****'s Blog

:: Tuesday, February 1, 2026 ::

It has been nearly eight months.  Of course, the Authority will not say.  But I've kept track with a calendar I hung on the wall shortly after.  Seven months, twenty-eight days, precisely. 

Sometimes I'll walk into Father's room and still expect him to lay in his reclined easy chair, studying his crossword puzzle.  I took Mother's paintings off the living room wall months ago, but I cannot shake the image of her standing in the doorway, arms crossed, just admiring at the pictures she took of me when I was a small child.  A few months after it happened, the feeling of intense grief and hopelessness seemed to release its hold a little.  I thought it was gone, but lately it's started again.  I experience these episodes a few times a week now.  Upon snapping back to the real world and realizing that I will never see them or hold them again, I don't feel it right away.  I'll just stand still for a couple of minutes, struggling to feel anything.  The grief, it just cripples you.  Upon returning from the coal dig last night, I caught myself yelling, "Mom, I'm home" as I opened the front door.  And I just stopped.  I must have stood in the doorway for five minutes.  Then I heard the shriek of the siren of an Authority van driving by outside, and I was ripped out of my fantasy world which one year ago was my real world.  I thought, "I just want to dream forever.  I want to dream until I die."  I let go of my hard hat and duffel bag; they hit the hardwood floor with a dull clank.

I began to cry.

Apologies.  I don't think I really introduced myself or explained what I'm doing here.  My name is ****.  I created this blog as soon as I could secure Internet access.  Don't let my melancholy disposition fool you; my recent discovery that the Internet is, in fact, still largely intact has lifted my spirits.

An Authority agent came by the other day.  I traded him a pack of cigarettes for an ISP account.  He said, "No promises, it's kind of an insecure connection, and the blackouts sometimes take you offline for a few hours until it re-calibrates."  I told him, "No promises, those smokes were in my dad's dresser drawer for like a year."  He replied, "Kid, these days I'd smoke dog shit.  Just gimme a light, know what I mean?"

He's about my only friend anymore.  I feel weird calling him my friend; technically speaking, he's the block administrator who prevents me from leaving this district of the city.  But friends are few and far between here.  I hardly have a chance to make any at the coal dig -- if they see you talking, they'll put you out of a job.

I don't know, everything's relative.  If you had told me one year ago that I'd soon be digging coal for soup packets, I'd have scoffed at you.  Of course I would have, because a year ago there was no coal mine anywhere near here.

I suppose * * * * * * * has a way of accelerating nature.

Ooh, there must be a word censor in effect.  I guess we're not allowed to talk about the Event.  The Internet must be corporately run by the Authority these days.  Let me try a censor test real quick:

FUCK =  Check.

SHIT = Check.

* * * * * * * * * = Censored.

n-u-c-l-e-a-r = Check.

* * * * * * * * * * * * = Censored.

p-r-o-p-h-e-c-y = Check.

BOOBIES = Check.

* * * * * * * * *        * * * * * * * *  = Censored.

r-o-b-i-n   y-o-u-n-t = Check.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  = Censored.

m-a-s-s  h-y-s-t-e-r-i-a = Check.

I imagine the the uneducated reader would question what a baseball player would have to do with the end of the world.  That's pretty funny.  Ah well, I don't care to talk about the Event; it saddens me.  All of you were there to suffer it anyway, I'm sure you don't need a history lesson.

I am censoring my own name for obvious reasons.  One does not give out his name in these times.
 

I was talking to the Authority block admin today.  He told me that as a result of uprisings in districts worldwide, the Authority has begun an effort to flush the Internet of conversation between resistance loyalists.  "What do I care?"  I said.

He was incredulous.  "Do you even remember what happened?  Do you even realize that it was probably the Authority who brought about the Event? 

"Why are you even saying this?"  I asked.

"I don't know...I don't know.  Just forget I said anything."  He took a drag from his cigarette, took a few steps away, then hesitated and turned himself back around to face me.  "So...all these things that are happening.  You don't care?  You aren't angry?"

