple hours of leeway today."

"How? Your mom seems pretty determined when she wants something enforced," he replied. "Not to mean that in any offensive way or anything."

"Yeah, she's like that," I said. "I'll tell you about it later."

I grabbed the book and flipped it open to the first entry, Punalu'u Beach. I remembered going there, or some other nearby beach with black sand, with my family once, during a trip to Hawaii. The black sand looked like pebbles of coal, blanketing the beach like a midnight storm, and there were turtles bathing on the sand, surrounded with caution tape to protect them. "It's beautiful," Charles said.

"Yeah," I said. "I think I've been here."

"How was it?" he asked.

"I honestly don't remember," I said. "The only things that I remembered were that the beach was just pitch black and there were tons of turtles lying around."

"What do you think happened to this place? When the tides rose and all."

"Washed away, probably," I replied. "Though maybe it survived because of the volcanoes. It's like nothing nice is left anymore."

"The library is here," he said. "That's something nice."

"Fine," I said. "Nothing beachy is left anymore."

"Well, I mean our beach—"

"Nothing safe and beachy is left anymore," I replied. "Happy now?"

He smiled. "But—"

"Great, we're moving on," I said and flipped the page.

"No, wait," he said and grabbed my hand. "I just want to have one last look."

He gazed at the photos of sunsets on the black sand beach. I wasn't sure if he was more enamored with the beach or the sun.

"It must've been beautiful when it existed," he said. "Man, I miss what the world used to be."

"Me too," I said and flipped the page, revealing a secluded waterfall surrounded by a bamboo forest. Light filtered through the canopy of the trees, captured in the photograph dancing on the first floor. There was something so entrancing about that picture, something ethereal and almost alien about it.

"It's very green," I said all of a sudden.

"Wow. That's so deep," he said sarcastically. "That's like me saying that the sky is blue."

"But it isn't," I said, and there was an awkward pause in between us.

"How weird will it be when we have kids in the future and when we show them these pictures, they'll wonder why the sky is blue in them?" he asked.

"Pretty weird, I guess."

"Yeah," he said and sighed. "It's a weird thing to say, but I miss the old sky."

"Honestly, who doesn't?" I asked. "No threat of oncoming ashfalls or ash storms. The worst thing that'll come from it is a little bit of rain."

"Or snow," he said.

"It doesn't snow here."

"Actually, a couple winters back, it got cold enough to snow in the mountains. It was a pretty big deal."

"That's not even relevant," I said.

"Well, if I move, then it'll be relevant."

"You guys are moving?" I asked all of a sudden.

"No, no," he said. "It was just a hypothetical."

But there was something about the way he said it that made it feel less like a random hypothetical and more like a consideration, like they were seriously thinking about moving away.

"Speaking of moving away," he said. "How did everything go with your sister?"

"He left," I said. "A couple days ago. Saturday, actually."

"Is it true what they said about the South?" Charles implored. "About the better oil and gas situation."

"Maybe. I don't know. It's all rumors. Nothing's been confirmed yet."

"But what do you think?"

I sighed. "I hope everything is better. It just has to. If not for me, then for Leon and his family."

"Yeah," he said and decided to switch topics randomly. "I wish I could grow one of these bamboo groves in my backyard."

"It would be great," I said and played along with his topic switch. It felt better to talk about something unserious to take our minds off of everything that was happening. "Maybe I might even be able to get a pet panda."

"That would be pretty cool," he said and flipped the page. It was a picture of a white sand beach curving around turquoise blue waters. The sky was shining blue, the forests saturated with so many bright greens that I almost squinted my eyes because it hurt looking at it.

"Now, this is where I would want to get married," he said. "Or share something special with someone or do something cool. I don't know."

"Kinda missed your opportunity..."

"Whatever," he said with a small smile. "Don't need to be such a downer."

"Fine," I said. "So what would you do there?"

"Since we've already talked about the basics of this back on Friday," he said. "I'll get to the good parts."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"First, you've got to close your eyes to imagine it," Charles said.

"Sure," I said, playing along with him.

"So first of all, I'd install a huge helicopter landing pad onto the beach area, so that I'd be able to come and go from the island easily without going through boats since boats are pure evil."

"That'll be pretty ugly," I said. "Having this big metal platform on the beach and destroying nature."

