July 10

I think the riots have ended, but I don't think people have stopped being angry or scared.

Dad went into town today. Mom wanted him to stay back, but he had to know what happened. We all did. He said that the town was pretty bad. Smashed windows, some burnt stuff, and destruction everywhere. But he said that it could've been much worse.

There was a smattering of ash today. It began in the afternoon and continued till sunset. Or what I thought was sunset. The sky is always gray and dark. It's hard to tell when the sun is rising or setting.

Because the sky is always dark, the vegetables in the garden are dying. Mom went out to check out some of the blossoms, but most of them were wilted and the plants were drooping. She found some small zucchinis growing and a couple of green tomatoes but didn't pick them. She wanted to wait for them to get riper, but that's unlikely to happen.

"Do we have any books about canning?" Mom asked.

"I don't know," I said. "How would I know?"

"I mean you read a lot," she said.

"Maybe ask Dad. He'll know where everything is."

"I already asked him," Mom said. "He said no, so I thought you would know."

"Maybe you could go to the library," I said.

"Didn't it close down when the electricity got turned off," she said.

"I'm sure that they'll have some kind of system for checking out books."

Mom thought about it. "How far is the library?"

"One mile. Two miles tops," I said.

"That's too far. You'll be breathing in too much ash."

"I'll wear the air masks and I won't breathe too deeply or anything," I said. "I'll be gone for an hour. Less than that actually."

"I don't know," Mom said. "Everything seems so dangerous. You saw the riots."

"They're over though. I just need to head out," I said.

"Why?" Mom asked. "Haven't you always wanted to stay at home? This should be like a dream for you."

"I just do," I said. "Just think about it."

There is just something about being stuck in a house with everyone that feels so suffocating. I don't think Mom understands. I liked staying at home because it was a place of privacy, some room to breathe. But now everyone is at home and there's no room for some fresh air.

Today was our three can day, but everyone except May skipped dinner. I guess we felt guilty about eating three cans yesterday. Mom went to sleep early today. She said she had a headache.

I hope she changes her mind.

July 12

A miracle happened today.

I don't know what happened. Maybe the wind direction changed, maybe there was some rain, maybe there was even some divine intervention, but the sky was extraordinarily clear today.

I woke up early today. I had some kind of nightmare, but I don't remember what it was all about. The first thing that I saw was the sunrise. Ever since the volcanic eruptions, it's been dark and gray all the time. But this morning, I could see the sun peek up from over the horizon and rooftops of the houses. The sky was awash with a lavender purple. I think that the volcanic ash that's still in the air is turning it a strange color.

I tried waking Mira and May up, but they just shrugged me off.

"Go back to sleep," May said. "Don't disturb me."

"Shh," Mira said and she turned and went to sleep.

I don't really know why they don't care, but I don't even know why I care so much about this. Maybe it's a sign that things could get better, but that makes me even more worried though. The thought of everything returning back to normal is scary and exhilarating at the same time.

Because the air quality was better today, Mom said that I could go to the library today. There were two conditions, however. I had to go with May and Mira. I had to be back in under an hour because if I don't, then I'll be stuck at home forever.

These conditions aren't that strict, and Mom changing her mind was a miracle too. I guess I could say that two miracles happened today.

I walked into our bedroom to ask Mira about going to the library when I remembered what happened last time.

"May and I are going to the library," I said. "Mom says that you have to come along, but if you don't want to go, that's alright."

"No, I'm coming," she said. "It's nice to finally be outside the house."

I looked at the ground. "Okay. You're not, you know, bothered by what happened last time?"

"We both made mistakes then and now we've resolved them."

"Okay. Great. I'll see you in the kitchen in five minutes," I said and began walking out of the door.

"Hey Neal."

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind if we take a little detour?"

"For what?" I asked.

She pulled out a stack of papers. "Well I've wanted to mail these letters to Leon, and I guess that with everything that's been going on, I haven't really had a chance to send them."

"Yeah, I think we can do it. The post office is only five minutes away from here. Mom might get a little irked though if she finds out."

"That's why we don't tell her. Keep it our secret."

"With May too," I said and paused. "I thought we weren't supposed to keep secrets."

