Honey Scragger's Last Words

Prologue: April 33rd, 2245

It's scary knowing the end is tomorrow.

Okay, obviously. I'm "lucky" enough to know this is happening, but I think I'm so caught up in deciding what to do with the last day of my life that I'm not going to get to do anything. Major anxiety? Who knows.

Would it be so bad if I did nothing today, though? You could say I would regret it, but I don't have much time left to regret things. No one left to judge me about my bad decisions.

Right now, I mean. But I guess I won't tomorrow either. Or the day after that.

What's left to do?

Something I've always wanted to do is go to a convenience store and just buy whatever the hell I wanted, at the moment or if I needed something a year from now. Like buy every different kind of chip bag or 20 different kinds of fake eyelashes. Everyone has a moment at convenience stores where they just want to buy everything in the room and get fat over a gallon of blackberry-flavored soda before they had even paid. Maybe that's what I'll do today.

I'm back. I bought a massive bag of Drenchers and a beer.

It's weird. I walked in the store, so confident I was going to make a massive mess and buy almost everything in the store. But I took one look at the snack aisle, and I got this gross taste in my mouth. I guess I realized none of this had any sort of use, and I was wasting my time because we were all going to die tomorrow. I'm very sure this was the biggest existential crisis anyone has ever had. So take that, Okada.

I kind of felt like a child getting their first credit card. They know they technically have infinite money at their hands, but they're too guilty to spend it on anything but the bare necessities. And chips.

So I bought chips and a beer. I knew I wouldn't eat the chips, but I bought them to feed that fantasy a bit. I also picked up my medication.

Looking at me, I'd be willing to bet the lady at the counter thought I was about to kill myself. To be fair, I was wearing sweatpants, a dirty t-shirt, and a cardigan, and I very obviously hadn't showered in at least a week. I was also carrying the angsty-adult necessities and picking up antidepressants, so that couldn't have helped. "Good morning. What are you here to pick up?" "Mm. Peroxitine something. Antidepressants. Do you get me? My name's Honey Scragger. Got it?" She stared at me for a few seconds before remembering her job. "Palm, please?" She scanned my fingerprint while her judgmental eyes scanned my half-closed ones. "Right. Almost done. Just need a few more seconds..." She tapped the screen for a while. This was not standard protocol, so I subtly raised an eyebrow, until she said: "So how are you feeling today?" This wasn't part of standard protocol. She just wanted to make sure I wouldn't kill myself. "Fine. The world is fine. The world's ending tomorrow. Not. Pffft. I'm funny," I said. This wasn't really helpful to my case, I realized.

Thank god no one was behind me in line. The lady stared at me for a while before squeezing my hand completely out of the blue and smiling at me, then handing me a receipt tablet and my baggie. I started to walk away in hunched steps. Reading the receipt, I realized she had added the suicide hotline at the end, and that's what she was typing.
I looked behind myself and she was still smiling.

I wish I could tell Jane about that. Maybe in different circumstances we could both laugh at it. Guess she's halfway around the world now. So much for telling everyone about our childhood paradise. So much for becoming proud of being a stupid cartographer. Now I'm the only one who could've stopped Jane Deacon from killing everything. And I failed.

Unless...

What if I were to send these diaries via mini helicopter to Avalia?

Of course! Okay, so if I couldn't expose her now, then maybe I can expose centuries from now...yeah, this plan isn't great.

But this could be the closest thing I have to some sort of use. I've written everything there is to know about Jane, and Mark, and the real reason why everything died out, not some ridiculous asteroid. And some form of exposè could be created, and maybe someday...I'll look around from some kind of heaven, and I'll get to see that, maybe not immediately...that I won.

Oh god, it's a ridiculous plan. The coordinates are way too exact, and it took thousands of years for anyone to get a close approximation, and I've never been great at rocket science like Jane is...

...but if I don't, their new society will become brainwashed and they'll never grow their own opinions. And Jane's always been too smart for her own good, so maybe one of her offspring could be too smart for their own bad...

Oh, screw it. I just looked around one of my diaries and found the coordinates. It's possible I could miss a number, or a few hundred. But this is my one chance to not be the root villain. If this is my fault, then maybe I should be the one to do something.

Okay, I've plugged the coordinates into the helicopter. If Jane makes it to Avalia, so will this. All of my other useful diaries are stuffed in there. I'm pretty sure the paper is the waterproof kind. Pretty sure.

Wow. This is the last thing I'll probably ever write. 17 years and 12 diaries. I wish I knew what to write. I'll have better words to speak when it comes to that. But I guess the only thing left to say is...

Signing off,
Honey Scragger