September 16

Thank goodness Mom and Dad are alright. I thought they had died or gotten hurt out there because it had taken them forever to get back. This is why not having phones and the internet is a nightmare.

Mom and Dad left together in the morning, bundled up in sweaters and old ski jackets, because today was colder than the rest of the days, probably since the fall equinox is coming up this Thursday as the days get shorter and shorter. The sky was still bright and clear, but in the past few days, the winds have slowed, and I'm wondering if it's the end of this respite from the ash storms. Things have been too good with the weather, and there's no chance that the universe will let this break continue forever. There are probably some places on the West Coast that are frozen and snowed in right now, and it's only a matter of time.

Mom and Mira renegotiated the terms of gun use. Thank goodness Mom isn't at the point where she's allowing everyone to carry guns all around the house, but she's allowed Mira to have the safe with the gun unlocked and opened to have easy access in case that we needed to defend ourselves from any looters. I know that it makes Mira happy that she can help people, but I wish she could do it some other way that doesn't involve guns or just the potential to hurt someone, like working at a soup station or a city council volunteer.

May wanted to sleep in today, so while she snored in the living room, Mira and I played cards in our old room. It was pretty awkward and silent, especially after everything yesterday.

"I feel like you're avoiding talking to me," Mira said, finally breaking the silence.

I nodded awkwardly because there was no good way to respond to that. And it was true, I guess I was avoiding talking with her a bit, mostly because I didn't understand what she meant by "non-magazine" people, as if she knew that I was thinking about the guy in the magazine. Or maybe she was just talking about life in general and telling me how I should stop burying my face in books and start exploring real life around me. But either way, I was too scared to ask for clarification because I didn't want her to push the question.

"Do you know where Dad put his poker set?" Mira asked. "It might be fun to learn, and maybe May will join us to play."

"Poker? Isn't that super illegal to play?"

"Only if you use real money," Mira replied with a devilish grin. "Which we are totally not going to do."

"So much for making sure people don't break the law," I said. "Anyways, I think that it's in Dad's bedroom, maybe under the bed."

"How about you go and find the poker set from Mom and Dad's room while I go and wake May up since it's pretty late now?"

"I can go wake May up," I said and stood up a bit too quickly.

I know it's a bit irrational, but I don't want to go anywhere near the safe, especially since it's open, just in case the gun spontaneously combusts and just shoots a bullet out of nowhere. But I guess also that I don't really want to get used to the idea of just having guns being casually carried around at home because it'll be like the situation with the raiders in the ash storm. One slip of the finger, one moment of forgetfulness with the safety, one slip-up, and then, that's it, especially with the state of disrepair with the hospitals.

"Is this about the gun?" Mira asked. "You know the safety is on, right? Nothing bad is going to happen."

I shrugged, though if I was being truthful, I should've nodded. "I'll go get May. She'll probably be less mad if I wake her up from her beauty sleep since she might still be mad."

And before Mira could reply, I left. I could've been honest with her, and I guess it's something important, so I probably should've been honest. It's just that I don't want her to feel guilty about what she's doing because it's something that makes her happy, and it's her way of coping with the death of the couple. Maybe it's time for me to just get over my fear, so that everyone else can be happy about it.

After a couple of minutes, Mira lugged the giant poker set with all the chips in it. We didn't really know how to play, but we tried our best to keep ourselves distracted. We even upgraded the stakes of the game when May decided to empty out a piggy bank, and all of our chips were backed by monetary value. But as time ticked on, we all got nervous, Mira looking out of the window constantly and May losing her gleeful laugh even as she kept winning. By one, Mira was fed up.

"I'm going to check on Mom and Dad," Mira said suddenly, grabbing and holstering the gun, before putting on a mask and leaving the house, leaving me and May behind at home along with Grandma and Grandpa.

"What's happening?" May asked, looking out of the window, as if she could see the city council building.

"I don't know," I said.

"Mom and Dad should be okay, right?" May said, reaching for her pocket, even though her phone wasn't there, before huffing. "I wish the Moon could just disappear and leave my life alone."

She turned towards me, and her voice cracked a bit. "Do you think I'm going to make it to sixteen?"

