Chapter 35

Snow melts. Trickles to torrents. Waterfalls cascade down from the high country, spreading with them the colors of spring. Arctic poppies extend across fields that were once brown. Vibrant green moss creeps from the darkness. After a long and cold winter, the earth takes its first breath. And with that breath brings news that I was not expecting. Anna is pregnant.

I’ve read those words repeatedly, struggling to comprehend that my life is now more complicated than it used to be. I’m completely unprepared for the consequences of my own actions, and yet the timeline of my existence continues forward and consequences become reality, despite my inaction. Consequence is the wrong word. Effect? Result? I don’t think this is bad, but there must be some word between ‘bad’ and ‘good’ that escapes me at the moment.

For now, Anna is still up in the hills above town tending to the herds, while I trawl the ocean for fish. We see each other most evenings after I get to shore. Sometimes we’ll have time to go for a walk before we get tired, but most days are spent chatting around the dinner table. On occasion, I’ll get home late and find her fast asleep, snoring quietly under the covers. I crawl into bed and scoot towards her, wrapping my arms around her as I hold my hands against her belly. It’s simultaneously comforting and terrifying.

She isn’t due until the beginning of next year, but that’s irrelevant since time is meaningless. I’ve experienced this process once before and I know the challenges she will face, especially now that we lack access to modern medicine. There are no doctors in town, but news travels fast here and a few people approached us and told us not to worry. We know that children have been born in far more grim circumstances, but knowledge doesn’t ease the stress.

I remember when Azami was born. I remember the tears. I remember her first steps. Her first words. The way she looked at me. I was her whole world. Her laughter. Her smiles. I remember sleepless nights and endless warm sunny days at the park feeling soft grass under our feet. I remember sorrow. Crying. Sadness.

I’m unsure that I’ll able to love this child as I loved Azami. Afraid that their existence will live as a reminder of my failures as a human. My weakness. I hope that I can be the parent that I once was, but seeds of doubt were sown long ago. Looking back, I must admit that I’ve always doubted. Why would this new life be any different?

I’ve been here a little over a year and yet it feels like a lifetime has passed before me. I am old. Decrepit. My soul begs for death, and while I’m human, I am also an animal that struggles in the mire, desperate to escape. I know that I will push forward despite my circumstances because giving up doesn’t feel like an option to me.

On a different note, some of our neighbors had some pens so I should be good for a few more years.

Chapter 34

The sun crests the horizon behind a thick wall of winter clouds. Despite the calendar stating it’s spring, I have yet to see evidence of it. Halla insists this is the longest winter they’ve ever had. Finnr confirms with his silent worried demeanor. The storms are unrelenting. Even when it’s light outside, the town remains shrouded in darkness. It’s been over a month since they came in the night, but it feels like yesterday. The homes set ablaze were extinguished by winter shortly after, but the stench of death has lingered much longer. Even now I wake at night and catch traces of it. Burned into memory, recalled only in nightmares. After a moment or two it dissipates, and I lie in bed as the storm envelops our house.

The metal roof shutters. Walls creak. Outside, wind rakes over rolling hills, stripping them of snow. When the wind dies, it’s replaced with sobbing from nearby neighbors, sometimes whispers in the night. I prefer the wind. The only comfort from the chaos outside is Anna’s embrace. I feel her warmth against mine and drift off toward dreamland.

In the darkness I find peace, but it’s always with my wife and child. In the morning I wake up next to Anna who is both foreign and familiar. The guilt I feel is the penance I must pay. Surely it goes away at some point.

In other news, my journey might come to an end sooner than I thought. At least on paper. I’ve almost run out of ink. I assumed it might end with some sort of dramatic event; dying at sea, or in a flurry of gunfire. I never thought it would be as boring as this. I suppose it would be the most poetic way to close out this chapter in my life. This is likely hyperbole. All I have to do is ask if people have any pens they can donate. Still, there will come a day when there aren’t any left and my story ends. As a writer, that would be fitting.

And so I move on.

I’m fishing again with Aldan. It’s as laborious as it was when I first started, but muscle memory guides me through the monotony. I could do it in my sleep, which is fortunate because I’ve fallen asleep several times doing it. The second time, I was prodded awake by Aldan. I sighed, expecting to be lectured, but he said nothing. No annoyance. No sympathy. We worked into the night in silence, talking only when necessary. On the way home, I sat in the back and watched him. He was a child mimicking his father. His movements matched Finnr’s. The way he stood, watching the horizon, handling the controls. Unflinching stoicism. Finnr would be proud.

My thoughts trailed off, circling back to Azami.

I’m tired.

The other evening Anna I and stopped by Finnr’s house to visit. Halla was working late in the gardens. Aldan asleep in his room. Finnr sat alone at the table, finishing up dinner. He asked about fishing. I told him what I had noticed, how Aldan took after him. I thought he’d crack a smile, but he seemed upset. Conflicted. Happy that his son had grown up and hurt that he no longer needed him. The conversation stalled. He stood to take his plate to the kitchen and walked off, dragging one leg behind him. His limp was getting worse. Anna and I exchanged glances. She got up to help, but he muttered something I didn’t understand and slammed his plate into the sink. Both of us stood in stunned silence as he made his way to his bedroom.

The evening rain turned to sleet as we walked home. By the time we opened the door, it was snowing. Inside, we hung our coats and moved to bed, crawling under the covers to avoid the harsh realities of the outside world. We both shivered involuntarily for a few minutes as we listened to the wind pick up. Her cold feet moved toward mine and I put my hands against her stomach. She squealed and buried her face into my neck. Her nose was cold against my skin. I whispered that I loved her. She looked at me for a moment and whispered back that she loved me too. I held her close as we drifted off.

I long for summer. For warmth. For days without end.

I long for home.

Chapter 33

It’s a relief when you wake from a nightmare. The unsettling feeling passes and you’re left knowing that it was all in your mind. Two weeks ago, my nightmare began, and I’m unsure if I’ll ever wake up. 

Anna and I were tending to the animals up in the northern hills when we noticed movement off in the distance. A small dark spot moved across the windswept landscape. Five minutes later, the small spot materialized into a man walking toward town. I was about to call out, but Anna pulled me down to the ground, placing her finger over her mouth. Behind us, the sheep moved about, their bleats carried away in the wind.  We crawled up the embankment in front of us and peered over the top.

We watched as he stumbled through snow drifts toward town. He fell down a few times, struggling to stand and continue. I moved to get up, but Anna’s hand on my arm held firm. “We should wait”, she said. I didn’t understand why, since he seemed like he was in distress, but I had no reason to question her judgement.

After a few more falls, he didn’t get back up. Anna walked back to grab the horses. A few minutes later, we were standing over him. He lay motionless as the winter storm encircled us. 

An hour later, he sat in the corner of Finnr’s home, wrapped in blankets, holding a cup of hot water. He was shivering uncontrollably. Halla stood by looking worried, while Aldan sat on the stairs, his arms folded across his chest. Nobody spoke.