"Only for the important stuff," she said. "This doesn't really count."

Before we left the house, Mom handed us the new air masks and made sure that they were tight around our noses and mouths. The weather was a bit chilly today even in the height of summer, so we wore our winter jackets.

When we left, Mom made a big deal of holding out a stopwatch and saying that she is timing us. I told Mom that we needed an extra half an hour because the library was a solid forty-minute round trip because we were walking, and she approved of it. So we got an extra thirty minutes.

The streets were devoid of people with garbage spilling out of abandoned trash cans. With a severe lack of gasoline, the city probably can't even afford garbage trucks. May and Mira talked to each other. They played the "I miss" game, naming everything they miss from before: internet, freedom, boys, pizza, cookies, ice-cream, chips, boba tea. They sure missed a lot of food.

I thought about the bucket list with Charles. I had completely forgotten about it. The issue is that I still don't know what to fill up those last four spaces with. That's what's frustrating for me. I don't know what I even want to do for the future that isn't serious. I don't even know what I want for my future. Whenever Charles and I meet next time, I'll probably have to tell him that I don't have the whole list complete, though that would be an understatement. Maybe his bucket list will give me some inspiration.

The library was pretty empty when we arrived, but there was significantly more life than what we saw on the street. The building had some burn scars on the sides from the riots, but it was mostly untouched. There were people running the library, possibly volunteers.

They had set up a system for checking out and returning books along with navigating the library since it was dark without power. We first had to check out a lantern. They warned us that they will check the batteries of the lanterns to make sure we aren't stealing them. I guess some people snagged a lot of batteries.

May held the lantern as we navigated through the dark rooms of the library. There were signs everywhere for navigation: romance, nonfiction, science fiction. Our first stop was the nonfiction section. We had to get lots of books about plants and canning and preserving food. Unfortunately, when we checked the survival sections, which included cooking, medical, ecological, and engineering books, most of the shelves were quite bare, so we had to search around the nonfiction section to find the books Mom wants.

Mira managed to find two survival manuals hidden between Alaskan guidebooks and May found an encyclopedia for garden plants that was tucked in between books about the Harlem Renaissance. There was a small paperback guidebook about local plants hidden between books about songbirds in Pennsylvania, and Mira found a book about Native American history that has some images of fish traps while May found a fictional survival book that gave somewhat detailed explanations on how to build snares.

The rest of the nonfiction section was boring, but there was a book that stood out to me. The guide to America's National Parks. Those photographs were beautiful, and it was a reminder of the way things were before. I wonder what Sequoia National Park is like with all those trees caked in ash. It must look like hell.

"We should check out the romance section," May said. "I'm so bored right now that I'd read anything."

"What about the biography of John Muir," I said and picked it off a shelf.

"I'm not that desperate."

"Okay," I said. "You want some of my recommendations?"

"Nope. Any book that you've read is significantly less interesting."

"So, are we going to go and check out the books or not?" Mira asked, tapping her foot impatiently.

"What's the rush?" May asked. "We've got half an hour before we need to leave."

"Mira has some stuff to do," I said. "We're going to take a small detour on the way home."

"What stuff?" May asked. She was always a bit nosy.

"Stuff. Stuff," I said. "It isn't your business."

"Whatever you say," she said and went into the romance section with her lantern.

I checked out a couple of the young adult books and chose some fantasy and science fiction ones. Normally, I'd be hesitant to check those out since I'm not a big fan of those genres, but with everything being like it is right now, having some escapism is nice.

In the end, we checked out a bunch of the survivalist guides and plant encyclopedias. The backpack Mira was carrying was extremely heavy at that point, so we only checked out two romance novels and one science fiction one.

"There's always another time to get them," Mira said. "We'll come back soon."

The checkout system was archaic. We signed off the author, book title, and date of checkout on a spreadsheet. They said that they aren't going to have strict return dates for the books but trusted us to bring them back sometime in the future when— actually— if things get better.

We left the library. The sky was getting cloudier. I wasn't sure if it was the dark gray smog of the ash clouds or the fluffy summer clouds. "Do you think it's going to snow again?" May asked.

