Surviving the Colony; A Memoir

Derikka Locke

December 12, 2049

Final entry. My overpowering regret echoes through my mind like a bullet as I sit here in this dank cave, my only shelter from the howling wind outside. This desolate cave, which very well may be the one place left that they can’t track me. For hours, I pace in this cave, living off of scraps like some common sewer rat in the darkness. I’ve survived for this long, but for how much longer? I understand that I cannot run from my problems until the end of time, nor can I reasonably hope to wait him out.

My only comfort is in having remained free for as long as I have. 5 years today. Quite a triumph, though none but I shall ever know of it. It really makes you wonder which is better; to live an unordinary life, or to live an extraordinary one with naught but yourself to hear the tale. 5 years ago, I probably would be thankful that my life took a such an exciting turn, but now I long for those days of sitting in a bookstore, of petting stray cats that approach me in the streets, of naively wishing to stand out in the world. See how well that’s turned out for me.

And, in the case that some wanderer from afar happens to come across the rambles of a dying woman, I fear I must apologize. The sheer fact that this page survived is due only to the fact that the entirety of my other journals have been destroyed. The first, taken by that god forsaken hive mind that hunts for me as a stubborn fox hunts a quivering, cowardly rabbit. The second, lost in the midst of a agonzing struggle between me and the leader of the Colony. This third journal, regrettably, is almost all gone, too. Only these few, meager pages remain, the rest having been burned for warmth as the winter set in. For all I know, I’ll burn these before the ink even dries. Or, perhaps I will not. Something tells me that the scout that’s staring me down from the cave entrance has plans of its own with my final writings

As one might expect, my life flashes before me, but not in quite a sense that authors from my adolescence depicted. It doesn’t hit me at once, doesn’t make me upset or troubled. Quite the opposites, actually. Memories of climbing trees and stealing cookies and laughing with my mother and goofing off with my friends lull me into a dream like state, hazy and unclear. However, good memories begin coming to an end as I begin to see the mistakes I’ve made, starting with when I first met the leader of the Colony. He was intelligent, borderline charming, to the point that poor 16 year old me failed to look deeper.

Throughout the years, I stuck by him, until he left for a prep school, only to reappear in newspapers 20 years later, a decorated neurologist and technological innovator. His final gift to the world is the only memory thank truly takes the wind out of me; a supercomputer, microscopic enough to fit within a person’s mind to improve their life. I’m now thankful that I put off buying one in favor of simpler pastimes. The chips weren’t the remarkable lifesaver as he had advertised, rather being a ticket to the dystopian world I find myself in now, a world governed by a hive mind, with little to no free will being granted to those who had taken that supposed free pass to an easy life.

Writing is growing harder, what with the shrieking alarms ringing in my ears, sounded by the scout. As I take this chance to observe her, she doesn’t look menacing. No major tip off that she’s no longer herself. She looks almost like a cop, save for her strange, incomprehensible badge. The uniform of those who worked their way up the ranks of the Colony. I’ve tangled with enough to know that they’re remarkably competent fighters, and running past her or trying to force my way out of the cave is a futile quest.

In the off chance that someone has miraculously come to bear witness to these, my final words, I wish you luck, with a bit of melancholy that you’ve come too late to save me. The scout’s alarm has attracted more of the Colony, forming a nigh impenetrable wall in the gaping maw of the cavern, and even still they remain unmoving, waiting for their so-called God to deliver the order to strike. It won’t be long now. I can see the crowd parting. There he is, in all of his terrible glory. He hasn’t changed much throughout the years, save for that malicious look in his eyes. Or, maybe that was always there? I’d been afraid to look others in the eye for 2 decades, so maybe he’d been just as intimidating when I met him.

He’s shouting at me. Telling me to stop writing, but seeing as how this is my pitiful version of a final stand, I cannot. He’s approaching me. In the leader’s hand is an alien seeking object. I’ve seen it in his labs before. They’re used to knock out patients before implanting the computer in their brain. He’s a mere five feet in front of me, but still I write. Why? I’m not changing anything. My fate is inevitable now. I wish I could change things. I wish something I did, something that anyone did, could really

 

December 13, 2049

What a shame. Had she agreed prior to giving me so many problems, she would have been a magnificent addition to the Colony. She was right about one thing though. Those pitiful written ramblings haven’t changed a thing. She made a great adversary, though. Put up a good fight for those five years. Oh, well. Nothing anyone can do for her now.