“A journal, huh?”

Jenne and Andon rappelled down the side of the perpetually falling building. They pass over a faded and broken sign. Their hops continued in unison to the bottom of the structure until the sun faded from view. They descended deep into that subterranean district of the metropolis, where the light was dim and the shadows long.

“I don’t even know what I’d write in my journal,” said Andon as the two of them synchronized hops. “I am Andon, a pilot for treasure hunting missions.”

“Hey. Being a pilot is a big deal.”

“The shuttles pilot themselves, really. I just ensure they don’t explore. Even a junk-hunter like you could do that.”

Jenne shot Andon a dirty look that he wouldn’t see from behind her darkened helmet visor. She sped up her descent. Half the time she couldn’t tell if Andon was messing with her, or if he simply had a rotten personality. Perhaps both. Despite that, he did know how to pilot, and that’s all she needed from him.

Another minute passed.

Their boots kicked up dirt as they landed on what used to be a well-landscaped sidewalk. There still remained cutouts in the crumbling cement where trees had been planted along the walkway a time long ago.

The faint traces of color remained at the base of these subterranean buildings. Having fallen underground, some of the building colors were spared from the sun’s bleaching. There remained a faded gray-aqua, sparse, on a number of buildings around them.

“As I was saying, you should write a journal,” said Jenne as she disconnected her harness.

“You’re persistent about this.”

“I don’t know a thing about you. So write a journal. One day when your back is turned, I’ll steal it and read it.”

“What a weird thing to say. I’ll stick to having children.”

The two surveyed the underground collection of broken buildings. The sun was sparse, offering beams of light through where the earth above was cracked and split. There was no dusty haze, no beautiful streams of light cutting through fog. The wind was no more and the Earth long breathed its last. Up above, the surface of the earth was illuminated by the blinding radiance of the sun.

Faded signs hung dangling from the sunken plaza. Trash cluttered the streets. Cars had decayed. At some point these husks of vehicles had been broken down. Perhaps some vegetation at one time attempted to take its place when nature attempted to retake its own, struggling to survive against the apocalypse. The specifics of exactly how the rest of nature died were hazy. Either way, the crusted and shattered earth proved that even nature could not retake what was lost here.

A building loomed ahead. It was exactly what Jenne was looking for. “This one,” she said as she stepped ahead of Andon. “An apartment building.”

"Fantastic."

A rusted gray door. It hung open, looking as though it would snap under any pressure. Faint traces of aqua paint stained the sides where the flimsy awning once provided shade. 

Once Jenne approached the entrance, Andon walked over to a jagged rock nearby and perched himself atop it.

“Go do your thing. I’ll be on comms.”

“Gotcha. Won’t take too long.”

“You always say that.”

With that pleasant exchanged concluded, Jenne looked to the treasure trove which laid ahead of her.

Minutes passed.

Jenne explored the apartment building. The remains were a mystery box. With each hallway she ventured through, it was unraveling more of its mysteries. The explorer’s dream.

She hiked the halls. She climbed the stairs and ensured she had grapple points for descending fallen staircases. The woman grunted as she maneuvered to avoided hazards and placed markings along her route.

The door of an apartment creaked open, then snapped in half. It fell apart in Jenne’s hands, spilling into the entryway of the room. The wood was centuries old, maybe older. The doorknob broke off into Jenne’s hand. She leered down at it, turned it over in her hand, and tossed it away.

Debris was everywhere. Many rooms from above had collapsed into this one. The floor hosted a mountain of pure trash. A broken painting canvas laid in the corner of the room, its paint long since faded away.

Sadness welled up in Jenne’s heart. Tiny remnants of life’s memories were all that's left. This is where humanity had its origin. The people, so different from herself and where she’s from. But humanity, nonetheless. And it was no more.

In the corner of one room, there remained a framed photo which showed the ancient, lost silhouette of whomever was captured in the image. Only the faint traces of its outlines remained.

Jenne lifted it. Touched the photo with her fingers. The paper fell away, and the frame crumpled in her grip. Another lost memory.

The search continued. Jenne prodded through the junk. Broken wood, old concrete, ripped fabrics.

Her search continued elsewhere in the building.