After about 30 minutes of silence, the man glanced at Finnr and spoke in Icelandic. I had learned enough to understand roughly what he said, and Anna later confirmed it. “Other villages aren’t fairing as well as yours”, he said as he peered through the frost covered window. “Reykjavik has fallen, and the towns closest have suffered the same fate”. 

The tension in the room was palpable. I grabbed Anna’s hand. Finnr’s stoicism disappeared and for a split second a look of fear flashed across his face. I glanced around to see if anyone else noticed. Halla caught my gaze in acknowledgement. Aldan stood up and walked outside into the storm. The silence continued into the night. 

He never offered his name, and nobody ever asked. The next day we sat around the table as he ate in silence. He breathed a heavy sigh and continued, “In the absence of leadership, chaos reigns supreme”. He had been spouting off cryptic sayings all morning. My patience waned and I interrupted him and asked if he’d heard anything from the outside world. He looked at me bewildered, as if I didn’t know something that everyone knew, and went back to eating.

“He creeps me out”, Anna said over dinner later that night, and I agreed. Something didn’t feel right. A few days later, he said he felt better and insisted on heading back toward his village. Nobody attempted to stop him. Halla walked away and came back with a small bag of food for him. He accepted and we all wished him well.

Two days later, they came in the middle of the night.

I woke to the backfire of a struggling truck lumbering down the main road. I laid in bed, struck by how odd it was for a truck to be driving through town at night. All the visitors we ever had arrived during the day. Another backfire, accompanied by shouting. 

Anna jumped out of bed and I followed close behind. It wasn’t a truck backfiring, it was gunshots. We dressed and crawled over to the front windows, peering out into the darkness. More shots rang out to the east. A faint orange glow illuminated the skyline. Someone screamed in the darkness. We crept over to Finnr’s house. When I opened the door, I came face to face with the barrel of his hunting rifle. He muttered something unintelligible and raised his firearm. Annoyed that he almost killed me.

Halla and Aldan stood in the corner, holding onto table legs that they had broken off. Halla came forward, gave us a hug and handed Anna and I the remining legs.

Finnr locked the door and went upstairs with his rifle. More gun shots, this time only a few houses down. I sank below the front window. My eyes strained to discern movement in the empty street. I was about to go upstairs when a shadow emerged from the darkness beyond. It was difficult for me to see, and I wondered if Finnr would even be able to see it. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, but a few seconds later, the shadow became unmistakably human.

Its muffled footsteps left tracks in the snow, leading to the front door. I could hear the faint sound of the doorknob turning. Halla must have heard it to, because she gasped. I thought for sure my pounding heart would alert the intruder. My mind raced, waiting for Finnr to come running down the stairs, but he never came. Instead, the front door burst open.

I have never been a violent person. Growing up, I walked the other way when fights broke out at school. I never watched action movies. I never participated in contact sports. My mother told me that it was because I had empathy and that it would come in handy later in life. I believed her and continued on the path she created for me. So it came as quite a shock when I took slight pleasure caving in the side of the intruders head. His blood splattering blood across the fallen snow. The sound was not what I had expected, and it was over before it started. The man made no sound as he fell to the earth.

Finnr’s footsteps echoed throughout the house as they made their way to the staircase. By the time he got to us, Anna and Aldan had already finished dragging the body inside. I made no movement to help. Blood dripped down the table leg onto my hand. I looked down at the man who had been a guest only a couple days earlier.  We all stared at him, watching his lifeless body as blood pooled around him. 

The stench of death filled the house. I fell to the floor and retched.

I lay hunched over on all fours until Halla touched my shoulder. “let’s get to the boat”, she said. I looked up at her, then to Anna. Aldan had taken the intruder’s gun and Finnr stood by the window. Outside, a house erupted in flames. Screams echoed into the night. Firelight danced off Finnr’s eyes as he clutched the rifle. Aldan walked over, opened the door and motioned for us to leave. 

In the end Finnr and Aldan decided to stay and guard the house. Anna and I protested, but it was futile. Neither of us had the patience to win that argument. Instead, we gathered a few survival items and went outside. I looked down toward the burning house. Flames licked the sky, raining ash from above. We exchanged hugs and staggered into the brush. 10 minutes later, the sounds of chaos disappeared, replaced by the outgoing tide. We made our way down through the rocks to the beach, then back up the coast toward the harbor.

The boats in the marina remain untouched, bobbing up and down, oblivious to the chaos nearby. We watched from the shadows for what felt like an eternity. Afraid that someone might be waiting to harm us. A seagull called out from the abyss. We moved to Finnr’s. boat, and pushed off within minutes. Behind us, the orange glow faded as we sailed into darkness.

An hour later, I cut the engines and we drifted along with the currents. The storm had broken and stars shined through the remaining clouds. Halla was asleep in the back on a pile of netting, wrapped in blankets. I stepped back from the controls and leaned against the bulkhead.  Anna came up beside me and wrapped her arms around me. My emotions came boiling to the surface and I slid to the floor and sobbed. She sat down next to me and held me. Images of the man on the floor came flooding back. Blood splattered on the snow. On my hands. I looked down it was still there. I started rubbing my hands together, trying to get the stain off, but it required more than friction. I was too tired to deal. I leaned my head against Anna and fell asleep shortly after. 

The next morning as the sun rose, smoke billowed from town. I traced it from its origins upward into the atmosphere. I peered through the binoculars looking back toward shore. It looked like a ghost town. After a couple hours, I noticed movement and called out when I realized it was Finnr and Aldan. As we pulled up, Finnr hobbled out toward us with a slight limp and grabbed the rope. Aldan had an excessive amount of blood on his clothing. They both had glazed looks across their face.

It took a bit of prying, but Aldan filled me in on some of what transpired.

Shortly after we left, a group of about 5 or 6 men came by the house. They must have thought the house was empty because they walked inside talking. Aldan didn’t go into any more detail, but he did say all but two were killed remarkably fast. He saw two surviving members of the group drive off toward the ring road. They waited for hours to make sure no one else was around before going house to house to check for survivors. A quarter of the town was dead. Given the population, it wasn’t that many people, but devastating nonetheless. 

The day continued in a fog. I sat on my bed and thought about the choices I’d made that led me here. In front of the mirror, I wondered if there was blood on me that I couldn’t see. At dinner, I ate in silence.

After dinner, Anna and I helped move the rest of the bodies to a pile on the outskirts of town. When we finished, Finnr poured a small amount of fuel on them and set them ablaze. The smell was putrid. We watched as the corpses turned to embers. Until the embers turned to ash.

As I stood there next to Anna, my mind wandered. What bothered me wasn’t that I had killed someone. I did what anyone would have done to protect those they cared about. What bothered me was my complete indifference to a quarter of the town getting massacred. I waited to feel something, but it never happened. A year ago, I would have been hysterical. Now It’s part of life. The cycle that we all complete. I was unnerved by it. I am unnerved by it.

We cannot survive here. Not forever.

Chapter 32

Christmas came and went with little fanfare.

I woke to a group of people singing in the distance. At first, I couldn’t quite make out the words, but as they drew closer, I recognized a song as a carol from my childhood. I sat up and peered out the window as their quiet reverie ushered in a day of emotional turmoil. The sun hadn’t risen but I could make out dark silhouettes as they passed below. I climbed back under the covers.

