Riding Past the End of the World
This is an ongoing playthrough of the journalling game Riding Past the End of the World by npckc
CW: bouts of depression, grief, loneliness
Entries
Day 1
Cards:
- ♦ 10 - ruins of some concrete structure
- ♦ 8 - ransacked convenience store
- ♣ K - a broken item that reminds you of your past
- ♣ 9 - postcard of some place you've been
---
I suppose there's no staying here any longer. It had been good for a while - peaceful. The water was some days calming to stare at, even when the storms got so bad I was afraid the windows would shatter.
I was the last one to stay. They called me stubborn, reckless... But I couldn't just leave it all behind. Now every day the water's closing in more and more. Fish wash up on shore more and more. Bigger fish too, every day.
I sat by the water for the last time, a scarf drawn over my nose and mouth just for the false idea of protection. The water left an oily substance as it pulled back from shore. The shore, that had once been a lively hill by the valley was now nothing but a memory of better times. My last attempts at trying to farm were futile. Seeds no longer grew. Any vegetation that used to be there was long gone or well on it's way.
I haven't dared to take my boat out anymore. Who knows what's wrong with the water, really? The only way now is inland. Where everyone has already gone.
I promised I'd wait for you to return, but my longing feelings for you have since turned into a burning desire that you did indeed find a better life out there. I can only hope. So I write this journal in the hope that maybe someday you'll find it - probably long after it's over for me and perhaps for everyone. I hope that you, against all odds, make it.
~
I did the final check-up on my scooter. I had it stalled away for the just-in-case. For the very unlikely and unbelievable scenario that you, maybe, wouldn't return. Everything seemed to still be working fine.
I couldn't pack much besides some spare fuel (hopefully finding more along the way, if I follow the bigger roads) and honestly I didn't feel the need to. These past months had me moving dozens of times, and any attachment I had to material stuff got less and less with every move.
In the end I left with an empty backpack, hoping I could fill it up in the next town over - or whatever was left of it. The road there just barely peeked up from the water and I wouldn't be surprised if it, too, would get swallowed in a matter of days or weeks.
I scratched my name and the date in the door - a habit I had taken to each time I left a place. (I would call them homes, but this world hasn't been a home for a long time, ever since you left.) Looking at my work, I felt a small satisfied smile appear on my face and a bittersweet feeling washed over me.
A postcard in the windowsill caught my eye and drew me back inside. I picked it up, cherishing it's worn down edges and faded ink. A picture of the Lake of Ohrid stared back at me - the place we once wanted to move to, many years ago. We had visited for two weeks and promised each other to one day return. Next to it in the windowsill sat a broken figurine - a sea gull missing a wing. "Promise you'll fix it, and take it with you when you come find us?" My little sister had asked. I still hadn't be able to fix it, for glue was hard to come by. I tucked the statue in the side pocket of my backpack and carefully set the postcard back in it's spot - a memory too painful to carry along.
Ten minutes later, I had finally left the little house -- once on a hill, now by the water -- behind me and followed the road east, the hazy sun warming the back of my head. Already the road was covered in a gentle layer of water, and I was grateful for the rainboots protecting my feet from whatever it was that was hurting the aquatic life.
A worn-down sign informed me that the next town over was but 20 kilometers away. Hopefully there was something left. What 'something' I was hoping for, I wasn't quite sure of. In the end, none of it would bring you back to me, so none of it could truly, actually matter. Not really.
The scooter glided smoothly over the road, the landscape nearly undisturbed and tranquil. A silent reminder of how loud nature had once been here with an ongoing orchestra of the leaf-rustling of the trees, the chickadee's chipper-chatter, the cricket's gentle chirping. Now, only the gentle roar of the engine filled the sky.
Time didn't exist during that ride, my thoughts living in a different world entirely, and I failed to notice the broken town sign next to the road. The road switching from a smooth concrete to an old mason brick road snapped me back to reality, suddenly I was surrounded by what was left of the town. It was, sadly, not very much. A sinkhole had taken most of it leaving a gaping hole where once had been a cozy town center. Bless the wonky brick road, or else I'd have found myself in the middle of it. The side of the crater was lined with collapsed buildings, broken plumbing and wiring.