A short hallway took her to one apartment room. A giant hole in the living room wall gave way to a bedroom. A surprisingly well preserved bedroom. A rusted mattress frame populated the room. The mattress itself had sustained the weight of wood and concrete. Somehow, miraculously, it still held its weight throughout centuries.

Jenne saw something under the mattress frame, on the floor. She wasted no time making her way to it. She got down on her hands and knees. Pushed away some of the concrete along the ancient carpet. Her hands fished under the frame.

Then, she felt it. Her fingers closed around that thing which caught her eye.

She pulled her hand back from under the mattress.

It was a journal.

And it was all she ever hoped for.

Jenne riffled through her belt pack until pulling out her mobile device to capture pictures. In her excitement, she spilled some of the contents of her pack. She scooped up the tools and utensils and shoveled them back in. As she did, she caught sight of her hands.

They trembled.

She took a deep breath.

“Calm down, Jenne. Calm down. Do it right.”

She cleared a portion of the mattress of its debris, and rested the journal in the prepared space. There was only one way to do this right.

The mobile device came to life at the press of a button. Jenne scrolled through its interface with her finger, the oversized glove always making things more difficult than needed, but the device was designed to adapt to the mission of astronauts.

The app launched. The device buzzed. She nestled the tablet overtop the journal, and the tablet began its studious scan.

The machine was like magic. Up above the device, words formed in the air. The tablet was scanning data, compiling it, restructuring it, recreating it. Page compression, ink weight, age of materials, all factors were considered as the device rebound the book into a digital copy.

Jenne paced the room, stepping in and out of the giant hole in the wall. She pondered the possibilities held within the journal. What could it contain? Is there a love story? Is this the manifest of a madman? A survivor, perhaps, of the apocalypse that ended it all? Perhaps this one was extra-juicy, containing the musings of an affair the writer hoped none would uncover.

The possibilities were endless. Of course, Jenne knew it could be something as simple as a child’s collection of homework, or a measly picture-book. But no matter what was contained, Jenne would be amazed. After all, so much of this world was lost to history. It's only through her efforts, and those of other astro-treasure hunters, that something of its history could be preserved.

A minute passed, but it felt like an eternity to Jenne. The mobile device emitted a friendly beep. The task was completed successfully.

In the air over the mobile device, the journal digitally materialized. Eyes wide and full of hope, Jenne’s eager hands reached towards the digital book. She held the holographic image as though it were real, cradling it with care. Her fingers flipped through its pages, and she soaked in the contents.

Pages upon pages of drawings and sketches. The artist appeared to be young, but not a child. Some of the art was well formed. Most of it were drawings of characters, perhaps members of their family, or from a show they once watched. Interspersed were written logs. Some, a few days apart. Others, months.

The author identified as a ‘he’ in the writing. Jenne loved the idea of looking through a man’s journal. It was so rare that it felt taboo. It made it all the more thrilling to her.

“You find anything in there?”

Jenne jolted as Andon’s voice broadcasted from her in-helmet communications. The holographic book fell from her hands and landed on the apartment floor. The mobile device added to the effect by producing a fake splattering of digital dust.

“After searching a dozen or so rooms, I found a journal.”

“Great. So we’re going to be here all day, you’re saying?”

Jenne ignored the remark as the tablet re-materialized the journal above its glossy surface. She picked the holographic journal back up. Andon could stay sour if he wanted. Jenne’s thrill would not be thwarted. Her eyes lit up as she returned to flipping through the pages. Almost every inch of the paper was taken up by doodles and sketches, with sparse writing in between where the author had tried to forge a journal of sorts.

One entry caught her eye. It was dated only a month before the Earth’s death.

My girlfriend’s family moved. I’ll be moving next. Her family went to Xelpha North, but we’re headed to New London. They say there’s more water in New London, but space is filling up quickly. I think it’s a bad idea. Everybody’s going to New London! Water will dry up in a matter of weeks, if not days.

Then again, perhaps there are no good options. We’ll be living in a small apartment my dad found. I’ll have to say goodbye to my house and neighborhood. What’s left of it, at least.

