Day 3

I open up a crackling diary, with a burnt spine and stiff pages. I write a story that is still happening, and cannot help but wonder what is next. This has barely begun, I promise myself.

Today, we arrive at our destination. But it is but a place of rest in a journey I realise will take us centuries to complete.

We stay with a man and woman; they are married, with two sons. The house is a home, and has been for countless people that have already passed through it. The farm is enormous, but relatively small. The view has me fixated, the ground is useless. Forget about your alien crops, the only thing that still grows in this colony is the grass, the thorny trees that were here long before us. There is still room for them, because they never left.

The other farms are empty. They were claimed and left to die, like young boys who were never going to be any good on the battle field. A battle. A battle of power, and taking. Taking back what was, what was not, was is, what might never be again. Even the grass is threatening to retreat underground where there is no fight for just the next day.

We smoked and drank coffee for the first time in days. We played silly games under a thatched roof shielding us from the neverending rain. We told stories, and we listened to stories.

These orphans are not alone. They are the offspring of children who were too young, who made bad choices or who were the victims of others' ill desires, who are infected and dying, who have tried again and again to rush the process of death. They are the offspring of the dead, of the broken, of the incapable, desperate for capacity.

But they are the children of a man and a woman who will always raise them as their own. From here, they will go to school. They will take it more seriously than any of us did, and report to me daily with enthusiastic updates on their studies. They will live a sustainable life right here. They will be accountants for big firms, doctors who travel the world to study and return to their home to help their people. From here, they will grow.

This has barely begun, I promise you.