I parked my scooter against what used to be a streetlight, and now was nothing more than a historical decoration. As I walked around, I noticed one building still somewhat intact. The banner on the outside said 'Bookstore', but the book part had been crossed out. When I walked inside, the shelves were empty. On one of the display tables in the front of the store sat a couple of empty baskets, with next to them a wooden sign saying "Take what you need". I was simply too late, and didn't have anyone to blame but myself.
I made myself comfortable in the store's office, which held a small desk and a fabric-lined chair. I clearly wasn't the first one - the table held several messages, names and scribbles, none of which I recognized. With the table as my reading material, I eventually felt myself dozing off into a dreamless slumber.
Day two - part I
Cards
- ♦ A - campsite that looks recently abandoned
- ♣ A - working instant camera with just one snap left
- ♦ J - pharmacy with broken windows & empty shelves
- ♦ 9 - rusted trailer with animals in it
---
The eternal haze made the night blend into the day seamlessly. No sudden beams of sunshine to greet you, no dramatic golden hour, no rooster announcing the the news of the day. Just the gradual shift to a somewhat lighter existence, stable and unbothered.
The weather had been the same for weeks now, and I could feel my brain crave something more. Just anything remotely stimulating. The lack of food didn't help either, and the little food I did have was often bland and unflavored. I read the writings on the table in the shop's office once more. "Elijah, come find me North. - Francis", "I wish it would just end already", "I saw a bird on 23.8.2034 - no sightings since", "Go east go east go east", "AAAAAAAAAAA!" The messages were all lonely, sad and desperate. While I did feel bad for these people, in that moment I also couldn't see any other feelings existing in this world. I hadn't experienced them in a long, long time. Joyful laughter felt like a faded dream. Something abstract and unattainable.
Instinctively I looked at the watch on my wrist, even though it had been dead for months now. It was always either 10:04 in the morning or 10:04 in the evening, no in between. The light outside told me that right now, it was probably 10:04 in the morning. Time to get up to something, time to go find food because I really needed to find some food, and more importantly, clean water.
I walked back through what was left of town to my scooter, which was safely stationed where I left it. Somehow that bummed me out a little, for if my scooter had been taken, that would have meant there were others around here. Alas, nothing pointed to such signs.
The main road had been interrupted by the sinkhole, and a good part of the city already had water rising. I would have to go off-road for a bit. I hope it wouldn't wear down my scooter too much. Luckily the ground was mostly dried up and cracked dirt, even with all the water so close by. You know when you don't water a plant for a long while and then when you do the water just sits there? Well, that was what most of the land was like now. The earth dried out, the water forever rising. At least it made things easier for my scooter, for now.
I rode to the other side of town, where I saw the old pharmacy, sort of in tact. The windows had been broken, and the classic green cross sign was hanging on to dear life on the façade of the small building. I parked my scooter, approached the building and took a deep breath before coming in. One thing I had learned up 'til now is that you truly couldn't predict what you would encounter in buildings, especially pharmacies.
Upon opening the door, I wasn't met with any boobytraps, weird odors or dead bodies. Instead, empty shelves were waiting for me. Again. Although... Something in the far back caught my eye. A small-ish rectangular box? I hurried to the shelf in excitement, hoping to find a box of granola bars or even some coffee grounds. Quickly, however, I realized that the box wasn't a box, but was an old polaroid camera that strangely hadn't collected much dust at all. Next to it was a note. "One shot left, make it count, capture something beautiful," it said. Something beautiful? In this world? And what was with all the notes in this town? Who could possibly have the time and energy for that?
I decided to let the questioning thoughts fade - for they served no real purpose in terms of survival and I needed my brainpower to find food. I tucked the camera in my backpack, still now quite sure what to make of it, and headed back outside. As I took hold of my scooter again, I noticed something I hadn't perceived in a long time. The slightest shape of a shadow. A tried-and-true cast shadow from the sun. It wasn't much, barely there, but if made me step away from my scooter and behold my own shadow for a little bit. I made shapes with my arms. Lifted a foot in the air. Looked at how the shaped changed with my movement. It was something so small and insignificant, and within the minute the haze took chokehold of the sun once more, sending the shadows back to their banishment. It gave me much comfort, that moment, and maybe even a shimmer of hope.