"Let's hope not," I said.

"What do you think happened with the riots?" May asked.

"People got angry and they decided to protest," I said. "And they destroyed some stuff."

"That's dumb," May said. "Like stupid. What's the point of destroying the government buildings and harming the people if they are the ones providing the people with food."

"Honestly," May continued. "They deserve to starve."

"Don't say that," I said. "People do stuff when they're angry and sometimes they do things that they regret."

"Smashing windows and stealing food is not just some stuff."

"When people are scared, they'll do anything to try to protect themselves and their family. Fear brings out the worst in people."

"But that doesn't change that they did bad stuff," she said. "Doing all that isn't going to help their family or anything."

"I don't get you, May," I said. "How can you be so cynical about people and still believe that the world will get better. That everything will go back to normal."

"I don't get how they're related."

"Those people are the ones that are going to build up the world again. The ones that will make the world better."

"Whatever," May said. "Where are we going anyways?"

"The post office," Mira said.

"I thought the mail doesn't work anymore."

"Let's hope that it works," Mira said.

We walked into the post office. Someone was manning it, and they took her letters. They said that the postage system wasn't working right now, so the letters might be sent a couple of weeks late, but Mira said that it was okay. When we walked out, May turned towards Mira. "Were those for your boyfriend?"

"Yeah," she said. "I made them in my free time."

"What does he look like?" May asked.

"I don't have my phone with me," Mira said.

"You guys never printed out any pictures?"

"No, I had some in my dorm room, but I don't think my college is open," she said. "It's too far away to even walk or bike too."

"We can always charge your phone," May said. "Remember those eight solar panel chargers that we got from that camping store."

"No, those only work when the sun is actually out. There's no long-term storage for them."

"That's too bad," May said. "Is he hot though?"

"Yeah," Mira said.

"So he's ugly then," May concluded.

"How'd you even get to that conclusion?" I asked and scoffed.

"She wasn't very interested in talking about how he looked, so he's ugly."

"No," Mira said. "He's not ugly. He's handsome, like too handsome for me."

"It's just that I feel like there's more to him than just his looks you know," she said. "He's kind and great and everything else that's good."

"That sounded like it came out of a cheesy romantic movie," I said. "Sorry."

"No, that's fine," Mira said and laughed. "There are just some things about life that are cliched messes."

"Will we ever get to meet him?" May asked. "I want to judge him for myself."

"I don't know," Mira said and quietly added. "Maybe when things get better."

We walked in silence after that. I could see that Mira was thinking about him at that moment, and I knew that he meant a lot to her. Is this what love is? I don't know, but it might be what hope is. Just waiting and hoping that everything will turn out better.

The worst thing about the ash being gone is that the Moon is shining bright in the sky, the lighthouse in a dark sea of stars. And when I look at it, I can see everything that has happened so far. All the tidal tsunamis, all the volcanic eruptions, all the lives of every single person on this planet changing. And it's all because of that rock in the sky.

But maybe it's a symbol of hope. Maybe the volcanic eruptions might be stopping or at least slowing down. Maybe people's lives will be saved and maybe Mira will be able to see her boyfriend and maybe May will be able to go out with friends and maybe Mom and Dad won't need to worry every day. Maybe everything might return back to normal or at least some type of normal.

July 13

The ash came back today. I think it's because it's Wednesday the 13th.

One joyous day of sun and now the skies are covered back in clouds. I only found out that the ash returned at noon. There was heavy fog this morning, and the swirling mist was almost hypnotizing. Because of the fog, no one really wanted to get out of bed. The skies were even darker than usual, and everyone just wanted to sleep.

"Do you think we'll ever see the sun again?" I asked May.

"Probably," she said.

"You remember that book we read in middle school? The one about Venus and the Sun."

"No," she said. "I don't remember much from middle school."

"You know, the one about the kids that couldn't see the Sun on Venus until one day it came out."

"Kinda. It sounds vaguely familiar."

"Do you think we're going to be like them? Never able to see the Sun again."

"No," she said. "The Sun will come out. It's not going to be cloudy forever. I'm sure there's somewhere in the world where the sun is shining."