"Fine. It'll be a big sandstone platform," he said.

"I'm ninety-nine percent sure that's not how it works but continue."

"And there'll be a whole wedding thing set up," he said. "And you and the other people will be dressed in Hawaiian shirts since suits would be way too formal."

"So it's a wedding, but more casual and with helicopters?"

"And there are going to be animals too," he said. "I'll bring in some parrots, maybe some giraffes or something to just fill the island with life."

"But the environment—"

"The environment can wait," he said. "And I'll just teleport the animals out using my teleportation machine afterwards."

"Okay... " I said.

"Whatever," he said. "The point is that it'll be epic. We'd be older at that time, so there would be alcohol flowing around—"

"Sounds like a good way to get cirrhosis and die young."

"Along with my de-alcoholing machine, so that you won't get liver disease and die. Anyways, there would be lots of rice because rice is great. Chicken curry too, and hamburgers because why not. Maybe throw in a little pineapple pizza because it's Hawaii."

"Gross," I said. "Pineapple pizza is actually evil."

"I'd kill for pineapple pizza right now," he replied. "Anyways, we'd party all night and just get tired and stare at the stars."

And as Charles continued talking, I imagined what this, admittedly very unrealistic, future would be like. We'd be lying on the beach, our stomachs so filled with food that we'd feel a bit queasy but fulfilled and happy. Our alcohol-tinged breaths would mingle in the dark as waves crashed in the distance, but instead of being violent tides sweeping over the beach, it'd be a calm, soothing lapping.

He'd point up at the stars and draw Orion on the summer sky while I'd dig my fingernails into the sand, feeling the soothing grittiness on my hands. And the moon would be in its right place in the sky, not too close for comfort, but not too far away. Just in a perfect crescent. Life would just pause for a minute because even it knows that sometimes people deserve to have the best times of their lives extended for just a little longer.

"It would be paradise," Charles said.

"It would," I said and sighed. "If only it were true."

"Our dreams are the closest to reality that we got," he said, and I opened my eyes. "Do you want to finish the rest of the book or head back?"

"I think I've got what I wanted," I said. "Thanks."

"You want to keep the book?" he asked. "I doubt that the library volunteer would mind."

"Nah," I said. "Let's leave it back here. Let other people dream of better futures too."

"That's a good idea," he said and tucked the book back into the shelf, sticking it a little out.

"It's just if I want to find it again," he added and turned towards me. "So you were saying something about how you got extra time to come here."

"Well, I had to ask my mom about it," I replied. "She was alright with it, but my Dad had an incident yesterday, and my mom shut down our house. I'm only allowed to leave once a week."

"So the food..."

"Yeah," I said. "I think I've got a plan."

"Which is?"

"I'm going to get a bag of food and set it outside on Friday," I said. "All you need to do is to grab it sometime in the morning."

"Thanks for doing this," he said.

"No worries," I said. "There's just something I need to ask you."

"Name it, and you've got it."

"I'll need something, like a garlic or potato, from the garden," I replied. "Mom's been bugging me about it, and if it's a long ask, then I'll make up some excuse for it, but, you know, sometimes—"

"I'll do my best to find something," he said. "Don't need to worry."

"You need me to walk you back to your house?" I asked.

"Nah," he said. "I'm staying here a little longer. It's nice."

"Okay," I replied and started walking to the front of the library. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," he said, and he burrowed deeper into the sections of books.

I went up to the front desk and returned the flashlight. The front desk volunteer asked if I had any books that I wanted to check out, but I shook my head and left the library. The sky was still gray, the clouds of ash still hanging over my head. And for some reason, I felt disappointed. Disappointed that life just couldn't magically get better. That the clouds couldn't just part and let the sun come out.

So when I got home and Mom asked how everything went, I told her that everything went fine. I saw May sitting on the couch and staring at the sky, dreaming of getting out of this city and to be with her friends and everyone else who has moved to the South. When I walked into my room, I saw Mira gazing at the photos from yesterday and crying softly, dreaming of a future where she and Leon could be together.

I sat next to her in silence, giving her the best sense of comfort that I could since I didn't know what to say. So I just sat there as her tears came out, saying absolutely nothing. Everything feels caked with ash. The streets, our roof, our hopes, our dreams, our futures, our everything.