"Of course," I said. "So that you can drive Mom and Dad everywhere instead of me because there's no way that the universe will be cruel enough to subject me to that fate."

"I'm being serious here," she said. "What do you think? And I don't want all of that 'everything's going to be fine and great' BS."

"I feel like you want me to say no," I said.

"Is that what you think?"

There was a long moment of silence because I didn't really know how to respond. I could've said that we were going to be alright, and May would probably scoff and call me a liar, or I could've said that we were all going to die, and then May would do something risky, like go house looting. So I stuck with my default answer or really our default answer.

"I don't know," I said.

"I should've let Mom celebrate my sweet sixteen early," May said. "We're actually doomed."

"Don't say that," I replied, but by the time that I finished talking, she had gone back to pacing around the living room and staring at her nails, now slightly chipped.

By the time we hit five, all of us were basically in full blown panic, and May wanted to go out to see if Mom and Dad were alright, but I told her not to because she could get lost or worse. Even Grandma and Grandpa started pestering us with questions about where Mom and Dad were, and all I could say is that I didn't know, which (unsurprisingly) is one of the few phrases I actually remember how to say in Chinese.

I guess at that moment, I sort of started planning how we were going to live without Mom and Dad and Mira. I know it's morbid, but I thought that without Mom or Dad or Mira, the rest of us would probably have enough food to make it to May's sixteenth birthday. Of course we'd probably freeze to death first since May and I would probably be the world's worst wood gatherers, and there's the whole water situation too. But still, I couldn't help thinking about it like that. Maybe that's another way that the Moon has changed all of us.

By the time it was nine, the sky was pitch black, and we had both stopped our uncontrolled pacing around and were just sitting on the couch, staring at the flickering fire.

"Stop biting your nails," I said to May.

She grumbled and looked at the fire. "Why is everyone disappearing? First, it's all of my friends and now Mom and Dad are gone too. It's like I'm going to mysteriously vanish soon too."

"Mom and Dad should be fine," I said.

"Can you cover for me tomorrow?" she asked. "If Mom and Dad don't make it back, we're going to need more supplies."

She then paused before adding, "Actually, never mind that first part. If Mom and Dad don't make it back, you won't need to cover for me, freedom and independence and everything."

"Stop thinking about this."

"Well I can't, and you can't stop me," she replied. "We need to prepare, just in case Mom or Dad gets hurt, and we can't avoid that because it just will happen."

"What we really need to prepare is a good way of dealing with the axe situation because—" I said before being cut off by a loud knocking on the door.

We both looked at the door, and a whole flurry of thoughts ran through my mind. It ranged from the most reasonable (Mom, Dad, and Mira being all alive and well) to hopefully less reasonable (A random person informing us about what happened to the three of them) to hoping that it'll never come true (A looter holding them hostage or just a polite looter). Then, I hear Dad shout, "It's us."

So we both rushed to the door, and Mom, Dad, and Mira hustled in, all of them sweaty and tired. "What took you guys so long?" May asked.

"We are never going back to the plaza again," Mom said. "Never."

"What happened?" I asked.

"We got trapped in the square," Dad said. "There was a large crowd of people, all very angry, especially all the homeless people from the earthquakes, protesting in front of the city hall. I think the mayor already left because he didn't show."

"You guys should've just left," May said.

"Too angry. They were already looking at the people standing around the edges of the plaza and some of them were being followed as they left because if those people weren't angry enough to protest, they definitely have food," Mom said. "And I wasn't going to lead them to us. It was risky staying back in the plaza, but far more dangerous if they managed to follow us back."

"We had to protest along with them," Mira said. "When I came, Mom and Dad had joined the crowd and I joined them."

"We stayed until it was dark," Mom said. "Because that's when they started lighting the fires—"

"They burned down city hall?" I asked.

"No," Dad said. "I don't know. We left when they started lighting them since there was chaos and it was too dark to see anything. Right now, it's too dark to tell what happened. We'll be able to see in the morning from the smoke if they burned it down."

"The sun set at literally seven, and it's nine right now," May said. "What took so long?"

"Scenic route," Mira said. "Just to be extra careful."

"So, you guys are fine?"

"We're going to have to make some new rules in the next few days, but we are alright," Mom replied.

