Entry #3
From The Archive: A Fictional Account of Memory and Myth
If you’re new to The Rebel MFA Way, welcome! This is an entry from my on-going serial fiction experiment “The Archive.”
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Day 47 – Morning
Pulled the Death card today.
I could almost hear you groan. “Of course you would pull the Death card during the apocalypse.”
I know, I know. The card doesn’t mean literal death. It’s transformation, endings and beginnings, all that jazz. Sure, sounds great in theory. But when you’re living in a crumbling library with a dwindling stash of food, transformation feels like a slap in the face.
“Transformation into what?” I asked the cards. “A corpse? A zombie? A motivational speaker?”
The cards didn’t answer.
Atlas snored through the whole thing, Freya didn’t even blink, and Bastet stared at me like she wanted to knock the entire deck off the table. (She’s probably still mad about me calling her Bastard yesterday. My bad.)
Anyway, you’d probably tell me to stop being so dramatic. “It’s just a card, Ari. Pull another one and see what it says.”
I didn’t pull another one. Part of me was afraid it’d be worse. The Tower, maybe. Or the Ten of Swords. I’m not sure my fragile psyche could take that right now.
So instead, I put the cards away, threw a granola bar at Freya, and told the group we were going hunting for more supplies. I’ll leave transformation for another day.
Day 47 – Afternoon
There’s a corner store two blocks from the library. Or there was a corner store, I guess. Now it’s just a burnt-out husk of a building with shattered windows and empty shelves. But I figured it was worth checking anyway. I didn’t want to go too far.
I left Atlas behind to guard the library—he’s got the best growl in the group—and took Freya with me. She’s quieter and less likely to scare me half to death over a bird or a gust of wind. We stayed low and quiet, moving between the shadows of parked cars and trash bins.
The store was mostly empty, like I expected. The shelves had been stripped bare a long time ago, probably in the first wave of panic. But there’s always a chance someone overlooked something, and today, I got lucky.
I found two cans of peaches shoved behind a toppled rack of magazines. They’re dented, but I don’t care. Peaches, Finn. Actual peaches. I might cry if they’re still good.
There was a box of powdered milk, too, half-open but still sealed inside. And tucked under the counter—don’t laugh—a roll of duct tape. I almost kissed it. I don’t know what I’ll use it for yet, but duct tape is one of those things that feels like a lifesaver even when you don’t have a plan for it.
Freya sniffed out a pack of beef jerky under a pile of broken glass near the door. She’s the real brains of this operation, honestly. I almost left it behind because the packaging was ripped, but it still smelled fine. I hope I’m not wrong about that.
The weirdest thing I found? A pair of sunglasses. Bright pink, oversized, ridiculous. Totally impractical. And yet, they’re in my bag now. Maybe I’ll wear them the next time I pull a doom-and-gloom tarot card, just to make myself laugh.
On the way back, Freya and I heard something—a clatter, like a can being kicked down the street. I froze, gripping the crowbar so tightly I thought my hand might cramp. Freya didn’t bark, but her ears perked up, her body rigid. I waited, holding my breath, but nothing else happened.
It might’ve been a stray cat. Or it might not have been. Either way, I didn’t stick around to find out. We got back to the library in one piece, which is all that matters.
Once we were back, Atlas was acting strange. I mean, more than his usual neurotic self. His eyes scanned the library as if he were tracking something… or someone.
“What’s up with you?” I asked him.
Of course, he didn’t answer.
Day 47 – Later
We found a first-aid kit in the circulation desk today. Dusty as hell, but it looks intact. A win’s a win.
Bastet has claimed the fiction section as her kingdom. I think she likes it there because the sun hits the shelves just right in the afternoon, and she can lounge in her “throne” while glaring at the rest of us like we’re trespassing.
Meanwhile, I was rummaging through the drawers like some kind of apocalypse raccoon, hoping for snacks. Instead, I found a stapler, three pens, and a pack of sticky notes shaped like cats. Useless.
Well, maybe the stapler could be weaponized.
Atlas sniffed at a box of printer paper like it might hold the secrets to survival. Freya was less impressed—she’s all about practical things, and printer paper doesn’t rank.
I did find something useful, though: a rusty pocketknife in one of Bob’s old drawers. It’s not pretty, but it’s better than nothing. Practical, Bob. He was a hundred years old when he worked here… I wonder if he’s still alive. I tucked the pocketknife into my bag along with the first-aid kit. At this point, I’ll take anything that feels even remotely helpful.
It got me thinking, though. Is this it? Is this what life is now—scavenging and surviving, one dusty library drawer at a time? Is this what I’m supposed to be doing?
I heard you say, “Focus on what you can control, Ari.”
But what does that mean when the world is ashes? What the hell am I even supposed to be steering? A sinking ship? A crumbling library? Three of the most unlikely animal survivors into the collapsing world?
I don’t know, Finn. I’m trying. But it’s hard.
Day 47 – Evening
Things have felt weird all day.
I was organizing the books we scavenged (not for fun, but because I was hoping to find something useful—like How to Survive the Apocalypse Without Losing Your Shit) when I noticed a stack of fiction books had fallen over.
Here’s the thing: they weren’t like that yesterday.
Atlas sniffed at them, then growled, his tail stiff like he’d just seen a ghost. I thought back to his behavior when we returned from scavenging. Maybe he wasn’t imagining things? And maybe I’m not imagining things, either.
Freya didn’t growl, but she stayed close to me, her body tense.
I checked the doors. Still locked. So what or who moved the books?
You’d tell me I’m being paranoid, that I’m probably just tired or distracted. Maybe you’re right.
But my gut says otherwise.
I locked the basement door anyway. Better safe than sorry, right?
Still, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re not alone.
Updated Ration Log:
2 cans of black beans (essential apocalypse protein).
2 cans of peaches (sweet, sticky hope in a can).
1 box of powdered milk (at least I’ll get some nutrients)
1 can of spam (the apocalypse MVP).
3 cans of creamed corn (a crime against taste buds).
1 can of green beans (Freya approved, barely).
6 stale granola bars (still stale, still gross).
1 pack of beef jerky (slightly questionable but we’ll risk it).
1 roll of duct tape (because it fixes everything, right?).
1 Milky Way (untouchable).
1 bag of veggie chips (still the worst).
I can identify with the death card....I pulled the Tower today! Thank you for these posts! Love reading them.