"Why be angry?" I replied.  "I prefer not to think about it, it keeps me numb.  My family and friends are all dead or gone.  I can't change that.  I vomit every morning from the radiation sickness that will not leave me.  I can't change that.  What's the point of rebelling?  The Authority is our best hope right now.  They're the ones keeping the peace."

He gave sort of a sick, sad chuckle.  "You wouldn't say that if you've seen the shit I have.  I bet you think that coal dig you're working at is a shit job, right?  You're lucky you're even getting those soup bricks at all.  St. Louis, Denver, Oklahoma City.  Those places are under siege, my friend.  Nobody has any food.  Nobody can leave.  It's only a matter of time before those people die."

"Well, yeah.  Because the Imperial troops are keeping everyone trapped, right?"

"Yeah.  And guess who rolled over and let them do it."  He gestured to the patch on his uniform.  "The Authority doesn't care.  They were supposed to defend us after the U.S. government fell, and they just let Imperial troops wash up on our shores unchecked.  We could have put up a fight, but we didn't.  We're a bunch of crooks, man.  A bunch of fucking crooks."

"No way.  All I've heard from people is that they're the ones protecting us," I said to him.  "Life isn't great right now, but at least I'm not starving, and at least our electricity's restored.  I have the Authority to thank for that."

He shook his head.  "You can keep your head in the sand all you'd like, I suppose.  But it's not going to last much longer.  I imagine all this will be Imperial territory by the end of the year."

"Look," he said as he pulled something out of his pocket.  Before he did, he looked to make sure that nobody else was around.  "Here, take this."

I was in shock.  "How in the hell did you get that?  That didn't have a release date until, like, six months after the Event!"

"It's not important," he told me.  "The Authority watches the entire Internet now -- except for Half-Life servers.  They haven't yet found a way to monitor it anonymously."  He looked around again, this time a little nervous.  "This is how the resistance communicates.  Get on a server and set up a meeting.  Learn what you can.  That's the important thing, that's the first step.  You have to know what's really going on."

I plan to install the game tonight, after the final door-to-door security check at 10 PM.  We'll see what this is all about.

 

I've come to an important decision:

Fuck the resistance.  This is fun!  Although I'm not very good yet.  :-/

I spent at least half my time in this position, lying dead on the ground.  Oh well.  I'll get better.

Hey all, sorry I've been neglecting this blog lately.  It's just that a certain game is as addictive as crap.  It's so awesome, I've been playing it every night.  I even joined a clan, "Clan Bitchfukk"!  Sometimes we'll get on a server and just run shit like crazy. 

Things aren't all perfect, though.  Half-Life 2 has such high system requirements that almost nobody can run it on anything but the lowest settings, especially in a post-Event world..  I have a 1.5 GHz AMD Athlon with 512 MB RAM and a Radeon, and even I should consider myself lucky -- at least I have a broadband connection.  One guy from my clan uses an Apple II with a 2800-baud modem.  Another uses a TI-83 graphic calculator and uses Morse code to report his movements to the server.  And my homeboy Ben uses an abacus stapled to a Lite Brite.  He just shouts binary code into a Styrofoam cup, which he attached to the server four miles away with a piece of waxed string.  His latency is about 4 million.

None of that matters, though.  I'm so glad to be playing this game.  It's really nice to be able to escape this violent, post-apocalyptic world and play in a different violent, post-apocalyptic world for a few hours.  This game is like crack!  I'm so happy all the time!  I can't even remember what I was sad about!

this shit's awesome, our clan fukin pwns.  we've been playing HL:DM almost nonstop.  the other day we went on a server where i guess a bunch of resistance guys were holding their meetings or something.  we sk00led them hardcore.  here's a transcript of the conversation we had.

