Float

Day 572

I’d hoped to see stars again, but even this far out, smoke blanketed the sky; not even a line on the horizon. Don’t remember the last time I saw stars. Was it with my mom in Joshua Tree before the end? No stars, no birds, no fish; the ocean, silent as a graveyard, except for the occasional wave lapping the float. I dare not venture further out. Unpredictable terrorstorms rise in the blink of an eye. If there’s even a minuscule change in the waves, I hope I can make it to shore in time. A temperature drop means nothing as it’s always cold now, but with no rain or snow. The sun constantly blacked out. I burned my last book an hour ago, so better head back. I don’t want to burn these journals.

Day 576

Good scavenging today. More solid garbage to add to my float. Funny to think of what is now trash and what is actual necessity. Plastic bottles are more valuable than gold. What irony. The best things for balance if you live on a float. The land is just too toxic. I know the water will soon get there, but so far all the poisonous junk sticks to the coast.

My best find is a hardly used lawn chair, the kind with the aluminum frame and colorful webbing — this one, red, white, and blue. Reminds me of BBQs and the Fourth of July. It’s my new throne. I found lots of books for reading — and burning. It’s what I hate most: burning books. With no trees in sight along the coast, and other heating items scarce, finding things to burn for warmth and food is challenging. You can’t just burn anything for fear of poisons. I did find some solid cardboard, though. The funniest part about today: found a leather-bound copy of Fahrenheit 451. Hopefully, I can keep it; it feels sacrilegious to use it for heat. Finally got some decent tarpaulin so I can sleep under cover, not that there is much rain, or sun for that matter. Darkness envelops the world constantly.

Day 585

Approaching the Port of Los Angeles; some modicum of civilization lingers. I say some. The port’s the best place to trade for luxury items like tents, clothing, and services. A hot meal would hit the spot. Hopefully, there are animals of quality, like a dog or a rabbit. Tired of rodents. A few birds flew about if you could shoot them down, but they were getting rarer. I was a lousy shot with my bow. Better at spearfishing. Miss the squawking and general nuisance the most, as shooing them away gave me something to do when they wanted to feast on my float. The coastal dumps used to be a bird’s paradise — then they just disappeared. Will scavengers like me die off too?

Day 586

Already missing the silence of the sea. I always think that I miss talking to people, but then I got into it with a trader and someone trying to steal shit off my float. Luckily, my float is loaded with traps. Each item of my refuse connects to a lethal mechanism if the proper sequence isn’t followed. It’s why I don’t drink. Don’t need to be skewered by my float. Even the rare times I’m on land, I’m never that far out of view, so I’d be on them in no time if they attempted to take something. I prefer the comfort of the barren, open sea to civilization.

Day 588

I met someone today who gave me hope; a fellow scavenger with a float like mine, but much better. She wore all yellow, reminding me of a banana. I’d eat one of those right now if that were possible. We swapped stories about our favorite finds. I admired how creative she was with her trash. She said she was just lucky, but her plastic bag sail made mine look like a hobo’s bindle and her multi-layered foundation of trash was solid. I could walk on her float without fear of my foot falling through. It was great just to talk to someone similar who wasn’t trying to take advantage. We shared a meal, not like a date or anything, and it was good, as long as we didn’t think too long about what kind of meat was submerged in the light mushroom sauce. Wasn’t love at first sight, but scavengers, like the birds, are a unique breed, preferring the open water. Too far inland, you had to wear a mask just to breathe. Being anywhere near the stacks and its exhaust gives me coughing fits.

Day 590

We elected to float down the coast together. This small cove, she mentioned, was a paradise for scavengers. High-end stuff, like what used to be in mansions. Wood furniture too. Like newlyweds, we had lashed our floats together, enjoying each other’s company. We entered the cove, and it was paradise. The sky was clear. Somehow it was far enough away from all the pollution. We made love under the stars. Nervous at first, letting whatever this was develop into something that I knew couldn’t last. I didn’t care.

Day 598

Snap! A scream!

A sound that I wouldn’t soon forget. It was morning when I found her bent down, clutching her bloody leg. A knife had dropped from her hand. I gave her all the steps to avoid traps, except those closest to my tent. We still anchored ourselves on the beach of the cove, but it was in both our natures to sleep alone in our floats. Shouldn’t have trusted her. Turns out she was just another thief trying to take my stuff. I bandaged her leg as well as I could, but it wasn’t enough. She continued to loose blood. I bound even know I knew she couldn’t move too well. I didn’t trust her. When I asked her why, she said nothing and refused to look me in the eye. All I could see was a coldness in her, as if nothing mattered. We didn’t matter.

Day 599

I learned something as I returned to the silent sea: a new method to attract sharks. All the bigger game was in the deeper sea, but dragging a body wearing bright colors, especially yellow, and splashing in the water brought them in to investigate. Blood in the water was not as attractive as a floundering, meaty snack. When I saw that first fin, I just hoped it wasn’t a great white. My float is sturdy and well-balanced, and with added gear from hers (she won’t need it anymore), pretty hard to overturn, but I’ve seen a great white take apart someone’s float before. The vision of those jaws remained with me. I let off enough slack in the rope so whatever that fin was attached to took the bait and swam off.

The cove that we found was really nice, so I decided to stay awhile. Just me, alone. It’s hard to feel bad when your stuff, trash it may be, might be taken. I think I’m done being social for a while, except for occasional trade and anyone dumb enough to just try me, but with all the trash along the coast, I can keep to myself.

I look out to sea and stand on my pile of trash, holding my newfound flag: a blood-red stripe on a field of yellow.

It’s all trash, but it’s mine.

Then, it started to snow.