"But the ash—"

"It's the Sun. And it's powerful enough to come out again."

The fog faded away when we were eating, but the Sun didn't come out and the sky was still dark and gray. May was wrong today. Hopefully she's right tomorrow.

July 14

I got another chance to go out today.

I guess Mom and everyone have all just been so sick of being stuck at home that we all just wanted to head out. We had to be safe, of course. Air masks on at all times. No going outside a two mile radius of the house without telling her and Dad. You can only be out for an hour before you have to go back indoors.

I left the house around mid-afternoon. Mira and May were planning something together to do something. Honestly, I had no idea, so I didn't really bother them.

"Where are you going?" Mom asked.

"Just to the garden," I replied.

"The community one?"

"Yeah. The one I worked at during the summer."

"Aren't the gardens all dead because of all the ash," she said. "Even our own garden is dying."

"I don't know," I said and shrugged. "I just want to check it out."

"Only an hour," Mom said. "You better be back by then. Otherwise you'll be grounded for the rest of your life."

I pulled the air mask right to my face and adjusted it. The sky was gray today, but it's always gray and the ash doesn't seem that bad. I think my lungs are getting used to the smoggy air. I wonder how people with asthma are dealing with this. It must be awful.

Lately I've been wondering a lot about other people. I guess because I've been stuck at home for so long that there's not much else to do but imagine and dream. The neighborhood has been getting quieter and quieter. I haven't seen a car or anything in the last couple of days. Everyone is just holed up in their homes or wherever and just weathering this storm for however long it'll last.

When I walked into the garden, I saw someone leaning over the plants with a watering can. I didn't expect to see anyone there. I went just to see if the plants and crops were doing all right. But the person watering the plants seemed awfully familiar.

"Charles?"

He turned around and faced me. "Neal? I haven't seen you for about two weeks."

"Yeah," I said. "My mom was worried about all the ash stuff. What are you doing here?"

"Watering the plants. No one has been here since the ash snows, and all of our hard work is just withering away."

"But aren't the plants going to die anyways," I said. "The ash is blocking the sunlight."

"But not all of it," he said. "I read a book about a volcanic erupt—"

"When did you become an expert in volcanology?"

"I had a lot of free time," he said. "The point is that this type of situation happened in the past before. A supervolcano erupted and spread ash across the whole world and causing mass famine-"

"How does this even help your point?"

"The crops that were produced were tiny and insufficient to feed large amounts of people," he said. "But the important thing is that the crops did not die. They just grew a little less. That's why we've gotta keep watering them."

"But it's not just one super volcano. We've got hundreds of them erupting everywhere all the time."

Charles looked down and sighed. "Just have a little faith. Will you?"

"Fine," I said and added. "Just for you."

So we kneeled down and pulled out weeds and filled watering cans from the leaky faucet by the shed. When he was pulling out one particularly obnoxious dandelion, Charles turned towards me. "Have you thought about the bucket list?"

"I have, in fact."

"So... What are the things that you want to do this summer?"

"I'm not telling you anything unless you tell me your whole list."

"I'll do it," Charles said. "I'm not bluffing."

"Then say it."

There was a small moment of silence.

"I'm not going to," he said. "I'm making a conscious choice to not do this and expose the fact that you probably haven't thought about it since we last met."

"I think you haven't thought about it either," I retorted.

"Here's what we are going to do. We are going to go down our bucket list and we take turns trying to help each other do these things, whatever they may be."

"Seems fine," I said.

"So..." Charles said and motioned with his arm.

"What?"

"Are you going to say your first thing?"

"Not today," I said. "We wasted too much time on this gardening thing."

"You're stalling," he said. "You don't even know what you want to do first."

"Fine," I said. "I want you to do something dumb."

"What?" he said. "I'm ready for anything."

"I don't know," I said.

"Well, figure it out by next time."

"I don't even know when we're going to meet next," I said. "My mom is really strict about going outside because of all this ash."

"Is this why you're leaving soon?"

"Yeah," I said. "One hour outside otherwise I get grounded for life."

"Well you better head home soon," Charles said. "I'll be here on Wednesdays and Fridays to keep the plants alive."

"What about meeting at your house?"