"Good," May said with a small sigh, which seriously understated how much panic she was in a couple minutes ago.

Then, all of us sat down to have dinner like nothing was wrong. It's scary how we just moved on from this, like nearly dying was just an everyday occasion. At the same time, maybe it's best that we didn't talk about what happened today and just pretended everything is all fine. If we just keep living this lie, everything, at least, might feel more alright.

I just hope that everything will be alright.

September 17

"We're going to use markers," May said.

"Markers?" I said. "That's the best idea that you came up with?"

"Well, in a perfect world, we'd just chop off the bottom of the axe handle," she said. "Or better, we'd just poof the name out of existence. But reality sucks, and using a sharpie to cover it up is our best option."

"But isn't it an engraved name, so wouldn't he still be able to see the outline? And either way, you'd still feel it."

"Well it's better than what's under there right now," May said and pointed to the axe lying close to the fireplace this morning since Dad had to chop some of the larger logs so that they'd work better.

The tape was already one loop unraveled and a strip of pink tape was just flapping around freely. Tape unraveling is like a snowball on a hill (or, if I want to quote biology class, like hemoglobin with oxygen), where one it starts rolling, it'll continue to get larger and larger, or in the case of tape, more and more unraveled. We have maybe one week, at most, before Dad ripped it fully off.

"Well I'm going to cut the tape right now," May said. "Maybe that'll buy us more time and stop it from bugging Dad so much."

"Are you guys doing an art project?" Mira asked, arriving at the most inopportune time. "I heard that you were cutting something. What are you making?"

I think Mira was trying to be nice to May because while they had made up some ground on the spa day, they've still not gotten to the status quo of before, much less to how close they were on the market day. I guess it's nice that she was doing this, but did she seriously have to pick that exact moment and not some other moment two minutes in the future.

"We're cutting off the dangling tape thing on the axe," May said.

"We should just rip it off," Mira said. "It gets the whole job done, and plus, cutting the tape only delays the inevitable."

May and I both looked at each other before I blurted out, "Anyways, I was telling May that we shouldn't cut it or mess with the axes because we're borrowing them from the community garden and we don't want to mess anything up, you know."

Mira gave us a weird glance before going to water the plants in the greenbox. The mustard plants have grown quickly and are about three or so inches tall while the pea plants just sprouted their first leaves a couple of days back. The onion plants have stopped their wilting, and the stalks are standing tall and straight, but the potatoes were still potato-like, though they looked a bit green.

As soon as she was out of earshot, May whispered, maybe a little too loudly, to me. "Why'd you say that?"

"What do you mean?" I said. "I literally saved us."

"Not only did you stop me from being able to stop Dad from ripping the tape off, but you also made sure that we won't be able to rip the tape off to mark out the name."

"Well, what would you have done?"

"I don't know," she replied sarcastically. "Maybe say some of the fancy science-y things about how cutting the dead piece of tape helps it last longer."

"Easy for you to say," I mumbled. "Anyways, the markers wouldn't have worked since they wash off, and Dad will get really mad if his hands are stained black every single time that he touches the axe grip. And plus, if he actually looks at the axe handle, he'll see the engraving, so yeah, markers aren't working."

"Then, what do you think we should do?"

"I don't know. You're the plan person," I said with a shrug.

"Fine," she said and stood up before huffing and walking away, kicking the axe by the fireplace, as the steel grinded against the stone by the fireplace and catching everyone's attention. But no one bothered to say anything, and we continued existing.

There is an easy solution to our axe problem: telling Mom and Dad the truth. We took the axe and the solar panel from the Hunters because it was necessary for survival. Without it, we'd probably have a quarter of the wood that we have right now, and that we'd have to go wood gathering every single day to survive the winter storms up ahead. The greenbox wouldn't exist, and we'd be forced into more and more dangerous activities to get enough food. We need the axe and the solar panel, and they'd understand what we did because without them, we wouldn't be able to survive.

But I just can't. It's just too risky because Dad can be too prideful for his own good, though maybe he'd be this one exception. But either way, both of them will be mad, and I can't risk getting grounded because Charles and his family are dependent on me for food. If I get cut off, that's it for them, especially how I stupidly missed last week's food delivery because I was just too distracted by everything around me. Everything has to remain the same— or at least as similar as it can be with everything going on.