Their voices faded and the wave of nostalgia ebbed back into darkness. Soon they were gone, and I was alone.

Finnr knocked on my door soon after and told me to sleep in, which I did without hesitation. As my thoughts turned inward, I tried to trace them back in time to find some meaning to the randomness. I fell back asleep before I could make any sense.

Anna came over after sunrise. We all gathered around the table, telling stories from past holidays. Some I understood, others I didn’t. Nobody had gifts to exchange, not that it mattered anyway. The stories trailed off and we sat, ruminating in silence. I looked up from my lap to see Halla reach across the table, arms outstretched. I set my hands in hers. They were callused; weathered. I wondered if mine were the same. Anna joined in. Finnr and Aldan followed. Nothing was said, but words were unnecessary. This was something we all needed.

A few days later, Anna and I attended a vigil for members of the community that we had lost. It was a somber event marking the end of a tumultuous year. We stood on the outskirts, listening to what we could. She leaned her head on my shoulder and whispered translations when I couldn’t make out certain words. A storm was building to the north and snow was already falling in the waning light. After the vigil, we walked back to Einar’s old house and stood outside, holding hands. After weeks of repairs, it was finally ours.

It felt foreign to me. Like it wasn’t my own. The house was empty except for a few photos of random landscapes hanging on the walls. We didn’t have the heart to get rid of Einar’s family portraits. They lay buried in a small closet underneath a few empty suitcases. The smell of earth permeated everything and the floor creaked under my weight as I entered. The storm had set in, rattling the shutters back and forth as the last bit of light refracted off our breath.

Even in my wildest dreams, I never could have imagined this last year and the toll it would take on me. I’ve aged a lifetime, but here we are. As I lie in bed, listening to the wind howling, I can feel Anna breathing next to me. I’m unsure if this house will ever be my home, but I’m determined to try.

Chapter 31

Windows fog as I peer out into the darkness. Shadows move across snow-covered rooftops and the moon disappears behind clouds. A light snow falls, blanketing the muddy streets below. I can hear the ebbing tide in the distance, rolling back out to unknown depths. It’s a relaxing break from the relentless storms that have hammered the town for the last two weeks.

I wasn’t prepared for any of it.

Arctic winds pushed down from the north and coated our boats with thick layers of ice. Work was impossible. We took turns huddling next to the exhaust from the ship to warm frozen hands. During one of the worst days, we lost contact with our neighbor Einar who was fishing to the north. He and his daughter are still missing. A few relatives hold out hope, but I can’t imagine they could still be alive. He was in his 50s and his daughter was a little older than Aldan.

I tried talking to Aldan about it, but he hasn’t said much. I don’t think they were close, but it still must be difficult to lose a peer. I never made an effort to know them. It’s something I’ve thought about since they’ve disappeared. I remember seeing them through the window in the summer time. They’d be outside sitting on the porch, warming themselves in the evening sun. They looked happy. It wasn’t what I expected from a teenage girl and her father. I figured those years would be fraught with contention.

Isolation is hard, but it’s fascinating to see how some people grow from it, while others lose their way. I don’t quite know where I fit in, but I hold out hope for a time when I can look back and appreciate my struggles. Despite everything, there is a small part of me that envies Einar’s death. He won’t know the weight that a parent feels when they've lost their child. I live every day knowing my loss, and it hurts. It will always hurt. I will turn to dust and the pain will continue.

Three different parties scoured the ocean for days, searching for the lost ship. Each night, they returned with nothing new to report. It wasn’t until a few days ago that someone found the lost vessel washed up on shore to the north. The town council sent some of the younger kids out on horseback to bring back whatever they could. They’ve been out at least five times, gathering wood, engine parts, scraps of sail. The oldest member of the group thinks it’ll be another week before they’re finished.

The yacht that we found sits half submerged in the icy waters a few hundred meters from the harbor. Everything useful was stripped by the time the storm hit, thanks to the efforts of Halla and a handful of others. Now it’s a reminder of what our future might hold. An omen that we pass in silence. 

Weeks ago Finnr expressed interest in returning to the boat. Toward the end of the storm, we arrived at the dock to find him loading it by himself. This was the Finnr that I knew. Silent and unyielding. I looked over to Aldan and saw a slight smile flash across his face. Without saying a word, we fell in line and picked up where we left off. After a couple days, it felt a bit crowded, so I asked to work back on land for a while, at least for a few weeks. Finnr and Aldan agreed, but I could tell Aldan was hurt. He didn’t try to hide it, which made it even worse.

After speaking with the town council, Anna and I decided to fix up Einar’s house, which now sits vacant. There is still work, but with Halla’s help, we should be able to finish it by the end of the year.

When Anna and I first walked in, our footsteps echoed on the wooden floors. The tables and chairs were rudimentary, but the roof didn’t leak, which was important. The stillness inside filled with memories of a forgotten past. It smelled like earth. I thought about Einar and his daughter huddling around a single candle. Eating what little food they had. Light forced its way through opaque windows, illuminating our breath as we exhaled. We stood in silence. I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, her head nestled against mine. I cried. It wasn’t the nicest house in town, but it would do.

Chapter 30

Fall left as quick as it arrived. In a matter of days, the auburn shrubs that dotted the coastline lay bare. A week later the town lay under a thick blanket of snow. It feels like yesterday that I was laying on the beach with Anna, breathing in the warmth of a setting sun. Every moment feels fleeting, as if I’ll wake up 20 years from now with no memory of the life I’ve lived. Things are bleak when darkness reigns supreme.

Three days ago, Aldan and I left the house before sunrise, which doesn’t mean much anymore. We made our way down toward the harbor, passing dark windows that were once aglow in candlelight. The stockpiles of random goods the town pooled together are gone. Now we get ready in the dark, with only the waning light of the moon to assist. As we walked through the street, several doors closed to our right. Muffled conversation broke through the silence as silhouettes moved about in the shadows. Smoke rose from a few chimneys in the distance. 

We arrived at the pier and started loading empty barrels back onto the boat. It’s mindless work that I can now do in my sleep. Halfway through, I found myself wandering through space and time, thinking about Oki. Each day that goes by moves me further from my past and even now, the memories feel hazy. Anna understands my struggle, but part of me doubts whether she would still be here if she had other options. I can’t fault her for that. This is a difficult situation for everyone.

Aldan’s voice snapped me out of my day dream. I glanced over as the last of his words drifted up toward the sky, dissipating into the ether. I nodded, finished loading the last of barrels, untied from the pier and pushed off.

The ride out was smooth yet unsettling. Good weather never lasts and the next big storm always looms beyond the horizon. It’s a constant source of stress that is only compounded as winter approaches.

I dropped the nets, watching them disappear into the darkness below. The engine cut out. Before I could react, Aldan raced by me to the front of the boat. I looked up to see him pointing to the east. I stood, stretched my aching back, and walked over to him. A shape was taking form in the early morning hours. I squinted. It was larger than anything anchored in the harbor, but it was too dark to tell what it was. We watched it for a few more minutes before circling back around and pulling the nets.