After checking another handful of buildings and finding jack all, I scootered onward to the next town. There was little time to lose, as my own resources would deplete whether I sat still or not. So I kept on moving. The desert-like landscape got drier and hotter as I moved away from the water. What used to be trees now more closely resembled toothpicks in a slab of stone. I thought about the camera in my bag, and what kind of pictures had been shot with it before it ended up in my hands. Were they pictures of Before? Pictures of friends, family, lovers? Pictures of the leaves in spring, still a bit curled up, the freshest shade of green? Or were they pictures of decay, of destruction and abandonment? Of the masses of birds falling down the sky during that Awful August, or the day the capital fell down a sinkhole? I had no way to tell. The only thing I could control was what the next picture was gonna be, and the smallest voice inside me wanted that picture to be just as beautiful as the shadows earlier. This toothpick landscape did not make the cut, and I kept on moving, straight ahead.
Suddenly, the road disappeared. Everything did. Another sinkhole. At least this one didn't eat an entire city and it's people. As usual when encountering one of these I couldn't help but walk over to the edge and looking down - fully knowing that edge could collapse any second. That had stopped mattering a long time ago. I expected a dark, endless pit looking back at me, but what I saw instead was extraordinary. I looked up at the sky, wondering whether the heat and lack of water had made me hallucinate. But looking back down, it was still there.
Down below in the crater wasn't a pit of destruction. Instead I smelled the cleanest air in years and felt a fresh humidity on my face as I gazed at the sight of dense and varied vegetation, covering the entire bottom of the crater, probably spanning a kilometer across. A piece of forest, right there, like it had been around for hundreds of years. And maybe it had been? Nothing seemed impossible anymore, not after everything that happened. I swore I heard creatures down below. Actual live creatures. That meant water, food, maybe even people! I desperately looked at the sides of the crater, hoping to find a way down. I walked around the side closest to the path, and eventually found a very scary rope ladder anchored to one of the toothpick trees. The fun thing about no longer fearing death is that things that were once scary, have now simply become new and unpredictable experiences. The rush of adrenaline immediately boosted my mood as I took the first steps down, leaving my scooter unattended once more. (Dear scooter thief, please come find me so we can have an intimate night together under the stars, born out of a desperate longing for companionship, after which I suppose you can absolutely take off with my scooter and the rest of my belongings because ultimately I'd just be another burden to you, okay thank you.)
The way down was long, and not even fantasizing about the scooter thief made it any less of a drag. About half way, I peeked down, and the canopies of the trees almost looked like a soft pillow to land on. I was so tempted to let go and let myself be caught on that green cloud, but I know that was quite possibly the dumbest thing I could do right now, so I kept on climbing until my feet touched the bouncy soft soil below. Life.
Day 2 - Part II
I crouched down and picked up a handful of soil, letting it run between my fingers. I noticed some ants, a worm, a small beetle, all within that tiny bit of dirt. An entire world, right in my hands. I thought about grabbing the camera, but at that point I hadn't even looked up at the world in front of me. There was so much more to see. I took a deep breath, and then a couple more, feeling my lungs fill up with the clean air. Then, I looked up ahead - still scared it'd all been an illusion. That I'd once more see toothpicks and emptiness.
But it was still there. It was all there. The trees, the bushes, the sound of bugs and leaves and grass and things moving in the corner of my eye, branches moving up and down because of creatures moving about. Once again nature was loud. Tremendously, majestically loud. I wept. I didn't know what was waiting for me out there, but if I had to die please let it be here, please let me become one with the soil and feed the ground from which trees still grow. Let the cicadas sing my requiem as the ants carry me to rest, to become a feast for all that still lives and for all that will be. I didn't care about the scooter thief anymore. I wanted this place to absorb me, so I could finally, finally be at peace. I felt drawn to travel deeper into the forest, touching the tree trunks in passing, gently stroking the soft moss covering all that lets it in a blanket of green. I suddenly noticed moving had become easier. I didn't have to step over ferns and nettles, and didn't have to watch my step as much. Was this... a path? An actual path? I tried to look for the tracks responsible, but couldn't find any. I kept on walking. Up ahead, I saw an arch of light at the end of the path. A clearing? I felt my step quicken, my heart beating in my throat as feelings of anxiety and exhilaration took hold of me - I wanted so badly, so badly, for them- for you-
My legs moving fast and faster - a desperate weep escaped my mouth as I started to pant. My stamina wasn't what it had been, and once I reached the arch of light, I was completely out of breath, my head light from the lack of nutrition. I leaned against a tree as I caught my breath, once more scared to look up, scared to be disappointed. This time not the might-possibly-die type of scared, or even the I-might-be-hallucinating type of scared (I was quite convinced this place was real by now) but the type that could result in a crushing gut punch into a lonesome reality.