It's too bad that everything's changing with Mom and Dad's new rules.

Mira had to leave early because she missed her shift yesterday and needed to inform them of the reason why. But instead of heading out the front door, Mom and Dad took out two chairs, putting one on our side of the fence, and then, after Mira hopped to the other side of the fence into our (now non-existent) neighbor's backyard and placed a chair on that side. Every time that we had to go out, we had to use that, just in case that someone was watching on the street, so that they'd head towards the wrong house.

"Can't they just see our smoke from the fireplace?" I asked Mom and Dad. "So this is a bit pointless."

"Oh, yeah," Dad said, his words trailing off awkwardly. They took down this setup half an hour later and probably sent it back to the drawing board before going back and putting it back up.

"Why are you keeping it up?" I asked.

"Skies won't be clear forever," Dad said. "Someday the winds will fade, and the ash storms are going to return again, and the smoke will just disappear into the clouds."

I would've asked him about the light from our house or the fact that diverting people to the house right next to ours doesn't stop them from heading to our house right after they see our flickering shadows behind curtains or the orange glow of the fire. But I didn't say much because I didn't need Dad getting annoyed. It's kinda funny how I'm lying, so that he wouldn't get as mad when my other lie gets exposed. It's like that expression: "Fighting fire with fire."

I just realized that I haven't read my book in a while, but I guess I've been feeling down about this. It's like the book is supposed to be authentic and realistic, but every time that I think about it, it feels like a fantasy because I guess I'm just having a hard time relating with them since every other page talked about how attractive or stylish they are, and I'm just not. Maybe I'm being cynical and probably too self-pitying, but how else am I supposed to feel?

I think I've got to stop thinking about this and focus on the bigger problem ahead: the axe. There's just no room for love or lust or whatever in this new future.

September 18

It's suffocating living at home with everyone. I can't believe I'm saying this because before, I'd never say this, but I just need to get out and breathe a little. Thank goodness, tomorrow is Tuesday.

Just before Mira, May, and I were going to do our weekly water gathering (which did not involve the usage of Mom and Dad's crude chair-backyard scheme since it was just too inconvenient), Dad pulled me to the side, "Son, I need to talk with you."

Those seven words are the worst words in the world. I had no idea what he was confronting me about, and the first thought was that he had found about the axe. But then I saw it in his hand, pink tape attached and waving in the air, and I was even more petrified because I had no clue about what I was being confronted about.

"I saw the books in your bedroom," Dad said, and before I could call him out for snooping, he added, "I was curious about what you were reading."

"Okay," I said because I knew that he had found my collection of books, but I didn't want to say anything.

"I know that you said that you were reading romance. But I didn't know that you were interested in reading this type of romance..."

I shrugged, trying to be calm and nonchalant, like usual. "I like getting a different perspective on things. That's it."

That wasn't exactly the truth because while it's technically true, like I did borrow those books to figure out myself and get an outside perspective beyond my thoughts and assumptions, the way that I said it makes it feel like a lie. And Dad definitely latched onto my lie because he then said, "Okay, good. I'm very supportive of gays and lesbians and everyone in their community, but I'm glad to know that, you know, aren't one of them because it makes things too complicated."

Then, I got a hearty slap on the back, and Dad walked away before turning back to face me. "Maybe you want to read something else that's less, you know, about—"

"Grow up, Dad. It's the 21st century."

I should've also said, "Grow up, Neal. It's the 21st century" and that there should be no shame about my attraction to guys. But I guess I don't really need to say that because I don't feel shame that much in that way. It's more like I can't talk about the idea of just having a romantic relationship with anyone really because I'm just irrationally embarrassed by anyone thinking I'm interested in someone. Everyone feels like they're moving forwards, from Charles talking about his imaginary girlfriend to the guys in the book being so open with their desires, and it's like I'm just stuck in a past way of thinking.

I know it's time for me to move forward too, with my views on guns and with how I feel when I look at the guy in the magazine, and that I shouldn't be scared. But I can't because it feels exactly like the college and jobs and internships of the world before. The moon was supposed to fix everything, but it's like everything just remained the same but worse.