"My parents are pretty paranoid with everything going on," Charles said. "I don't think it's such a good idea."

"Okay," I said. "My time is running out. I guess I'll see you next week."

"You better figure it out. No more delays!" he said.

"I'll try my best," I said.

Charles wanted to stay at the garden longer, so I left without him and thought about the wish list. What is something dumb that I could make him do? Just writing this out feels a bit childish and petty, but I guess that's what this summer is for. One last chance to be young before adult life catches up with you.

We got a flyer from the city council. I was out when they taped the paper on the door. After the riots, they wanted to hold a town hall to have more transparency about their food distribution and to talk about how the rest of summer and winter will proceed.

It's happening on Saturday, and anyone who wants food has to attend. That's a smart way to make people actually come and listen. Mom is worried that with so many people, the crowds will get rowdy, and another riot will break out, but Dad told her that they'll have lots of security and police there. Plus, we'll need the food for the future.

July 15

Mom made us do the dishes today.

I guess she just got tired of doing them for us almost every day, and because we weren't doing anything useful, she decided to put us to work.

I said that I'd dry the dishes. Washing food covered plates seems disgusting. But May and Mira wanted that too. I guess no one really likes touching wet dishes. I wonder how Mom dealt with all of this every single day.

We did rock-paper-scissors to decide which two people were going to get tasked with washing the dishes. Thankfully, I won the first round with my rock against both of their scissors. "Why don't we make Grandma and Grandpa do the dishes," May grumbled.

"Because they're old," Mira said.

"Just because they're old doesn't mean that they're incapable of doing anything."

"Don't let the old people work. Just do it."

"You sound like Mom," May said.

"Is that bad?" I asked.

"It's annoying," May said.

"Less talking and more working," Mom yelled from her bedroom.

"Yes, sir," May said. "The dictator commands and we do."

So we washed and dried the dishes for a solid half an hour. It was a very boring half an hour. Most of today was boring. Mom and Dad were talking about the town hall tomorrow. I don't think they've ever been this tense since the small riot on the day of the first food handout. Normally, Mom and Dad would be arguing over summer vacation plans or trying to wrangle all of us together to go to the beach. Look at how the times have changed.

"Should we bring my parents?" Mom asked.

"Is your mother's leg doing better?"

"I think it was a cramp. She says that she's fine, but I don't know."

"She's tough," Dad said. "We have to bring everyone. We need to—"

"—get the food," Mom said. "You've been going off like a broken record about this."

"Sorry," Dad said. "It's just that it's important."

"I know," Mom said. "So we're staying close to the door for the town hall?"

"Stick together and stick near the entrance. If anything goes wrong inside, we'll be able to escape."

"But what about outside," Mom said. "Someone might bring a gun or who knows what and then..."

"I know," Dad said. "But what else can we do? If we stick to the front, if anything goes wrong, we'll be stuck behind hordes of people. Staying in the middle is the worst. The only option is sticking to the back. If anything feels off, we'll leave."

"Do you think they'll tell us when we're getting electricity back?"

"It's not happening," Dad said. "The whole world is collapsing around us. We'll be lucky if they extend the natural gas cutoff to the start of winter. I can only pray that they don't cut off the water."

"They can't do that," Mom said. "They're probably going to tell us during the town hall."

"Whatever month they say, take it and subtract it by three months. They don't want us to panic, so they'll lie about it. If they say that we might run out of water in January, our taps will run dry by the end of October."

It's terrifying to think of losing access to water. No more showering, no more cleaning dishes, no more water for just drinking. But October feels so far away, and we don't even know if we're going to lose water that early. Hopefully, we won't lose it that early.

July 16

The meeting was at two in the afternoon, so Mom and Dad grabbed everyone at one, so we'd arrive there in time. At one in the afternoon in the middle of summer, it was in the mid-fifties. That's what we'd normally see in the middle of autumn. I can't imagine what winter will be like.

The town was desolate. There were some charred remains of cars, and some of the glass had been shattered, but it looks like someone has been cleaning it up, sweeping all the glass to the sidewalks and laying out bright orange cones. But as we approached city hall, there seemed to be more people. Lots of more people. There were at least a hundred waiting outside to enter and who knows how many more inside.