Another hour passed and the object still hadn’t moved. With the sun up, we were able to get a better view and decided it wasn’t an iceberg, which was our first guess. I peered through a pair of binoculars while the object drifted with the currents. Behind me, the motor turned over. I glanced back to see Aldan push the throttle forward, steering toward the object. “It’s a yacht”, he said. 

As we got closer, its size became evident. It dwarfed our tiny fishing boat by orders of magnitude. I had never seen anything like it.

We pulled up alongside and cut the engine. Nothing moved aside from our two boats bobbing up and down in the middle of an empty ocean. Aldan reached into a box and fastened a hook to a rope. He swung it a few times and released, sending it careening upward toward the deck. On the third try, the hook snagged the railing. Aldan gave it a quick tug, then weighted it to see what happened. Everything seemed solid, but neither of us jumped at the opportunity to be first aboard. We decided to play rock paper scissors to see who went up first. Aldan lost, but didn’t move. I grabbed the rope and shimmied up.

Other than a few birds circling above, there were no signs of life. I looked over at Aldan and wondered if he could hear my heart beat. 

A few minutes passed while neither of us moved. I broke the silence and pointed up to the bridge, suggesting we should go take a look. Aldan nodded and we set off in search of the stairs. When we arrived at the door, it was stuck. I tried to peer through the windows but they were fogged over on the inside. There were scratch marks on the door. It appeared we weren’t the first people to try and break in. It took both of us kicking before the door burst open. The smell hit us immediately. 

I covered my face and peered in. Decomposed bodies were strewn about, sunken eyes, mouths agape. A couple were sitting in chairs, one was laying across the control panel. I counted seven figures before getting light headed. Aldan ran to the railing and retched overboard. I backed away and closed the door, holding down what little food I had in my stomach. I sat down next to Aldan, who finished wiping his face. I tried to crack a joke, but it fell flat. The worry on Aldan’s face was as clear as the blue sky above. I stood up, helped him to his feet, and we continued exploring the rest of the ship.

Some of the cabins had bodies in them, others were vacant. We surveyed the entire vessel, finding only two rooms we couldn’t force open. We raced back to the harbor and started rummaging through the tool shed. Finnr came out, puzzled about why we were home. When Aldan explained what we found, he grabbed the cutting torch and walked toward the boat. An hour later we were back on deck. 

Aldan and I flanked Finnr as the plasma torch cut through the first steel door. Soon we were staring into a room filled with plastic packages of food. I rubbed my eyes, thinking it was some sort of hallucination, but it wasn’t. My heart started racing. Aldan and I reached out to grab whatever was closest but Finnr’s shout stopped us in our tracks. He didn’t even have to explain himself. We both knew the town would divvy up the supplies.

We left the food storage and dragged the torch down the walkway to the other door. Aldan and I shielded our eyes as Finnr started cutting around the lock. Our anxious anticipation cut short the second the door swung opened. The scene before us left little to the imagination. There were two bodies, both decomposed, but one of the bodies had chunks of flesh missing from parts of the leg. His head caved in on the side. Dried blood smeared across the walls and splattered on the floor, pooling in the corner. It took a few seconds for me to realize what had happened and a few more for the shock to set in.

Finnr closed the door as best he could and started making an inventory of what was on the ship. While he wandered about, Aldan and I climbed back down to the fishing boat and prepared for the slow journey back to land. I suggested getting more boats to help with the tow, but Finnr said there was a storm coming and left it at that.

We arrived home later that night. As we walked through town, Finnr suggested we take the next day off, which was a relief. It was normal to work long hours, but the emotional toll that day left me exhausted. When I woke up the next morning, I looked outside and could see the yacht anchored a few hundred yards off-shore. It dwarfed all the other boats in the harbor. A large crowd gathered on the docks.

I slid out of bed and went downstairs. Finnr and Halla must have gone down to the docks to help with the sorting. I sat down at the table and stared out the window. Faint traces of breath curled up through my eyeline.  Aldan’s door creaked open. His footsteps were light. I could see him in my periphery. I didn’t look at him and  continued to stare. He came toward me, set something on the table, walked back into his bedroom and shut the door. Without moving my head, I glanced down.

It was a twinkie, or at least something that looked like a twinkie. The writing on the wrapper was in Icelandic but its shape was unmistakable.

I hesitated.

Peering out the window, the crowd down by the docks was smaller. I walked down and stood on the edge. Finnr was in the middle, talking to a few members of the town council. I caught his attention and waved him over. After handing off his inventory list, he shuffled over toward me, looking a bit flustered. When he got close, I grabbed his arm and placed the twinkie in the palm of his hand. He looked at me, unflinching, refusing to break eye contact. I reluctantly looked up at him, shrugged and looked back down at my feet. I couldn’t be sure, but for a split second I thought I could see the sides of his mouth turn up into a smile. He left before I could verify.

As I walked back toward the house, a feeling came over me. Despite the freezing temperatures, it was a warmth that I hadn’t felt in a while, since before I arrived.

I felt like I was home.

Chapter 29

A cold chill has taken hold of the darkness that surrounds me. I exhale, gripping the net as I pull it from the abyss. My breath drifts upward, rising toward whatever lies beyond. The warm summer nights when sun would set the sky on fire for hours are gone. Replaced by days reminiscent to my former life; Racing to the park to catch the last vestiges of summer. Wrapped in a blanket, laying on the grass, staring up at the clouds. The sound of Azami laughing echoes through my consciousness. How long I can hold on. Slow methodical breaths drown out the universe and for a brief moment, I forget who I am.

A shout from the front of the boat brings me reeling back to earth. My back muscles strain as I crane my neck to see, but it’s clear that the fish can wait. I loop the net over a hook to keep it from sliding back into the ocean and run to the bow.

Dark objects litter the ocean before us, glistening in the moonlight. I stand motionless, trying to figure out what they are. After a few seconds, Aldan walks over to the side of the boat and grabs two long poles, handing me one. “growlers” he says. A moment later and I understand. We’re surrounded a field of small icebergs bobbing up and down. We stand on each side of the bow, pushing them to the side as we make our way through the minefield. After more than two hours of work, the growlers disappear behind us as we make our way back to shore.

After work, I crawl into bed, worrying about the long and lonely winter nights that lie ahead. I drift in an out, blurring the lines between what is real and what is my imagination. I can feel the warmth of Oki next to me. Her face nestled into the curve of my neck, whispering calm words that sooth even the most troubled heart. “I love you”, she says. “I know”, I respond. It’s a joke that only she would understand as the depth of my love for her could never be put into words.

Maybe that was the problem.

My thoughts turn dark as the crescent moon shines through the window, illuminating the wall to my right. A water stain in the upper corner of the room reaches down toward the floor like a stalactite. Peeled wallpaper dissects where heaven and earth meet. I am all alone in a quiet house, contemplating fate and wondering if I could ever take my own life. In the darkness it feels easier.

The feeling passes.

It has passed.

