Convinced she is of Scandinavian descent and will prove it one day. Cannot function without tea. Would love to live in a Wes Anderson film.
The End of the World as I Know It
Over the past two weeks, ever since the news of the first bodies had spread, I have looked at the sky every night wondering if I could see the place they came from, or rather the star their home orbited around. I’ve been imagining what they might look like; the rest of the world may have seen that for themselves, but we aren’t even allowed to look at the photos of their corpses that, I guess, the newspapers are full of. I bet that all the sci-fi movies and TV shows are very wrong, though. I bet they don’t look anything like humans imagined they would. I wonder if they, too, have any idea of what we look like and if they are as wrong as I believe we are. Maybe our planet is so wildly different from what they expected that it’s actually shock that killed them? But I suppose it’s just the fact that their lungs weren’t adapted to our atmosphere, or something like that.
But why take the risk? Why travel such an incomprehensibly long distance not knowing if you could survive arriving to your destination? Mary calls these thoughts blasphemous (which makes me start humming Blasphemous Rumors), but she says she won’t tell anyone about them – as if that would make any difference. We’ll be dead in less than an hour anyway, and I’ll never get to hear Depeche Mode live, and if John even has a punishment planned for those who share these blasphemous thoughts, it hardly matters at this point.
When I joined the community, I was a bit jealous of Mary, having seen how proud her parents were because John chose her as his assistant (though I suspect they weren’t aware of all her duties). Mary was the designated weirdo in our high school. She wasn’t bullied, not really; people actually invited her to hang out when she first moved to our neighborhood. And she always accepted the invitations, although she stopped getting them very soon. The other kids found her religious fanaticism somewhat fun at first, but when they realized how serious she was, most of them decided to just ignore her. A lot of folks were surprised Mary Johnson and her family had joined the cult so readily, considering how different their beliefs were from what John was preaching. I think people such as the Johnsons aren’t really picky when it comes to what they will dedicate their time to, as long as there’s something to be fanatic about.
If I disregard the fact that he’s leading more than a hundred people to death, John is a lot like my mother, really. Unwilling to explain much of what’s going on, using ‘because I said so’ as an argument – treating us like children. And there are people here who are older than him! Thinking of Mom, I childishly wonder if she’s blaming herself. I once came very close to faking my suicide just to see her reaction, but gave up when I vomited in the bath full of fake blood that looked too real. I almost laugh out loud remembering this, but then I hear her constantly disappointed voice in my head saying how I can’t even commit suicide on my own. Would she really say something like that, though?
The preparations for tonight started hours ago, and now the main room is empty but for a big white square table on which there are exactly 122 plastic cups that, for now, contain only water.