The path indeed lead into a clearing, where a campsite awaited me. An actual campsite. Tents. Wooden picnic tables. A trailer. A fireplace, still softly smoking.
Wait.
Smoke? That meant people had been here, very very recently. "HELLO?" I cried out. "IS ANYBODY THERE?" My voice traveled through the forest and even echoed off the crater's walls a bit.
No response. I tried to ignore the feeling of my chest contracting and walked to one of the tents. Empty. The other two as well. Three tents? Three people at least, maybe more? Where were they? The trailer, a small wagon, was my last hope. The door creaked as I opened it. "Hello?" I asked hesitantly. I heard some scuffling inside, but no answer. "I, uh, come in peace." More scuffling. I opened the door fully and two big black eyes stared back at me. "...DEER?" I gasped. I'm pretty sure the deer gasped too. I got out of the way of the door opening and the deer blasted through and disappeared into the forest. I then noticed more eyes looking at me. Several small creatures, hidden in the nooks and crannies of the small trailer, built to be lived in. The trailer had a bed, a small table, a seat, and several shelves and cupboards for storage. One by one the animals gathered the courage to scurry off, and I looked at them in amazement. I hadn't seen live, wild animals in maybe a year, and this close? Probably never.
I sat down on the bed. It was more comfortable than most things I'd slept on the past months, for sure. I let myself melt onto the mattress, just for a minute. Just to test. Maybe the people would come back. Maybe I should just stay here. It's 10:04 in the evening. Everything is here in abundance. Everything will be okay, okay, okay. . .
I fell asleep.
Day 3
Cards
- ♣ J - out-of-tune harmonica with sheet music
- ♣ 4 - newspaper about the apocalypse
- ♥ 9 - tomato soup in a pull-tab can
- ♦ K - burnt remains of what used to be a famous building
---
I woke up dissociated, uncertain of how much time had passed and unaware of where I was. The still unfamiliar scent of the the trailer quickly put my body in alert mode, and I sat straight up even before I had opened my eyes properly, my heart beating rapidly. Once my brain caught up, I eased up a bit more, knowing I was in a small piece of paradise in this wicked, messed-up world. I got up and exited the cabin, hoping to see a band of people sitting around a fire, all eagerly waiting to greet their new peer.
But no such thing happened. I was still alone, save for the critters and creatures lurking about. A sharp pain in my abdomen reminded me that I really needed to find something to eat. With yesterday's excitement, I couldn't even be bothered to look around. I went back into the trailer and started to rummage through the shelves and cupboards. Whoever stayed here hadn't felt the need to pack up their belongings - everything was still here. Plates, cups, bowls, blankets, all the basics. Stowed away in one of the cupboards I found a can of tomato soup. Finally, some fucking food, even if it wasn't much. I set the can down on the small table carefully with two hands, as if it might break and spill any moment.
I kept rummaging around. I found a metal harmonica and some sheet music. Now, I hadn't played the harmonica before and could make little sense of the dots and lines on the page, but upon trying I was quite sure this harmonica wasn't sounding as it should. A shame, really, for the harmonica's voice was usually quite comforting. I tucked the little instrument and the sheet music in my bag. Back to the shelf exploration, I had hoped for an instruction manual called "How to tune harmonicas", but instead found an old newspaper. It was dated almost two years earlier, and might very well have been the last newspaper that went to print, as the day this newspaper hit the doormat was the same as when the capital sank. It had been all over the news, and this newspaper mostly went unread for many, probably. I couldn't bear to read it now, either.
