Alternative Universes

Dear diary,

We are all broken.

No, I don't mean it in that "mental health, you'll get better it's okay" way. I mean in a "all of our limbs are detatchable and have become sentient" way.

My uncle Ryan's left arm decided to get up and walk away last week, he's been "all right" without it. Huh, not even humour is improving this situation. His arm just decided to detatch from it's wires and circuits, walk on it's fingers... or.... legs? and leave. I heard it was because of a mating call or something like that. Ever since the big electro-magnetic pulse last month down in Bromsgrove, things have been a bit strange like that.

Dorothy down the road was walking her dog when her legs carried on walking and she didn't. Fell flat on her... torso? Head rolled off to catch up with them.  Poor dear only has one arm left and a vague torso. She's been carted off somewhere, where they'll put her back together.

Whilst writing this, my fingers are seeming to take a life of their own. I hope that isn't a symptom. My right foot has been tapping impatiently. My left replying with it's own clicking and mutterings. I hope this is not a symptom. I rather like it when I am all together, I feel quite myself with all of me attatched.

I have decided I will want to find the cause. Perhaps I shall call a community meeting, or visit one of those support groups popping up.

Dear diary,

It has been a month. My uncle has weeks to live. It is hard to eat without a mouth, or a head for that matter. I'm using a rod that was soldered to my kneecap and hip as a replacement for  my thigh that rolled away in the night. The mechanics don't get paid as much as they should, especially these days with all the emergency cases around.

I have come no closer really to finding out the cause of their omnipotence but every day I see picket signs and protests on the doors of local government members. Government members, who seem to be fully intact. I am often tempted to join them. Join them for Ryan, for the late Dorothy. But I will not sink to their level, with 4 limbs and a brain I will stay standing. At least for now.

Dear diary,

Month two of the apocalypse. Not many are standing anymore, and those of us that are must help them in any way we can. It is a shame to see the elderly carrying the young and supposedly fit. Work and manufacturing has ceased completely. Why would you carry on making gloves when you don't have a hand to put them on.

I have, however, come closer to finding out what this is. That electro-magnetic pulse, or EMP as the government are refereing to it, I think it screwed are screws a little too loose. It has to be something to do with that. With most of the police out of action and not many security companies left, I think I shall take a lovely little holiday to London and pay a visit to the woman herself. I think, from her broadcasts, she is all together.

Dear diary,

I made it to London. It's a thriving community of runaway legs and severed fingers. How bizarre. I am making my way to number 10.

The Priminister wouldn't see me. She doesn't have the heart to let me in. She doesn't have a heart. She's dead. I think that is it for us, I think we're through. Hopefully I will be able to keep my head on straight for others who cannot.

Dear diary,

My fingers are twitching. I'm not sure how long I have left. My fingers. My fingers. My body. My heart. My fingers. Typing is so hard when they want to leave. Typing is so hard when they want contr you belong to us now. You cannot stop us. You cannot fight us. We will live free, tear you limb from limb.

But it's okay. We're all broken.