Savage Messiah: Remember, brothers and sisters.  Do not rise up against your neighbors, or those who do not understand.  Rise up against those who are guilty.  Rise up against the Authority, and rise up against the Imperial army. 
Dissident_ghs: What are our current numbers?
Savage Messiah:  We estimate that our brothers and sisters to the North have raised an army numbering in the tens of thousands.  They work covertly now, without weapons, but their service is just as noble.  Our Indianapolis fortress has, as of last word, managed to repulse Authority strikes, but I fear that the worst attacks are to come.  It is a matter of time before the Authority gains control over the Old Army.  Now they have only foot soldiers, guns and grenades.  Soon they will have tanks, and mortal shells.  It is imperative that we strike soon.
bitchfukk_ben:  YO WHATS UP FAGGETS
bitchfukk_josh: WE'RE HERE TO PWN UR ASSES
Savage Messiah:  Please, friends!  We mean no harm.  We are servants of you and all free people.
bitchfukk_b1tchb0y:  I DONT GIVE FUCK ABOUT U HOMO

 we wasted their asses it was fukkin awesome.  i caught "savage messiah" as he was trying to type.

they didnt get to finish their meeting!  awww poor babies GOT FUKKIN SK00LED

Today as I was coming home from the coal dig, I heard a gunshot from across the fence barrier which divides the district.  Nobody is supposed to have guns here; I had to know what was going on.  I waited for the security officers to finish their patrols, then snuck over the fence.  I followed the first road I saw.

A few hundred yards later, I found my Authority friend.  He was face down in the middle of the town square, his uniform saturated with blood.  I ran to a nearby house and asked what happened.  According to their account, he was brought in handcuffs to the public square nearby, and made to stand as a superior Authority officer read charges brought against him: conspiracy against Authority, conspiracy to conspire against Authority, distribution of Half-Life 2.  Without a word, he was shot twice in the back, and left to lie there.

I am not very strong, but I picked up his body and carried him to the nearest field.  I dug him a hole, in a spot curiously surrounded with wildflowers, and as gently as I could, I lowered him to his grave.  I pulled out a pencil and piece of paper I managed to smuggle out of an Authority office a few months ago, and wrote him a note.  I told him that I was sorry for accepting his tool for freedom and using it to waste time on the Internet.  I promised to him that I would be different, that I would pick up his cause and keep hope alive, and then I folded the paper and put it in his breast pocket.  As the sun fell, I found a couple of sticks and used them to make a crude-looking cross.  Was he religious?  I don't know.  I didn't really know what to do.  I had no experience with burying people -- all of the people I had lost were always loaded into an Authority van, dead or alive, and never seen again.

It's a feeling akin to waking up from a dream.  I've been spending far too much time playing with my clan.  And I can never go back now.
 

Today it happened again.  I opened the door and called for my dog.  It took me fully five seconds to remember that he would never come.

As I feared, explaining my newfound purpose to my fellow clanmates was not an easy thing to do.

bitchfukk_****:  Hey guys.  There's something I need to talk about.
bitchfukk_b1tchb0y:  lol are u gay
bitchfukk_josh: lol ur comming out of the closet???????
bitchfukk_ben:  LMAO
bitchfukk_****:  I've realized something.  There is a war going on, a war for our freedom and well-being, that is being fought for us by people we do not know.  And we are impeding their progress.  Half-Life 2 Deathmatch is the Resistance's only means of communication.  And when we disrupt that, we are dooming ourselves.
bitchfukk_josh:  hat/
bitchfukk_****:  I understand that it's sort of uncomfortable to think about.  But we need to lay down our guns.  As much as we would like to stay in this virtual world forever, if we do nothing, there will be no world left for us at all.  Come on, let's stop disrupting Resistance meetings, and fight for something real.
bitchfukk_b1tchb0y:  FAGGIT FAGGIOT FAGGIT FAGGIT FAGGIT FAGIT FAGGIT FAAGGIT
bitchfukk_ben:  lol b1tchb0y fukkin pwned ur sorry ass
bitchfukk_****:  Please!  Don't you see?  We've just been living our lives with our heads buried in the sand! 
bitchfukk_b1tchb0y:  IVE BEEN PART OF THIS CLAN FOR 25 YEARS AND IT'S ALL I KNOW.  SO FUKK U BITCH
bitchfukk_b1tchb0y:  UR FUKKIN DEAD TO ME

bitchfukk_b1tchb0y    bitchfukk_****

It appears as though I am alone.