Mom and Dad were wary as we stepped in line. I think they were worried about other people bringing guns or knives or other weapons. "Remember to stick together," Mom said. "If anything goes wrong, find each other first."

"How long do you think it's going to take?" May asked.

"At least an hour," Dad said. "People are going to be asking questions: water, heating, food, gasoline, electricity."

"Do you guys actually think something bad is going to happen though?" I asked.

"No," Mira said. "I can see that they're doing metal detector checks and searching through everyone's belongings. No gun or knife will ever be able to make it through."

Mom piped in. "I saw somewhere that people can manufacture plastic guns usi—"

"Mom," May said. "Sometimes you watch too much TV."

"I don't even know why someone would bring a gun," I added. "I mean I get the whole sense of protection thing, but like, doesn't that put everyone else in danger."

"When people are scared, they'll do anything to protect their family," Dad said. "It doesn't matter if it's logical or not, a gun gives people a sense of safeness, and that's what they're going to listen to."

The security guard by the door made us take off our jackets and go through the metal detectors. If we had any weapons, they'd tag them and leave them off to the side for you to pick up after the town hall was over. I saw the stacks of guns. There weren't as many as I expected— roughly twenty or so small pistols— but that's still a lot.

The room was packed. There were some volunteers unfolding and arranging chairs, cramming them together to fit as many people as they could. Mira and May managed to snag some seats in the back, but Mom, Dad, and I had to stand with Grandma and Grandpa. I spotted Charles in the crowd and waved to him.

He waved back and weaved through the crowd to get to me.

"You're here," he said.

"And you're here too," I replied. "Are you ready to watch the town hall?"

"Yeah. But we're mostly here for the food."

"How many people do you think would be here if no one got bribed?"

"Probably two people, maybe three," he said. "You seem like the type of person that'd be there."

"I don't know if that was an insult or a compliment."

"Think of it as both," he said. "Anyway, you probably should get back to your family. The whole thing seems to be starting."

"I'll see you next week."

"You better," he said. "I'm still waiting on your first wish."

I went back to Mom and Dad. They managed to find one more seat, so Grandma and Grandpa could take the first two while Mira and May shared the third.

A man walked onto the stage. I believed that he was our mayor, but I wasn't sure what his name was. He stepped up to the podium and adjusted the microphone. The whole place was silent because everyone wanted to know what he was going to say.

"We're in dark times now. There is no denying it. Many of our families were affected by the floods and many of us had people close to us who passed away because of this disaster."

"I understand your fear. It will be tempting to give into it, especially when hope is difficult to find. But we mustn't give into it," he said. "Last week, there were massive demonstrations that quickly turned violent. Many people were hurt, including young children and the elderly."

"This is not who we are. We must be stronger than to give into fear and anger, to succumb to these counterproductive attitudes. People say that disaster brings out the best and worst in people. I want this to bring out the best. We must stay strong as a community. We must help each other and those in need. We must shine a light on fear and anger and embrace hope. Only then can we rebuild our society and our humanity together."

There was a scattered applause. The speech was pretty impressive, and in any other circumstance, he would have received a standing ovation. But today, everyone was too scared and worried that his message of hope just rang hollow.

"So I've set up a donation box," he added. "I know that many of you have hoarded food and other supplies. But some of us have not been so fortunate. Donating food will be a step in the right direction in helping all of our community prosper. Remember, we must embrace hope and reject fear."

"Now I will be taking questions."

A dozen hands shot up. He picked on a random person.

"When will the electricity be back?"

"We don't have a timeline for that yet. Much of the infrastructure to generate electricity has been damaged, so we are still coordinating with the state to resolve this issue," he said. "For now, only essential locations will receive electricity. The hospital, fire station, and police station will all be up and running."

"And the mayor's house," someone in front of me grumbled. "I heard that his house still has power."

The mayor pointed to another person. "Will we be losing natural gas?"

"Not in the near future."

"What's that supposed to mean? Are we going to lose heating or not? Answer the question."

"Yeah!" someone else in the audience shouted. "What are you trying to hide?"