Anna and I have been spending most of what little free time we have together. I hate myself for it. I spent months trying to ignore the reality of my situation. Yet I can’t imagine living a life without companionship. It’s something all humans desire at the most basic level. I know she can see how conflicted I am and I hope she understands. I will always love Oki. How could I not? I thought we would be together until the end, but the end came in a way that neither of us could predict. The hard part is knowing whether it’s the end. 

Over the last several weeks Finnr has taken more time off, although he’s not sick anymore. It’s clear that his age is catching up to him. It wouldn't surprise me if he didn’t make it through the winter. It wouldn't surprise me if I didn’t make it through the winter either, so that doesn't say much. Since Finnr has been staying home, Aldan and I have spent quite a bit of time together out on the boat. I’ve grown to care for him in the way a father cares for his own son. In this instance the son teaches everything he knows to the father, and all the father can do is listen.

He’s a good kid. Most teenagers his age are insufferable twats. At least the ones that used to live in my neighborhood were. It’s no longer a mystery why he hated me when I first got here. I treated him like a child. Underestimating him at every step of the way. It must have been difficult for him. Feeling talked down to all the time. My ego didn’t match my experience. It wasn’t until I started working on the boat that I realized how much knowledge he had to offer.

It must have been difficult growing up in Iceland, at least out in the country. Forced to take responsibility at an early age. Like growing up on a farm anywhere else in the world, I guess; Early mornings. Late nights. Manual labor. Always work to do. My upbringing was so foreign. It's laughable. I had no challenges, outside of do your homework, don't be late. My parents handed me everything. It's the life that I had, but only because I didn't know any better. Now I know better.

Chapter 28

I’m on a precipice looking out across a landscape that has become my home. My hand trembles as I attempt to describe the immeasurable beauty that surrounds me. No words I can think of could ever do it justice. It’s like a painting that exists only in dreams. A masterpiece that even the most skilled artists could never recreate. It’s a façade. An eternity of cascading waterfalls and rolling green hills is meaningless when you’re alone.

Dappled light filters through the waist-high grass as I lay prostrate. My tears fall to the earth, giving life to the wildflowers that have become my own prison. With each passing day, the weight of the world nudges me toward a point of no return.

Something has to give. 

About a month ago, I came off the ocean as the sun was setting. The whole sky was afire with brilliant orange and red hues. I stumbled back to the house and grabbed a bite to eat. I sat outside watching stars appear in the midnight blue that followed. I closed my eyes, listening to the silence. My mind drifted off toward thoughts of home. Nightly walks with Oki and Azami. Playing in the park. Visiting family. At some point, my thoughts shifted toward Anna, but I couldn’t trace back how I got there. We had been spending time together almost every day, so It didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me is the guilt that usually accompanied her never came. 

A fly buzzed around my head pulling me back to reality. I flailed my hands about but it dodged them. I felt mocked as it landed on my hand long enough to sink its mandibles into my flesh. The pain was more than I anticipated from such a small insect. I smashed it against my skin and walked inside. When I was doing research on Iceland, I read that the black flies are a nasty breed. They arrive sometime in June and only stay a week or two. I figured that since June and July had passed without incident, we dodged a bullet.

The next morning, I walked outside the house and was immediately set upon by a swarm of them. They were late this year. I waved my hands in front of my face and took off running toward the dock. I could feel them scurrying about in my beard. A few had become trapped in my eyelashes. The high-pitched buzzing sound filled my ears and a few even flew up into my nose. When I got to the boat, I opened my mouth to say something to Aldan and a few flies flew down my throat. I choked until I dry heaved. We looked at each other and understood that the quicker we worked, the faster we could get out on the ocean. I was on the cusp of having a meltdown when the motor started. After a few minutes of moving out toward the open ocean, the flies disappeared.

I looked around and noticed Finnr wasn’t with us. Aldan mentioned that Finnr wasn’t feeling well. It seemed out of character, but he worked long hours. If anyone deserved some time off, he did. It felt strange to be out there without him. I always looked to him for guidance. He had an air of calmness about him that put me at ease. Like a beacon of hope in a world torn apart by chaos. As we glided over the calm ocean waters, I worried that Aldan and I would be lost. By end of day, we found our groove. 

Over the course of the next few weeks, we discovered that the only respite from the black flies was out at sea. After a day or two of scratching ourselves raw, we decided to sleep on the boat a few miles out. Only coming back to shore to drop off the day’s catch. I wondered why I hadn’t spent more nights on the boat. After a nasty squall hit us after sunset, I realized that getting a full night’s sleep was hard to come by.

Midway through the week, Finnr decided he could no longer stay cooped up in the house. Despite Halla’s protests, he came back out the following day. 

His first morning back, Finnr got into a minor power struggle with Aldan when he didn’t want to leave the helm. While Finnr was stuck at home, Aldan had taken a liking to running the ship and wasn’t too keen on giving any part of it up. For about 30 minutes, Finnr stood next to him, not saying a word until he relinquished control. It was more light hearted than it felt, but I could sense there was some animosity coming from Aldan. He was salty for a few days but soon everything was back to normal. At least the normal that we‘ve all grown accustomed to. 

While traveling back to port one night, I noticed Finnr stumble and steady himself on the railing. It was quick and I wouldn't have noticed anything had I not been watching him. He moved on without skipping a beat, always quick to find work that needed to be done. I watched him a little bit longer as I coiled some rope. He looked old. Older than usual at least. Like a part of him was missing.

Whatever illness had left him bedridden for a few days seemed to have taken its toll. 

When August arrived, the black flies ventured off toward a warmer climate, and we ventured home. It felt good to be back on land even though I had a hard time standing up straight. Halla greeted us with enough warmth to melt even the coldest of hearts. I walked over and hugged her, longer than she had anticipated, but she never made an effort to pull back. I resisted the urge to break down in front of Finnr and Aldan. Later that day, I met up with Anna. She joked that I appeared to be on the verge of falling over, which I accomplished a handful of times, much to her delight. It felt good to get back to normal.

Normal.

I’ve been writing that word without understanding what it means. The normal that I once knew doesn’t exist, at least not in the context of any memory I own. I wake up and go about my day as my mind and heart battle over dominion of my soul. One telling me to move on and the other telling me to never let go. It’s an exhausting state to live in, but at some point, I have to accept that I am in control of my own life. At least some of it.

Chapter 27

I haven’t written for a while. Every day is like a time loop; Wake up. Fish. Work. Repeat. When I came to Iceland, I started writing as an attempt to work through some personal issues. It was therapeutic, or at least it had the illusion of being therapeutic. It’s different now. The emotional toll writing has taken on me is hard to describe. I used to love it, and now it serves only as a reminder that everything is fucked and the life that I once knew is over. The hesitation I have placing pen to paper only serves as a road block to working through my emotions. I understand that I might never see my family again, but It’s something I do with great reluctance. Dragged through the mire, kicking and screaming, clawing at the ground.

The adage that time heals all wounds rings true right now.

I need time.

Sadness and self-pity aside, something unexpected happened to me yesterday. It was exciting enough that decided to rummage around in my bag for my notebook so I could write it down.