I look out over my neighborhood every morning. So many empty houses. All of my friends have left except a couple down at the end of the street. This area's reservoir has run dry. My family was one of the lucky ones that hoarded water and stored it away. But there’s no new food, either…

The writing took on a tone of lamentation.

People move to New London and Xelpha North to survive. but I hear most families have only moved closer together to live off their rations in their remaining days.

Why didn’t I move in with my girlfriend’s family? I was given an opportunity to go with her, but I decided to stay. I made that choice. Why? To travel with my parents? Because I'd be homesick? I’m such an idiot.

Mom and Dad? I love them, but I’m 18 now. I could leave at any time. And maybe I should. But now my girlfriend is gone and I won’t ever see her again. Even if this whole damn world is about to collapse, I at least could have been with her. I have her number. I’ll give her a call this evening.

Jenne’s eyes softened as she finished the entry. An age. Eighteen. Jenne’s fingers shuffled through the pages at a slow pace, not wanting to rush the journal’s revelation.

The following few pages were dedicated to illustrations of a woman’s face. The same woman. Frizzy hair, freckles. There was no color, only pencil, but Jenne could imagine she had red hair. Probably green eyes.

Jenne continued through the journal. The further she read, the less doodles and sketches appeared in its margins.

There was another written entry.

Alissa cried on the phone tonight. She met someone else in Xelpha North. Said she fell out of love with me, and in with another. Alissa told me it broke her heart, but she wanted to be honest…

I’m not sure how I feel about it. I loved her. I appreciate the honesty, but breaking up with me so soon? It’s only been a month.

This whole world is about to end, and she finds someone else to be with? Xelpha North is beyond capacity and will be out of resources soon. Here in New London, we’re running low on water as predicted. The reservoirs are all empty. Any new springs opened run dry in less than a day.

Alissa leaving me like this… I get it. It feels like the world is falling apart and there’s nothing we can do. I understand Alissa, but I don’t like it.

The doomsayers predict we’re all going to die in a few months. This time, I think they’re right. Guess she found someone else to die with. As for me, I guess I’ll die alone.

The following pages were empty. The date was only a week before the uninhabitable death of the Earth.

Jenne closed the digital journal. She cleared another spot and took a seat on the edge of the old mattress. She looked around the room. All the other traces of life were long gone. Nothing but debris, splintered wood, chipped paint, ripped clothes. She could see the room above when she looked up, where it had fallen through. Perhaps water damage. Ironic, with such a shortage of water. She couldn’t smell anything through her dome helmet. Perhaps that was for the best.

Jenne took her time. She couldn’t fully relate to the young man. In many ways, Jenne’s upbringing was spoiled. She was lucky for the opportunities she had. A thrilling career, a thriving planet. Technology that those on Earth would have only dreamed about. And here, on the other end of that journal, was a life so different, separated by era and circumstance.

In the corner of the room, where some of the debris had not yet fallen, Jenne pictured in her mind’s eye that young man, huddled up. Alone. She saw him cradling himself there as the atmosphere high above broke apart and the sun’s beams pierced that barrier, striking the ground with incredible force. She imagined the sun’s rays tearing up everything the young man had known, eviscerating the ground, evaporating the water, and incinerating those caught under its solar reach.

A sad thought. A sad thought, but a thought worth salvaging. Jenne wanted to remember it, because there was no one left on this dead rock to do so.

After a moment of quiet, Jenne reached for the physical journal itself. The cover cracked and some of the pages spilled out and fell upon the dust stained carpet.

One page caught her eye. Its words were faded beyond recognition. Another miracle: modern technology that could reconstruct this journal from so little that remained.

Jenne gathered what she could of the journal and secured it within a sealed bag in her pack attached to her spacesuit. The museums would love this journal’s digital replication. The physical copy itself would sell for a massive amount of credits to a collector. The memories of this young man at the end of the world would live on, preserved in some way by a society far in the distant future.

Jenne worked her way back through the apartment building, heading towards the exit. She used the grapple points she established to get back through the staircases. The whole while she journeyed for its exit, she wondered what could have happened if her own civilization had encountered Earth’s before their end. She wanted to reach through time and whisk Earth’s humanity to safety. And yet, those who were born on Earth were long dead.

She navigated the hazards as she made her way towards the exit of the apartment building.