Water gathering was painful, like usual, and by the third round, we all felt like we were dying. It's so annoying that our muscle strength is the only thing not changing in this world.

"Have you come up with a plan?" I asked May.

"No," she said as she lugged our fourth bucket of water. "You know these things take time to make?"

"Should we just tell the truth?" I asked.

"Then you go tell them."

"I'm not doing that," I said. "You're closer to Mom and Dad, so you can tell them."

"Mom and Dad like you better," she said.

"Well, I'm not doing that."

"Then we stick with my plan, whenever I figure it out."

"Figure it out soon," I said, and we stopped talking about this because we saw Mira slowing down in front of us before coming to a pause.

I don't even know why I'm so scared of telling Mom and Dad the truth to be honest. Well, I kinda do. I've lied to tell before about tons of smaller things, like how I'm feeling and other emotional stuff, but I guess I've never really admitted to them that I've lied to them. Maybe they'll be understanding. I mean they should be, but I just can't afford this.

On our last round, Mira walked with me. "You seem stressed. What's up?"

"Just the usual end of the world stuff," I lied. "Starvation, dehydration, hypothermia, all kinds of nasty water-borne diseases."

"You sure it's not about this?" she asked and pointed to her hip, with the pistol in her holster. Mom had allowed her to carry the gun around when we were doing the water pickup because of all the armed people roaming around. I guess I should've felt better since it's an upgrade (in terms of killing power) from the electric lighter.

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

"How do you not know what's bothering you?"

I shrugged my shoulders and walked more ahead. I guess I was being too cold to Mira, and I probably shouldn't have, but I wasn't in the mood to talk and certainly not about something stressful and emotional. I've already got too many things on my plate to deal without having to deal with this.

I only paused when we walked into a different neighborhood (since we were trying to vary our walking paths to make sure that no one followed us) somewhat close to city hall and looked at the sky. There was this inky smoke that seemed to smear the sky, blotting out the blue and taking me back to the storm times, where the skies were clouded with an ominous dark gray.

"This fire is from the campfires the homeless people are making by city hall, right?" I asked Mira, even when I knew it wasn't true.

"I guess they must've burned city hall," she replied.

"RIP our government," May said.

"The food deal with Sacramento isn't going to pan out, isn't it?" I said, kicking at the hardening ash on the sidewalk because there weren't any stones.

"I don't think it ever was."

"It looks like we're on our own," Mira said. "We should probably walk closer to each other. It's safer. And better for family-bonding too."

"You can just say that it's safer," May muttered. "No need to add the family bonding part."

"Well it's safe and we can bond," Mira said, sounding just like Mom. "C'mon, let's go. My arms are killing me."

But we didn't move for a while, just staring at the sky. At that moment, I realized that we were all alone, and the last vestiges of the government were floating in the sky, little flakes of ash settling on the ground. There's no more dreams of food or Sacramento anymore. It's a bit lonely that we're all that remains here.

September 19

Mom made us do the dishes in the morning, but it felt different.

Before, drying dishes felt like a taste of normality, as if the ash storms and starving mobs were just a nightmare to be forgotten. But now, manually washing dishes just reminds me of how the dishwasher will never work again, and I don't think I'll ever be able to divorce washing dishes by hand ever again from the end of the world.

Charles came early today, and as soon as I heard his knock, I put on a mask and used Mom and Dad's awkward chair system to hop into our neighbor's backyard to let him in. In the early morning, under the guise of watching the sunrise, just in case anyone asked what I was doing outside, I hid the backpack in the prickly bushes. It wasn't a particularly strong hiding location, considering that all of the leaves had fallen off, but as long as no one looked, it was fine.

"What is all of this for?" he asked as he walked through the gate, probably referring to our whole weird get-up.

"My parents are weird," I replied and pointed around at the chair. "This just makes them feel a bit better."

Charles walked around and sat on a bench in their backyard. "Even though I do not support this at all, have you started writing your story?"

"I don't know," I said. "I'm not really feeling it."

"By the time you figure your story idea out, we'll all probably be dead," he said and then quickly added. "In, like, a hundred years."

"I just need the right inspiration, you know," I said. "That's why we should move onto your last one, so that it might inspire mine."

