the pages are very worn, but originally written on quality writing paper. They were unlined, written freehand in black ink. Half the letters were written in full French; the handwriting neat to begin with, but steadily deteriorating with every letter. The first lot have stamps on the envelopes, addresses and French and American postal service stamps. The other half, do not. The envelopes simply have the word ‘grandma’ on the front. They are the heartfelt words of a then 19 year old college student, born in France but raised in the states. Most of the early ones are of little interest to the casual observer. They are of everyday life, the mundane and ordinary.
Dear Grandmère,
Are you well? How is grandfather? Uncle Armand? Mother thanks you for the fudge, she sends her love. I have started my second year of university. It is an exciting time! I’m choosing my major because I think I’m ready to focus on one thing for once. I think I like History. Father wants me to study engineering, but that’s not the life I want to live. I want to read; which is why I think I may minor if French Literature. Anyway, I am babbling again. Everything is pretty normal here. Life is good. I wish you were here. I worry about you now that you’re alone in the house. Write back soon!
Je t'aime toujours,
Sébastien
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Dear Grandmère,
Bonne et heureuse année! I hope you are well! I’m sorry this is my first letter since your reply before Christmas, but I have been awfully busy! Thank you for the jumper by the way, It’ll keep me warm until spring is here.
There’s been some talk about a new influenza going around. I’m not sure if French news is covering it much. We’ve been told not to worry though, they’re just isolated cases. So I don’t want you worrying either. Mother is insane, but she’s always been a hypochondriac. She doesn’t trust the doctors here either. If she could fly to France for her doctor’s appointments, I think she probably would. She doesn’t like it here. But I do! This is my home! I’ve lived here all my life. I am an American. Anyway, I look forward to your reply! I go back to school on the 9th, so I better get studying!
Je t'aime toujours,
Sébastien
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Dear Grandmère,
This sickness is much worse than I thought. Many people are ill, they’re even dying. Father doesn’t know what to do. It’s all over the place. People have been talking about a vaccine, but doctors say it wouldn’t work. Something to do with mutations or something. I don’t understand it, I’m not a scientist.
Nobody I know is sick yet, it hasn’t hit us this far north of New York City. But it’s all over the news; it’s all they can talk about. Mother is beside herself. Sometimes she’s in hysterics. She’s talking about the end of the world. I’m sure she’s overreacting. We’ll have to see.
Je t'aime toujours,
Sébastien
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Dear Grandmère,
Don’t be so silly! Calm down Grandmère, we’re fine and we’re not sick yet. But it has reached us. A lot of people are not coming to lectures anymore They’re all ill with this flu. I still don’t know what to do. Father wants to leave, but not as much as mother does. She doesn’t leave the house anymore. She doesn’t even answer the door. She doesn’t want to die. Neither do I. Father said he’s going to try and arrange for three tickets on a plane to France, but I’m not sure how easy that’s going to be. A lot of people are having the same idea, and flights are very overbooked. I overheard him say that one ticket is enough, if that’s all he can get. I’m not going on my own though. I don’t want to!
I’ll keep you informed of how things progress. I’m sure we’ll be fine. Have faith.
Je t'aime toujours,
Sébastien
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Dear Grandmère,
It’s in Europe? Already? They feared it would spread. So many people in my history classes have died. So many students across the whole school have died. At first they started having memorials and silences. But that was before, when only a few were dying. It would be impossible to do that now, they barely have enough time in the day to burry everyone. The government is thinking of banning burials in favour of cremations. There’s not a lot of space in the cemeteries, and not enough time to build more at the rate of the deaths. Pray for us Grandmère.
Je t'aime toujours,
Sébastien
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Dear Grandmère,
There is a vaccine! They said it was impossible, but they were wrong! Mother is having none of it though, she wants to board up the house. I had my last day of university yesterday. The university is closing until this nightmare is over. My professor encouraged us all to get the vaccine. I plan to do so, as soon as it’s possible. This may be the last letter I can get to you for a while. The postal service is starting to fall apart. I fear that before long we will lose contact completely. But do not lose hope, because I haven’t! There is a vaccine, we are going to live! We send you all our love, and I’ll write again as soon I can. Give our love to family.
Je t'aime toujours,
Sébastien
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The US postal system completely collapsed after this letter was sent across the Atlantic. Air travel was closed, also and the boarders were sealed tight. Another letter to his grandmother would have been impossible. But he writes on, nonetheless, even though he doesn’t expect or even want her to ever read them. The language changes from French to English, and it’s far less formal.
--------------------------------
Grandma,
I’m kind of glad that last letter was all happy and crap, because it’s all over. Apparently I’m not an American. Apparently I’m a ‘Frenchie’, as the guard at the vaccination centre outside New York City told me. Apparently I don’t need a vaccine, because apparently I’m not a human being. This is a pile of bull shit! I’m as American as the next guy.
I feel like I say this all the time, but I don’t know what to do. Everyone’s going to live, and I’m going to die. People are going to forget about me. The world will keep turning and I will be nothing. I’m not going to be remembered. I’m only 19, I haven’t done anything yet! I’m so angry. I’m scared. Mom is okay though. She thinks the vaccine is “American poison, American lies”. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about!
I don’t know why I’m even staying indoors like she tells me. What are we going to do? That virus is still out there. If we leave, we’ll catch it. The whole world is going to go back to normal and we’re supposed to just stay inside and ignore it?