I had the day off and spent it walking around in the hills north east of town. I stopped by to see Anna earlier, while she was tending to a herd of cows. We sat down on top of a bluff that overlooked the pasture and chatted for a couple hours as clouds passed overhead. Anna spoke of her life before and I reminisced about my love affair with adventures. She was in the middle of a story about her parents when she noticed one of the cows had pushed open a gate on the opposite side of the pasture. She jumped up with surprising agility and ran toward the fence. I shouted, asking her if she needed help. She yelled back that she didn’t and that she would see me tomorrow. I was about to yell back, but by then she was too far to hear me. 

I headed east across the rolling green hills, around rocky ravines and through a river that started in the high country. Its brilliant blue water mirrored with the azure sky above. When I was a few ridges over, I looked back and could barely make out the herd. Five more minutes and the faint clanking of bells floated by as a whisper on the wind. 

I started walking down toward the coast and stumbled upon a landscape I hadn’t seen before. Everywhere I looked, the island’s black volcanic base was covered in a thick green moss. It was like walking on a mattress. I hopped around like I was on the moon. It felt new, as if its creation 18 million years ago happened yesterday. Close to the edge of the mossy area, I found a small alcove, large enough for an adult to hide in. Tucked in the back was a small bag. I immediately felt a little uneasy and stood up to look around.

Silence.

I reached down and opened the bag. There was a notebook with a bunch of writing in it that I couldn’t read, a pocket knife, and a small tarp. When I opened the top pocket, a Snickers bar fell out and came to a rest near my feet. My heart started pounding, and I stood up again. Consumed by a cycle of fear and paranoia that wouldn’t leave for at least 15 minutes. Was it a trap? Was someone watching me? My paranoia got the best of me. I set the bag back down, climbed atop a mound of moss-covered rocks and scanned the horizon. I listened to the stillness that can only exist in a land without distractions. Nothing moved. There were no birds in the sky, no herds of cattle, no flocks of sheep. I could see the waves crashing against the coast far below me, but the sound never came.

After a few minutes I climbed back down and picked up the snickers bar. Part of me wanted to wait, and share it with everyone at the house. Another part of me wanted to put it back, because it belonged to someone else. But the part of me that won was the carnal one that hadn’t tasted anything as sweet as a Snickers bar in quite a few months.

I bit into it and melted. It had been forever since I’d had anything so delicious. It was nostalgic in a way that I never thought food could be. A flood of memories washed over me. Carrying me out past the sea of tranquility. Depositing me in whatever sea a broken man crying over a Snickers bar belongs in. And then it was gone. I felt a pang of guilt and wondered if I had eaten somebody’s last sliver of hope. The overwhelming feeling of satisfaction was too strong and the guilt didn’t.

It was worth it.

Chapter 26

Today was my first day off since I started working out on the boat. Finnr only allowed me to take a break on the condition that I take some fish to the market. I needed one, so I won’t complain. I doubt it was a coincidence. Given that it coincided with several nights of panic attacks. As embarrassing as it all is, I don’t have the capacity to care what other people think anymore. I guess that’s a benefit of being emotionally exhausted all the time.

Most of my morning was spent sprawled out on a rocky beach outside town. Listening to small stones moving back and forth as the tide ebbed further out to sea. I stared up at the sky, watching birds float in the breeze. The sun warmed my soul. My breathing slowed, as time had and I could feel the earth rotate through an empty universe. As I laid there, the wind from the ocean picked up, carrying with it the faint smell of brine. A reminder of my reality. Something felt different though. I wasn’t filled with loneliness. I felt comfortable. 

I felt normal.

It was fleeting. A cloud passed overhead, blocking the sun, casting a shadow onto the world around me. The birds above me left to the east in search of warmer temperatures and silence reigned. For the first time since it went dark, the anxieties that had tortured me every night were absent. I was overcome by a feeling of guilt, that I might one day accept this lonely future that fate bestowed upon me. It took me by surprise. I stood up, gathered my things and went back to the house.

After the standard lunch of dried fish and stale crackers, I wandered over to the gardens to see if Halla was there. I missed working with her, moving about the garden pulling weeds. She filled a void in my heart that’s been missing since I was a child. Working with her reminded me of the time I’d spend with my own mother. Watching her sew, or do other chores around the house. She would always take the time to show me what she was doing. And I was always inquisitive enough to stand by watching. Even though our relationship was tumultuous, I still felt a sense of nostalgia for the simpler times that I had with her. 

Halla was over in one of the corners of the garden. I walked over to her and greeted her in Icelandic. She waved, and forced out a smile. I could tell that something was off, but didn’t have the language dexterity to find out what. Instead, I crouched down next her and started pulling weeds. We worked together for a about an hour, moving up and down the rows in silence before she stood up and handed me a list of things I needed to get at the market. I took the list, leaned in and gave her a hug. She seemed so frail in my arms. I was about to let go when I felt her body shake a little. It took me a second to realize that she was crying. I froze, unsure of what to do, but my instincts as a human kicked in and I held on for a bit longer until her crying subsided. She pulled back, wiped her eyes, thanked me and walked off in the direction of the house.

I headed over to the market where everyone had gathered to trade food and socialize. It was busy for being such a small town. Spirits seemed high, and the hum of unintelligible small talk was hard to think over. Anna must have seen how lost I was because she came over and asked me if I needed help.  I accepted and we walked around looking for items on the list that Halla gave me. Toothpaste. Mutton. Candles. It was such a short list, I wondered why I needed one in the first place. It only took us about thirty minutes to get what we needed, so we decided to go for a walk and catch up.

We made our way up the road that leads to the main highway, past a row of black basalt columns. Etched with a few declarations of love. Ending up on a rocky bluff that overlooks an old cemetery. Neat little rows of crosses lilted in every direction. A few of the newer ones stood upright above the others, as if expecting someone to come and visit at any moment. Anna gestured toward the highway, pointing out the rolling hills that moved up to the high country. That is where she’s been the last few weeks, helping a few others tend the flocks of sheep. I asked if she ever wanted to trade jobs. She laughed and declined, and I sat there wondering if it was actually a joke on my part.

When I started to tell her about the storm we were in, she stopped me and said that a friend of Aldan’s had already told her. Apparently, it was a much bigger deal than I realized and everyone in town had been talking about it. I thought it was business as usual, but I guess I didn’t have a baseline to compare it to. Most people were impressed that we made it back. Some of the more vocal townsfolk voiced their concern about Finnr’s recklessness. Although it seems like they were more concerned about the boat, than our lives. It left me feeling uneasy about spending more time on the ocean.

Anna is a few years younger than I am. She grew up here and spent the majority of her teenage years working on various farms. Doing various chores. Like castrating sheep and slaughtering cows. After graduation, she went to Reykjavik to attend university. I admire her grit, for sure. She’s much more self-sufficient than I am, which is a skill that has become useful lately. She was in a relationship before everything went dark, but didn’t say anything else after that. And I didn’t press the issue. It seems like a most people still hold out hope that things will go back to normal. But the longer I’m here, the more I suspect that it might not be the case.