I took the newspaper and can of soup outside. "Thanks for the soup!" I yelled in no direction in particular. I ripped a page of ads out of the newspaper and used it along with my trusty flint stick to make fire. It was strange to have to look for dried out wood. For years, every branch would snap easily and catch fire in seconds. The damp and alive wood made it a bit harder, but I got a fire going nonetheless and used it to heat the soup, with the song of crackling fire being an ever so familiar comfort.
The soup went down like heaven. Had it been three or four days without food? I couldn't even clearly remember at this point. It's incredible what the human body is capable of in a state of desperation. After finishing the whole can, my stomach still rumbled. It clearly still wanted more. I decided to go and find some fresh water instead, which I suspected wouldn't be too hard to find seeing as people set up camp here.
I found another trail leading deeper into the forest. This one was less used then the path that brought me to the campsite. Standing in the middle of the dense forest, I never would have guessed it was so limited in size, yet the other side of the crater already loomed before me. It had another rope ladder, as well. It wasn't time to go yet, however.
I made it a point to occasionally yell "HELLO?", just in case anyone was close-by, but for that whole time exploring, no one had answered. They probably were long gone. Why anyone would ever leave this behind, I had no clue of.
Suddenly I stumbled upon a clearing. This one hadn't announced itself in a dramatic way like the campsite did with the arch of light. This one came without warning, and what stood in the middle it was an even bigger surprise. I was pretty sure this didn't belong here. Or rather, that it did not come from here.
Before me towered a large mansion-type building. It had been burnt down, but that didn't stop me from instantly recognizing it. This mansion was used as a museum, back home. A home that was long gone, swallowed by the water. How did this building get here? I swallowed as I gathered the courage to approach it. Up until now, everything had an explanation, or was at least logical or likely up to a degree. But this? This was something else entirely, not some freak nature phenomena, not human-caused. One doesn't simply transport a building. Nothing was supposed to be here, according to the map. I stepped closer. Even the fountain that had always been in front of the building sat there in the clearing, overgrown and worn down, but strangely still functional. Clear water tempted me to come closer, and thirst triumphed my caution. I cupped my hands and drank and drank. I quickly found myself nauseous. My body wasn't used to this amount of liquid anymore. I looked at my hands. The dissociated feeling I woke up with hadn't quite passed, and these hands might as well have been someone else's. This world might as well have been a thousand miles away.
The thing that was my body moved closer to the building. How could this be real? The mansion's double door opened smoothly without creaking, somehow untouched by the flames. Inside, ash and dust floated gently in the light entering through the windows. It felt as if time stood still. "HELLO?" I heard myself say. My voice bounced off the walls, unanswered. I crossed the hallway and approached the ticket counter, my footsteps leaving marks in the ash on the tiled floor. I mindlessly traced lines in the layer of dust that had settled on the counter. Wavering strokes, the ash soft against my fingertips. "What happened to you?" I softly said, almost a whisper. I drew a little boat on top of the waves. "Why did you leave me behind?"
Tears welled up in my eyes, and I quickly swiped the drawing away with my whole hand. None of it mattered.
I made my way to where I knew the first gallery would be, in the east wing. The last time I went here was at least a decade ago. There had been an exposition for local artists, something they often did. The scorched walls had rectangular shapes where paintings had once hung, the pedestals void of anything of note. The glass cabinets were empty and broken, the glass shattered all over the floor.
The dust never seemed to settle, and I wondered if you ever did.
It was quiet in here. The loudness of nature didn't penetrate the walls, and for a moment it felt like I was back out there on the bare plains of nothingness. What if everything had just burned? Maybe it would have been easier. Easier than this wet torment of poisonous water, driving us inward further and further. Maybe it would have been easier if everything had just gone up in flames.
I had to snap out of it. I had to keep going. The absence of people in the campsite hit me harder than I expected, and my mind drifted to that dark place again where I promised myself I wouldn't let it wander anymore. I felt myself getting dizzy, and reached for the wall to stabilize myself. My arm left a visual trail, and quickly everything did. I had to get out. Had to get out. I stumbled to where I guessed the door was, but found myself crashing into a wall instead. I sank to my knees and then on my side, the room turning and turning. I closed my eyes to make it stop. . .
. . .and then everything stopped.