Chapter 1*Astrid sits down at her general's desk. She removes her hat. She pulls her hair down from the tight bun that has made her head pound all day. Long, slinky silver-blonde hair cascades past the shoulders of her military-esque apparel as she sits down for a break. Her day is far from over, but she finds a few minutes of escape within her journal entries.*
5/18/24 - CVD19
Another day.
Another day post-mayhem.
Another day post toilet paper outages.
Another day post 10 to 14 days quarantine.
Another day post the 24-Hour-fucking-Wal-Mart.Shakin my head, Ma.
I'd abbreviate, but I'm afraid heaven won't translate correctly.
What am I even doing anymore?
We live off grossly preserved foods and liquid courage that we snagged from old liquor stores. (I feel you and dad rolling your eyes in your post-apocalyptic graves.)*Astrid talks to her family members in her journal entries even though they all died in the apocalypse.
Astrid has a new family now. Her new family is "The Tribe".*We're just teenagers and we're all that's left. Ok?
(Plus, some people took AP Econ and also love to drink. The liquor store was their obvious first choice in the teenaged apocalypse.)
Yes.
The type of people who never missed a football game now run our liquor industry. Yikes.My choice: the pharmacies. (I'm not a drug addict, Mom!) I'm a doctor. Can you imagine how it feels to be a 17 yr old, running pharmaceutical AND medical in the post-apocalyptic world?
I blame Dad. He taught me so much about diagnosing, treating, antibiotics, surgeries, xrays, creating an IV, hitting the vein, etc.
I mean, I'm no doctor. But none of us are. So far, I'm the best we have.So far, I live by the war quote, 'Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.'
Preparation is key because in the post-apocalyptic world, the shit ALWAYS hits the fan.
YOU ARE READING
What You Learn
Teen FictionThe rules of the teenaged apocalypse: (1) Everyone gets a new name. . . We die to the past to make room for the new.