Journal of Tallulah McBride
March 25, 2027
My last entry. Nothing works any more. No power, light or heat. I’m wearing layers of clothing and my darling cat died of the cold. I’m alone.
Water has flooded all the land to the church, which sits on the highest ground in Elstree. At the start of the technical breakdown, many people were transported out of London, but private cars ran out of petrol and they lie abandoned underwater all the way down the hill.
I must hurry to wrap this record of my experiences in plastic and seal it inside the golden casket. The sheik gave the box to me when he visited London with his people. A beautiful man, handsome and smart. Never mind. It’s over. The romance, and my life.
My fingers are stiff and I must finish. I’ll climb up to the bell tower with the box. I’m not looking forward to the height. I’ll hold onto the rope until I reach the top.
If this journal survives, pray for the earth. Take care of the trees. We’ve damaged the atmosphere and poisoned rivers and oceans. Too many people. Meteor showers finished off our offence against the planet. Are we doomed? Maybe we have a slim chance.