"Nope. We are doing yours and we will make progress today," he declared, as if he had any authority. "We are going to get your first word written before fall starts."

"Tell me any ideas that you're thinking about."

I didn't have any new ideas, but suddenly an idea popped into my brain: I should tell Charles about my axe situation with Mom and Dad, but in more abstract terms, to see what he'd do. In retrospect, that was probably not the best of ideas, but I guess it was about the most honest thing that I've done this week, and I think I know what I have to do now.

"Well I've got something," I said. "It's more like a conflict."

"Continue," Charles said, either real enthused or faux enthused. I couldn't really tell.

"Let's say that someone has—"

"Wait, who is this someone?" Charles (rudely) interrupted. "Like a male or female? Young or old? Are you talking about yourself in third person?"

"Who cares? And, no, this story is not me talking about myself in third person," I replied, and he rolled his eyes. "So basically this someone has done something objectively good that has helped people, but it could be perceived as bad by other people—"

"I'm confused," he said, cutting me off again. "Like how can something be objectively good and be perceived as bad?"

"So many things," I said. "Like people doing very suspicious things to get essentials. Or taxes. Choose your whatever analogy, but that's not the point. The point is that they have hid this objectively good thing with a lie, but that lie is about to fall apart, so they have two options. One is that they go and tell the truth and hope that the other people change their minds. The other is that they embark on a risky plan to cover up the lie with another lie. So what would you do?"

"I think the answer is obvious," Charles said. "Lie more."

"Lie more?" I said. "I thought that you'd be the good guy and choose to tell the truth."

"It feels like telling the truth will just hurt the people around you very pointlessly," Charles said.

"That somebody is not me," I said.

"Sure. Whatever you say," he replied sarcastically. "You're doing a 'I'm asking for a friend' right now, so you might as well just admit that it is you and get more specific, so I can actually deal with your problem."

I ignored his request since the more that I denied it, the more convinced he was that it was me. "But isn't honesty the best policy?"

"Are you doing one of those things where you are playing devil's advocate of your own position to have another person justify it?" Charles asked, and even though I was fairly annoyed, he wasn't exactly wrong. "If so, then tell the truth."

"I'm being serious."

"Okay, fine," he said. "The reason that I think this mysterious somebody should just continue the lie is because being morally right isn't an option anymore. It's better that we survive with a guilty consciousness than die with a clean one. But I don't know about your— sorry, mysterious somebody that we shall call Mr. Anonymous— family situation, so maybe Mr. Anonymous can afford to get hurt physically to be alright mentally."

"So telling the truth is bad?"

"With everything going on, lying is sometimes the only way to make it through."

There was a moment of silence, and I looked down at his shoes, which were filled with more glass shards compared to before. I guess it was at that moment that I started piecing everything together since there was no way that all of the glass came from just the earthquakes.

"God, we're such nihilists. So much for our bright, optimistic future," I said.

"So much for our future," he said. "Fixed that for you."

"That's depressing. Think more positively."

"Can't afford to," he said. "The sun is out, but it's just an illusion that's going to disappear someday."

"That was very angsty," I said with a pause. "So are you sure that I have to lie?"

"So it is you that you were talking about!"

"You know that I meant somebody," I said. "You just keep saying 'you', so I accidentally switched it."

"Sure..."

"You're being more annoying than May right now."

"That's such an honor."

"It's not," I said with a pause before quickly changing the subject since he was getting on my case. "Summer's almost over. Remember the time when we said we'd live this summer like we were little kids."

"Those were the good old days," he said. "It's sad that we're reminiscing about a couple of months ago like it was decades ago."

"Feels like a whole different world," I said. "I guess— I don't really know why we're still doing the bucket list anymore, really since it feels like a relic from a long time ago."

"I dunno. It feels like tradition," he said. "And we have something to work towards even if it's just something as random as writing a book, which we still need to do by the way so you better start coming up with a good idea."

And I guess it's also truthful, now thinking about it, in the smallest ways. Just telling each other our silly dreams and wishes is about the most honest thing there is in this world around us, where lying is what we have to do to survive. This is about the only time when the truth feels oddly enjoyable and actually something I can believe in.

Then, there was a beep from a watch that I hadn't noticed on his wrist, and he looked down. I pointed at it. "Where'd you get that from?"