I told her what it was like growing up in the United States, meeting Oki. We met in college, about a month before I graduated. She was in the US on a student visa,  working her way through a degree in education, and had a few years left. I moved away after I graduated, but we kept in touch and over a couple years became close. When she moved back to England, I was devastated. A year later, I was over in Scotland working on a project, stopped by to visit, and that was it. I moved across the pond a few months later.

I looked away toward the ocean, my eyes tearing up. She sensed how I was feeling because she put a hand on my back. I broke down crying, in the same fashion Halla had a few hours earlier. I choked out a laugh and told her about Halla. We both agreed that we should talk to each other more, so we don’t go insane. I stood up, took a deep breath and turned around to give her a hand. She said that she was going to stay here a bit longer, but that we should meet up in a few days. We said our goodbyes and I took off back toward the house. I felt happy. It had been so long since I’d had a normal conversation where I didn’t have to think about what the other person was saying. It was relaxing. Pleasant.

I felt guilty. It crept over me like earlier at the beach. I’m married. I have a child. I repeated those words over and over in my head until I got back to the house. I dropped the toothpaste, mutton, and candles on the table and went up to my room. I sat on the bed ruminating about Anna. It wasn’t a physical thing, at least not in the sense of being attracted to her. My mind returned to sitting on the bluff. Human touch is important. I hadn’t realized how much I needed it until I found myself crying in front of her. I don’t know. I could be lying to myself again. It seems like a habit of mine.

What if things never go back to the way they used to be?

Chapter 25

So much has happened in the last few weeks. More than I care mention. Our stretch of good weather ended after my last entry. It was mid-morning and we’d been dropping nets for a couple hours when Finnr came to the back and pulled Aldan aside. I didn’t think much of it but stopped when I noticed the two of them pointing at some ominous clouds to the north. A few minutes later, Aldan told me to start pulling the nets I had dropped. I was kind of annoyed, but when I noticed that Finnr’s tempo had picked up, I felt like my annoyance would have to wait.

About an hour later, the clouds to the north had transformed into a nightmarish wall that towered over us blocking the sun. As soon as Aldan and I finished pulling in the last of the nets, Finnr pointed us toward town. Shortly after, the storm hit us. 

Freezing rain pushed down from the arctic and pummeled the boat with winds well over 100 kilometers an hour. The air crackled with electricity. I grabbed a railing to steady myself from the hurricane force winds, but Aldan yelled at me not touch any metal. I looked around for anything to hold on to. Before I could move, lightning struck so close that I could feel the shockwave. The thunder clap was instantaneous. My ears were ringing. Finnr screamed. It took me a second to realize that he was screaming from excitement, not because he was hurt. I dropped to the floor to keep from getting tossed overboard. Never in my wildest dreams had I envisioned experiencing a storm quite like this. Whatever confidence I had during the previous week was gone. Swept overboard as waves washed over the deck.

We rode the storm out for what seemed like an eternity. Aldan and I huddled under what little shelter we could find, shivering, while Finnr stood at the helm. At one point, he turned and looked at us. For a brief moment I thought I saw a smile creep across his face, but with the next barrage of waves, it was gone. Overwhelming thoughts circled and I retched onto the deck in front of me.

Hours later, the storm broke and the sun illuminated the last drops of rain as they fell back into the ocean. A partial rainbow appeared off in the distance. Aldan stood up and let out a primal scream, arms outstretched, shouting toward the heavens. I choked out a laugh through a few silent tears of relief. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Finnr looking back, watching me, his eyes boring into my thoughts and fears. I pretended not to notice and fiddled around with one of the nets lying next to me. I looked back at him, but he had already turned around. I crawled over to the side of the boat and dry heaved. I was exhausted. 

The days that followed are a blur; work, eat, try to sleep. Over and over. Day after day.

I’m tired.

I write about days as if they hold meaning. But how can you describe the passage of time that has neither beginning nor ending? The concept of organizing chaos seems foolish. Like the lies you’re taught as a child because your innocence isn’t capable of handling the truth. Each time I close my eyes, an eternity passes, as if my whole life exists in that brief moment. And at the end of my life, I open my eyes and I’m still here.

Most nights I lie awake, staring at a blank ceiling while my mind plays tricks on me. I hear voices in my head crying out, and even though I know they’re not real, I get up and look around to be sure.

Last night was especially difficult. My ritual of insomnia continued, and after a while I got up to use the bathroom. The sun was below the horizon even though it was the middle of the night. Dim light filtered in through a small window. I stared at my face in the mirror. My eyes adjusted to the darkness. I hardly even recognized myself. For a moment, I could see Azami’s face in my own, or at least I thought it was hers. The image of my family that I carry in my head feels like it’s fading away, replaced with silhouettes. I went back to bed, laid down and cried into my pillow.

When I finally fell asleep, I found myself underwater looking up at Finnr’s boat at the surface. Beneath me was an infinite abyss, filled with whatever monsters lurked in the deep. I tried clawing my way to the surface, but it was futile. The more I thrashed about, the more I sank. The darker it became, until the light above me narrowed to a single point, like a lone star on a cloudy night. Even that disappeared and I was no longer underwater. I was floating in space, surrounded by loneliness, and in the darkness I heard Oki cry out. It was unintelligible at first, a whisper. As it got louder it became my name. The whisper became a scream so loud that I awoke with a feeling of dread that I couldn’t shake for a few hours.

It’s a bit unnerving being aware of my own descent toward madness. Like watching your own life play out in front of you, unable to make choices. Forced to sit and watch as everything falls apart. Maybe it’s time to accept my fate.

Chapter 24

The ocean swells have tamed my heart, and set my soul at ease.

At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself. I don’t actually believe it, but it’s my new mantra and I figure that if I say it enough, it will come true.

My first day on the boat was about what I expected, which is to say it was difficult and exhausting. We woke before sunrise and walked down to the docks. It felt like a ghost town, except for the faint wisps of smoke curling from a few chimneys. The orange glow of candlelight flickered in windows as we passed. Shadows moved beyond where the light could reach. The ocean was calm save for the ebb and flow of tides. Looking down the row of boats, each one bobbed to its own methodic rhythm. Aldan had finished some of the morning tasks the night before, so we were the first boat to leave. By the time the sun crested above the horizon, Finnr, Aldan and I were out in the deep, half way to nowhere. The sky was clear and the stillness of the morning had followed.

Finnr eased off the throttle and let the boat glide to a stop. It rocked back and forth in the remnants of its own wake. The silence crept over me. Both he and Aldan came to the back where I was sitting and took a few minutes to explain the process. I tried to pay attention, but as I looked around at the empty expanse, my mind wandered. I imagined all the different ways I could die; drowning, starving. . .

“Once we set the nets, we’ll circle back and start pulling them”, Aldan said, waking me from my daydream. I nodded and tried to focus, but found it difficult. Finnr stared at me. I hadn’t admitted to either of them that I didn’t like being on the ocean, but I was sure they could tell. I felt stiff, like every muscle in my body resisted the urge to panic. It was impossible to relax. I wished they would come out and say what they were thinking. We all knew that I didn’t belong.