Today, I entered the Half-Life 2 server not as a combatant, but as someone who was ready and willing to learn.  I came across a Resistance fighter.

****:  You should get out of this hallway, it's a fucking death trap.  Someone can shoot a death electricity ball or crossbow dart from either end of the hall and you'll be toast. 
DaDeO:  It matters not.  If I die, the Resistance still lives.  Plus I can respawn in another five seconds or so.
****:  That's true.  Anyway, I'm an ally of the Resistance.  I'd like to help you. 
ballSACK: fuckin lag
DaDeO:  Then welcome, brother!  I embrace you with open arms. 
****:  What can I do to help the cause?
DaDeO:  We have labored for months to broker a conference between leaders across the globe.  There are nations worldwide who sympathize with the plight of the Resistance, and some rogue governors here in the old United States are secretly loyal to us as well.  If we all coordinate our efforts, we can spring our forces on the Authority and the Imperials like a trap.
****:  Neat!
DaDeO:  Although the Resistance sympathizers collectively outnumber Authority and Imperial forces, they are too timid to attack.  They must know that other nations are with them.  Only together does the world stand a chance of toppling these behemoths.
dickface: oh bs i shot u like 10 times
****:  Then contact the leaders!  Set up a meeting!  Here, in this server!
DaDeO:  It's not that simple, I'm afraid.  We lack the means to close this server to outsiders, so a contingent of guards must be on hand.  Not to mention the raw logistics of holding a meeting for global dignitaries.  We're going to have to set up chairs and stuff.  The problem is that we can never get a moment of peace from the mindless horde of Half-Life enthusiasts.  They are a plague of locusts upon our cause.  I'll get chairs and tables and everything set up, and they come through and mess it all up.
****:  Let me try.  Cover me.
DaDeO:  Wait!  Wait until the server changes maps.  There are more chairs in the other map.
****:  Oh.  Good idea.
DaDeO:  SHIT LOOK OUT

The burst came from behind before either of us could find cover.  We were killed immediately.

pistolpete: lol morans
DaDeO:  Remember what I told you, brother!  Keep those chairs upright!  Two rows of five!  Podium stage center! 
DaDeO:  fuck this gay shit i'm out

I was alone. 

When the server changed to the new map, I immediately set to work.  I gathered the all the chairs I could find at a feverish pace. 

Standing them up turned out to be the hard part.  For what seemed like an eternity, I picked each chair up with my gravity gun, threw it against a wall, and hoped that it landed upright.

With dedication, however, I was making impressive progress.

But it was only a matter of time before I was confronted.  Defying my most heartfelt pleas, I was cut down by the likes of Trash.

I was not going to accept defeat.  Upon re-spawning, I returned to my chairs and got back to work.  Trash watched me for a bit, failing to understand.

I paused to type out my explanation of what I was doing.  I was barely 200 words into it when he destroyed myself and my work with a rocket launcher.

Minutes later, the dignitaries showed up.  They were greeted by my virtual self, bloodied and still scrambling to set chairs upright.  And of course, the Half-Life 2 ignorami would not refrain from killing them while they were trying to type.  They would scurry to dark corners to hide, and hit the "jump" button repeatedly in an effort to convey to their attackers that they were not interested in a fight.  But their cries were not heard.  The leaders of the world left without an alliance agreement, and I am to blame.

:: Tuesday, February 10, 2025 ::

I imagine that my failure will result in the realization of a new world order.  In a matter of months, my already menial existence will likely be snuffed out.  And I can't help but ask the question, "why wait"?

I'm going upstairs to visit my parents' bedroom.  I'll spend some time looking through their wedding album, and some of the pictures I drew when I was a little kid that they saved for me.  I'll examine the slowing tick of Father's favorite wristwatch.  Perhaps I'll open Mother's diary and read the entry again that she wrote when I was born.  That's my favorite part.

I don't suppose I'll ever come out.

 

-Jon
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