"It was worthless to the people with supplies," he said. "I found it a couple days back in an old box in our attic, so I decided to keep it."

But I knew that there was something wrong with what he was saying because watches have extremely valuable batteries. And being able to tell the time, especially when winter arrives, will be invaluable since it'll be impossible to see the sun and approximate. There will only be light and dark and grays in between, and time will blend as hours bleed into each other.

It's at that moment when I connected the dots: the increasing glass shards embedded in his shoes, the cuts and nicks on his legs and arms, his new shoes and watch, the shattered windows of all the houses nearby his house, the lack of hunger for the past month or so. There was only one explanation: he and his family were one of the looters.

"I've got to go," he said. "But we will get an idea next week, and we will start writing. Before I leave, just one question: why do you want to write a book, like actually?"

"I just want something for us to be remembered by."

He stood up and nodded. "I think I might have an idea, but I'll tell you next week."

"Be careful," I said, and he gave me a weird look.

I was going to confront him about the looting, and I almost did, but I decided against it because I guess I was too scared of ruining things. I'm worried that he'd think I was judging him and that I'd lose him as a friend, and we'd resume our high school drifting apart. Maybe I'm catastrophizing like usual, but I think it's better to keep this realization to myself. I guess there doesn't seem to be any good that comes from telling the truth.

September 20

May has come up with a terrible plan, but given that Dad is literally inching towards ripping the tape off completely (only a couple of layers left), it might be our only plan.

But why do I have to be the one to execute it?

I'm basically going to have to burn the bottom of the axe, so that the name will be charred off completely. No half-solutions, no kicking the problem down the road, just finding a permanent solution so that Mom and Dad wouldn't find out about the lie that gave them the axe.

May wants me to do it during my late fire watch shift when everyone is asleep, and she wants it done tomorrow because Mom and Dad will be so exhausted from their second wood gathering shift of the week that they'll just fall asleep right away and won't notice our plan. All I need to do is just to push the axe handle into the flames for a minute or so until it is blackened and then soak the bottom in a bucket of water, so that our whole house won't catch on fire. After that, when Mom and Dad find out, I'll just make up some excuse, like I wasn't paying attention to the axe and accidentally knocked it into the fire. They'll probably be a bit annoyed, but it's going to be fine. It has to be fine.

"What about the tape?" I asked May. "Wouldn't burning it produce toxic fumes?"

"Then rip it off," she said. "Pretty common sense."

"What about Mira?"

"Use your eyes," she said, probably annoyed by all my questions. "It's not that hard to see whether someone is sleeping or not?"

"What if she's faking it?"

"What if the world explodes tomorrow?" May replied sarcastically. "No one fake sleeps for fun, and as long as you stop being weird about this, she won't think anything's wrong and won't think about fake sleeping."

I sighed. "Why can't you just do it?"

"Because it'll be too suspicious if I'm awake since if Mom and Dad wake up, they'll catch me up when I'm not supposed to be. You have fire watching duty then, so you're the only one with an excuse to be awake."

"I can just get sick tomorrow," I replied. "So that you can replace me."

"The only day that Neal is sick is the day that the axe mysteriously gets burned. Totally, not suspicious."

"What if we lose the axe?" I asked.

"Wood doesn't spontaneously catch on fire like leaves or paper," May said. "Stop panicking. Do you really want Mom and Dad to find out?"

I didn't respond, and she nodded. "Good. You know what to do. It's not that hard."

But the thing is that it is hard. She just doesn't understand the risk that I'm taking. What if the axe actually catches on fire? Or if Mom and Dad wake up and catch me conveniently not paying attention to the fire when the axe handle is in there? On top of this, tomorrow is Thursday, the unlucky day of the week. I should just tell Mira about this to see what she would do, but with how weird I've been acting around her, it'd be too awkward to confess this to her.

I've just got to not panic and stop focusing on everything that could go wrong. There's a lot running on this plan, not just for my family but also for Charles' family, and I need to remember them and just muster up the courage to execute the plan. I need to be confident and prepared, like all the protagonists in the stories that I've read.

But my knees are rattling, and my palms are sweaty writing this, and I don't think that my fake confidence is working. I just hope that I have the courage to execute the plan tomorrow.