Throughout the day, Aldan would come over and correct me if I was doing anything wrong. It was like what Halla did in the garden, yet unlike Halla, he didn’t have an unlimited supply of patience. There were more than a couple heated exchanges between us. In the end, I recognized that I was the one out of my element and despite his age, he did have knowledge that I needed. I know that sounds pretentious, but everyone struggles taking advice from teenagers. 

By evening, I was still making mistakes, but would catch them quicker without prompting. The work was monotonous, like pulling weeds in the garden, except much more physical. As we headed back toward land, I looked down at my blistered hands. I couldn’t remember the last time I had worked so hard. The feeling of dread that had occupied my thoughts on the way out had dissipated throughout the day. There was something about physical labor that allowed me to focus my energies elsewhere. As I was thinking about the reasons, I felt the uneasiness creep back over me. I cursed, realizing that I had set myself up for a panic attack. I sat on my chair, gripped. After a few minutes, my mind wandered.

By the time we got back to the docks, I had fallen asleep, but woke when Finnr killed the engine. My neck hurt from being slumped over against the side of the boat. Bleary-eyed, I stumbled back up to the house and fell back asleep.

Chapter 23

There was a double suicide in town yesterday. A couple in their early 70s were found decomposing in their bed. It most likely didn’t happen yesterday; they were found yesterday. I didn’t hear all the details, but Aldan said it definitely wasn’t an accident. They were both supposed to be out fishing, but someone noticed their boat hadn’t moved in a few days. I didn’t hear about any of this until dinner yesterday, but I figured something was wrong earlier when I heard yelling outside. Most of the time it’s someone who has had too much to drink stumbling down the main road, shouting into the wind. This caught me by surprise.

I’m not sure how I feel. 

A couple nights a week, I’d walk by their home on my way down to the coast. I’d see them out on their porch together. We knew each other only as strangers. They seemed happy, or at the very least, content. I guess It’s a good reminder that someone can appear to be doing well and still be a total wreck on the inside. They must have been in so much pain. Or they were tired of dealing with the struggle of living in a world that fights back. I’m sure either way, it was exhausting. 

I get the motivation. I’d be lying if I said it never crossed my mind. When I was younger, I struggled with my identity. I worried about what others thought of me or who I was supposed to become. Many times, I found myself sitting in darkness. Surrounded by nothing more than my thoughts and the void of loneliness. The numbness; crying out at night, craving to feel anything at all. I thought it was an insurmountable hurdle and I didn’t know how to escape.

Now, I can acknowledge suicide as something that exists in the world as a choice other people make. It doesn’t feel relevant to me anymore. . . Even as I write that, it feels like a lie. Before I came to Iceland, It never would have crossed my mind, but now things feel tentative, like a house of cards. . . It’s a little unnerving actually. 

I’m scared to know how I feel.

A few hours ago, Halla and I were in the gardens working under heat of the afternoon sun. I noticed her crying a couple rows down from me, so I stood up and walked toward her to see if she was ok. When I crouched in front of her, she waved me off and whispered something to herself. I didn’t understand what she said, but I got the hint. I doubt she was angry with me, it felt so out of character. I went back to where I left off and started working. A few minutes later, Aldan stopped by on his way home to let me know that they’re going to need my help on the boat. Without looking up, I nodded and said “ok”. 

It seems like the cracks are beginning to show.

Chapter 22

I’ve been spending a lot of time with Halla tending to the gardens. We’ve grown pretty close, which is funny to me since we don’t talk much outside of the few phrases we’ve both picked up. Most of our time is spent in silence, like old friends that have said everything they’ve needed to. It’s not awkward. More comfortable than anything. I’ve asked Aldan a few questions about her past, but he didn’t answer them. Only mumbled stuff then changed topics. I can’t tell if he’s doing it because he’s difficult to talk to, or if he knows Halla wouldn’t want it discussed. It was frustrating.

A couple days ago, the town set up a farmer’s market. A place where people could gather and talk about what they needed and what they had to offer. Given the current situation, I’m quite lucky to be where I am right now. The town as a whole is self-sufficient. There are herds of sheep and to the north. Next to the garden that I work in is a large green-house that has geothermal heating in the winter. And the marina is busy every day from sunrise to sunset. We’ve had to give up certain things, like desserts, which are my favorite. But now that Finnr and Aldan have their boat working, we’ve been able to increase our rations. I’m much more relaxed when I’m not hungry all the time.

Toward sunset, Anna came over and we chatted for a while about home. She moved to Reykjavik about 15 years ago to attend the University, and ended up staying there. She worked a few different jobs in unrelated fields before settling on one in real estate. She said she didn’t hate her job, but it seems like when you have to say that you don’t hate your job, you don’t love it either. I told her about my family and showed her some photos of Oki and Azami that I had in my wallet. We talked about the future, and what it might look like. How uncertain everything felt. We both still refuse to accept that this will go on forever, but maybe we’re placing too much faith in the government. Who knows? It was nice actually having a conversation with someone who speaks English. There are only a few people in town that do, and most of them keep to themselves.

Early this morning I spoke with Aldan and he said they might need my help on the boat soon. Right now they have a neighbor helping out, but they think he’s hiding some joint pain. The neighbor won’t admit it, but they’re keeping an eye on him and might have me trade jobs with him later this week. When I heard all this, my heart sank. I was hoping to avoid getting out on the ocean, but I guess I can’t avoid it forever. I’m sure there are benefits to facing ones fears, but at this point, I could do without the added stress.

Chapter 21

The smoke has yet to clear. It’s not as bad as the other day, but it’s left everyone feeling a bit wary of the current situation. Like a poignant reminder of the shitstorm we’re all in. A few of the older couples in town have family in Reykjavik that they haven’t heard from since this all started. Walking back from the ocean last night, I passed a house where an older gentleman lived by himself. He was out on the front porch, his head buried in his hands. His body convulsed. Even from a distance away I could hear his quiet sobs. I was unsure what to do, so I kept walking. He never looked up.

It made me sad.

This whole time I’ve been so focused on myself and my problems. I haven’t given much thought to what other people must be going through. Everyone here has lost someone. I walk around acting like there is only space for my heart to break. It’s selfish of me and something I definitely need to consider. 

We moved the boat down earlier today. I didn’t know what the process would entail, but it was much more difficult than I thought it would be. Everyone showed up after breakfast and assembled a large cart used to push the boat down to the marina. At one point, there was a lot of shouting and everyone gathered to one side, but I couldn’t see what was happening. It seemed like it resolved itself. By noon the boat was floating in the water. Finnr looked especially pleased, even relaxed. It was a side of him I’d never seen before. 

Aldan set to work prepping the boat to leave tomorrow morning. Loading it with barrels and nets of all different sizes. I asked if he needed help, but he declined, so I wandered back over to the garden and finished my day there.

It feels good to get into a groove. I’ve been mired in chaos the last few weeks, so it’s a nice change of pace to have a schedule of sorts. My work in the garden motivates me to get up and move around, instead of wasting my time feeling sorry for myself. I’m still an emotional wreck. I’m a productive emotional wreck, instead of a useless one. It feels. . . closer to normal.