... Am I better off dead? That’s no life.
Seb
--------------------------------
Grandma,
Dad left last week. He left the house and just went. He couldn’t take it anymore. He’s dead. I know it. I can feel it. Radio and tv stations went out. This place has really gone to hell. For all I know, you’re dead too. I guess it’s pretty useless writing to you then, not that I want you to read any of this. The letters of a dead man. Yeah, that’s fun.
I need a break from writing. I’ll probably carry on in a few weeks. It’s not like I’m writing for anyone, so I guess I’ll do whatever I want.
Seb
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Grandma,
Well, this was unexpected. We ran out of supplies, and mother had prepared a ‘suit’ for going to the store. She had sown it out of rubber, with one of those masks that construction workers wear attached to it. There was no way I was going anywhere in that. I probably would have rather starved to death. She came back with loads of stuff, more than I had expected. She had only taken $20 with her. Apparently there was nobody alive out there. The streets were littered with the dead. The stores were empty. She could just go in and take whatever she wanted.
I guess that vaccine didn’t work. I guess everyone just died. I wonder if there are others out there.
Seb
--------------------------------
Grandma,
Mom’s dead. The local stores were running low and they ran out way too quickly. There must be others out there, others who survived. She left for New York City. She said she’d be gone for a day at the most; she took the car. It’s been a week since she left, and I’m starting to come to terms with it. I heard what sounded like thunder the same day she left. I got on top of the roof and saw the flames in the distance. New York City was burning. Maybe there was a huge gas leak. Maybe Mom died in it. I’m on my own now. Or, at the very least, I’ll always feel lonely.
Seb
--------------------------------
Grandma,
I’ve left the house; I can’t take the memories anymore. First dad, then mom. I won’t let that happen to me. I’m going to live! I’m going to find others. I’m not going to be alone anymore! Wish me luck, grandma. I love you.
Seb
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The following letter was written on very different paper. It is of inferior quality.
--------------------------------
Grandma,
It’s been a year since I wrote to you. So much has happened. I’m sorry I stopped writing. I just didn’t have the time and then I just forgot about it. Well it’s that and the lack of a good pen and paper. Anyway, in the last letter I wrote to you I told you I was leaving the house and going far away. Well, I was successful. I’m in Nevada now, petty much on the other side of the country. I just kept going, kept moving. I’ve met lots of people while travelling from group to group. That’s pretty much how I’ve survived. A lot of people carry guns now days. I don’t. I don’t even know how to use one. I have a small hunting knife but not much more than that. It’s useless against one of them... Those, walkers.
So much has changed. In the first few weeks after the cities were bombed. Oh yeah, I forgot, that ‘gas leak’ wasn’t a gas leak, somebody put bombs in there. Or maybe they dropped them from planes? I don’t know. I’ve met people who were there and survived, and apparently it didn’t look like a gas leak explosion to them. Anyway, basically after mom died and I left, I went off to find others. Things were still pretty normal at that point. I know it sounds strange, but those times were normal. It was when those things started coming back to life did things get really... I don’t really want to talk about it. [the pen colour changes, a short time has passed] It’s their eyes. You look into them and all you see is... Well. Nothing. It fills me with this darkness.
Like I said, sometimes I travel in groups. Sometimes those groups have guns, and they protect us from them. But it doesn’t work sometimes, and that’s when you have to run. First rule of survival, if you can’t fight, you run. If you can’t run, you hide. If you can’t hide, you die. Simple as. I would suggest killing yourself before they get to you; it’s not pretty when that happens.
Anyway, so I made my way to Nevada. I haven’t been here too long. Pretty much just followed others around and ended up here after about a year. It wasn’t like I had anywhere to go. I was just surviving. Sure I had a plan, I wanted to make everything normal again. But I gave up on that a long time ago. You can’t change this mess. It’s all gone to hell now. I know the infection spread to Europe before the world ended, which probably means you’re dead right now. I’m sorry. I don’t know why but I’m sorry. In a way I’m glad you’re dead. I’m glad Dad’s dead, and Mom. If you died quickly then I know you didn’t suffer. I know you’re okay now. Besides, this is all crap anyway. I’m surviving, but this isn’t a world you wake up happy in. I don’t think I’ve even felt happy since this happened. It’s my birthday today and I can’t even feel happy. It’s just another day. I wouldn’t have even noticed if It weren’t for the clock radio I sized up in a store not too far from Vegas. It made me remember about those days. Do you remember the time you flew in from France, and you baked that huge chocolate cake for my birthday? And then you told me I could be anything and do anything? Why does it hurt when I remember that? [the pen changes colour again. Once more time has passed] I never know what day of the week it is. Sunday might as well be Tuesday now. It’s basically the same anyway. The walkers don’t break for God’s day, so why should I?
This is turned into a bit of a vent to be honest with you. I’m treating it like it was my diary or something. I haven’t written in so long that it actually feels good. Crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s. I miss it. You can see my handwriting has gone way down hill. But who gives a shit really? You know I keep forgetting you’re dead. [the colour of the text changes for the last time] I’m going to head out tomorrow, and when I do I’m never going to write to you again. I don’t need to. I’m okay now. Before, I kept writing because it made me feel better. I felt closer to you. But it’s been a year, and I’m okay now. I’m okay... I’ll be fine... Don’t worry about me. I’m okay.
Seb
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