First

...how do you start one of these things?

Hell if I know, but I guess I should start with my name. You can call me Jon. Its not my name, but it'll do just fine. If you're reading this, I guess there really is someone else on this thing my uncle calls a blog. He's not really my uncle... but...


Ah hell, I guess I'm getting ahead of myself. Anyway, I'm what some people call a survivor. I don't know if thats the right term or not, but I'm still alive when a lot of people aren't. Not that I had much to do with it. Hell, as best I can tell it was just because my uncle was in the right place at the right time. I'll be calling him Jack.

Before anyone asks, no I don't know how it all started. I'm fifteen - and this 'blog' thing is a project my uncle gave me to stretch my reading an writing skills and to practice what he calls composition.

All I know is it makes my fingers hurt, and writing these sentences takes forever. I don't know how he makes this box fly like he does.

But just because I don't like it, doesn't mean I get to not do it.

We live in what was Northern North Dakota, according to a map I guess, a little outside a town known as Bottineau. Its quiet here. There hasn't been an attack since I was twelve, and Jack does a good job of looking out for us. Its not an easy life I guess - but its the one I know.

Jack still hears storys of roving bands making their way east and west from the coast on his HAM radio, but we haven't seen none. Just the occasional bandit who ends up under the garden patch. Its not a good idea to try to steal from us, you look hostile, he'll just shoot you. Its a little disconcerting, but then, we're still alive and lots of folks ain't. So I guess it works.

Anyway, I got Chores to do, so I'll leave off here. Maybe I'll think up a good idea for tomorrow.