"The situation right now is extremely volatile," he said. "I cannot make guarantees about when we are going or not going to lose gas."

"What about water?" an old woman in the front asked.

"As far as I can tell, we are not losing water anytime soon," he said.

"So you don't know?" a man in the audience shouted. "Do you know anything? Because all I'm hearing is I don't know."

Our mayor was floundering, and I felt bad for him. With everything going on and the world being in total chaos, his job is pretty hard.

"School?" another woman said. "My kids are going to high school. Will they be open?"

"Yes," the mayor said, probably grateful that someone brought that up. There were some groans in the audience. "School will continue as usual, beginning in mid-August."

"But how are our kids going to read without electricity?"

"We will be preparing lanterns and flashlights for students in the classroom. Furthermore, all online curriculum will be adjusted so that we will be able to do it without computers or the internet."

He fielded a couple more questions about electricity, the internet, and rebuilding the coastline before calling it quits. Some people shouted at him when he left the stage since there were a lot more people still raising their hands. But I don't think there was anything more he could offer them.

The food distribution came after, and it was complete chaos. People practically jumped on the people giving out the food. I did what Mom and Dad told me to do, which was stick with my family and proceed carefully. The city council had to bring police officers and security guards in to sort out the mess.

After a solid half an hour of people pushing each other and rushing towards the food, some semblance of organization appeared. Everyone gathered into a loose line that snaked around the room. When we got our food, I looked into it. There were about ten cans of food inside, a far cry from the amount of food in the beginning.

"There's nothing in here," I said.

"Shh," Mom said. "We'll discuss this later once we're out of here."

"No one's going to jump us," May said. "People aren't that stupid."

"People made stupid decisions when they're scared or angry. And looking at the room right now, they are definitely scared and angry."

"I agree with your mom," Dad said. "We can talk about this when we get home. I don't want anyone talking about food in the plaza. People have guns. It's not safe."

We hustled out of the building and crossed the street before heading back home. It began snowing ash, a little sprinkle of dust that blanketed the streets a dark gray. Another volcano must've erupted up north. Mom made sure that we all were wearing our ash masks correctly.

It was dark when we reached our house. I wasn't sure if it was because of the ash storm or the sunset or a combination of both, but it felt like the middle of the night. It was pitch black inside, but nobody dared to turn on the lamps in our house.

"It's too dangerous," Dad said. "We don't want to become a target, especially because everyone is so angry."

But we couldn't see anything without the lamp, so we turned one on to the lowest dimness and ate cold beans from our food bag.

"So what are we going to do about the food situation?" I asked.

"We're running out of food," Dad said. "I don't want to use our stockpiles too heavily until the food bags run out."

"So we're going to have to eat less food."

"But I'm always hungry," May said.

"Maybe your dad and I can eat one can on Sundays," Mom said and nudged Dad. "You've always wanted to start fasting."

"No," Dad said. "We need to be strong. I'd recommend cutting down from three cans to two every Sunday and Wednesday for the time being."

"But tomorrow is literally Sunday. That's so unfair," May said.

"Tomorrow is our last three can day," Dad said. "From tomorrow onwards, two cans every day."

He continued. "And because of the natural gas situation, we might need to start gathering kindling and firewood for winter ahead. It's the middle of summer and temperatures are dropping every day. We need to prepare for the worst, a winter with no heating except for the fireplace."

"But the ash outside," Mom said. "It's not good for the kids."

"Maybe your grandparents can help," Dad said. "We can have rotating shifts. Each person works outside for an hour or so."

"But where are we going to store the firewood," Mira asked. "No one wants to sleep near branches and they're going to bring in lots of insects."

"We'll store them in the garage," Dad said. "Neal and I will push out the car tomorrow."

"Why me?" I asked.

"Just do it," Mom said. "So we're all good for tomorrow."

"Yes sir," May said.

Mom gave her a withering glance, and we finished our cans in a calm silence.

Looking back to last month, everything that I wrote feels hopelessly naive. We've still got a lot of food in the pantry, but every day it seems to be dwindling like the world around me. The radio has gone silent— except for the list of the dead from the government— and all my whole world is just my house and a couple of other places.