September 21

I can't do it. I just can't.

I'm sitting here, writing in my journal right now, staring at the axe, lying next to the fireplace, its handle not sitting in the flames. May said that she'd stay up to support me, but after a long day of doing laundry, she's fast asleep. Because her bed is in the middle of the giant bed pile, I'm worried that if I try to wake her up to ask for advice, I'd wake everyone up. God, what a disaster today has been!

On top of all of this, I can't tell if Mom and Dad are asleep. Dad isn't snoring like he usually does, and Mom is a super light sleeper, so there's a chance that at least one of them is awake and consumed by insomnia. And what if I drop the axe into the fire or what if the fire makes a loud crackle and it wakes up Mom and Dad? They'd kill me since who knows what they'd be thinking when they see their son putting their only axe into the fire.

None of these even account for the Mira and grandparents factor. I'm not super worried about the latter. I don't think Grandma or Grandpa would rat me out to Mom and Dad if they woke up, though I highly doubt they'd even wake up since both of them went to bed super early. I got into a mini-fight with Mira today over nothing, and while I know that she wouldn't tell Mom and Dad, it might just unnecessarily complicate things, as if they weren't complicated enough right now.

I just need to take in deep breaths to calm myself down. But they don't seem to be working, probably since I've used this strategy so many times while I've been stressed that deep breaths just remind me of stressful situations.

But back to the focus: the axe. All I need to do is put it in the fireplace and walk away. Maybe my story will be that I needed to grab some wood from the garage, and I had accidentally dropped the axe into the fireplace before I left, which is why I didn't notice. I think I'll use this story since it's decent. All I need to do is stand up and push the axe into the fireplace.

Shoot, Dad just moved around, rolling from one side of the bed to the other. I have no idea if this means that he is awake or if this is one of people's sleep movements. And I just checked the time, and there's just ten more minutes until I have to wake Mom up. Also, I completely forgot that I needed to rip the tape off before dumping the axe into the fire unless we want to all breathe in toxic fumes.

There's just not enough time to burn the axe handle off, and if I wake Mom up late to a burnt axe, she'd be extremely suspicious of my story. I shouldn't have procrastinated this, and I should've just gotten it done, if not for our well-being, then for Charles and his family.

I'll do it tomorrow then, but I'm worried that they'll peel off the last vestiges of the tape and reveal the name on the axe handle or that I'll keep putting it off until the former happens.

There is one option left though. I can tell the truth to Mom and Dad.

Everyone's telling me to lie, even I am, but maybe telling the truth is what needs to happen to solve this whole mess. There will be no more deception or worries about being caught. Mom and Dad have to understand why we did what we did and took the axe, and maybe we can even convince them that May and I were right in stealing the axe from the Hunters' and lying.

But I'm so terrified of telling the truth because of the consequences afterwards, the way that Mom and Dad will look at me differently or how people's perception of me changes, not just naturally, but because I made this change happen. And that's what terrified me about the change that I was facing with colleges and internships and jobs and the future because I'm the one that's helming these changes.

It's my choices that determine what comes after, and it's my regrets that remain here if I make the wrong choices.

I'm sick of all this fear of regret, and I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe it's time for a change. Just even thinking about it terrifies me, and I want to take it back right now. But it's too late because with the time tickling down, I've committed myself to this path, and it's time that I take a leap of faith. With summer ending today and the fall equinox tomorrow, it's a good opportunity to embrace the spirit of change that comes with the changing seasons. That sounded like a horrible cliche, but maybe the universe will be kind to me because autumn is the season of transformation.

I'm going to come clean with them. I'm going to be a better person. I'm going to be like the hero of a story and tell the truth, even when it conflicts with my beliefs because the truth is good. It has to be because there's no way that it can feel worse than the paranoia and anxiety that I'm feeling right now, as the clock ticks down until Mom's shift.

There's only two more minutes left before I have to wake Mom up to tend the fire. Maybe if I write down that I'm telling the truth tomorrow enough times, I'll actually do it.

I'm going to tell the truth tomorrow.

I'm going to tell the truth tomorrow.

I'm going to tell the truth tomorrow.

I have to.