Captain’ s Log. Star Date September 10th, Two Thousand Fifteen.
We find ourselves in a strange land, covered by a peculiar white dust-like substance. There are signs humans have fled hurriedly, leaving this message in their wake. As we make our way through the debris, we are accompanied by two seemingly stoned dogs. Wherever we go, they gather their limbs up with great effort, as though exhausted, and follow us. I hear the familiar whistling wind and the gentle percussion of rainfall, but I do not recognize this place.
It seems whoever lived here before had no need for ordinary furniture. Some seating apparatus are present, but they are covered in thick layers of plastic, which are subsequently covered in the aforementioned white dust.
There are machines and tools of all kinds everywhere. We assume these creatures are constantly building, but we see mostly signs of demolition and decay. And what is this white dust that tickles our throats and lightens the fur of these oddly mellow canines?
We wander from room to room, observing all the furniture shrouded in plastic. The smell of fresh cut wood is present, as is the burning chemical aroma of paint. Some floors are covered in white-dusted cardboard outlined with blue tape, while others consist of raw plywood with splashes of white paint. Or are those actually splashes? Perhaps they are hieroglyphics, spelling out what became of the creatures who once inhabited this place…
We believe this is a living facility for the creatures; there are rooms with beds, closets with clothing, and toilets with sinks, much like our own bathrooms. But perhaps these creatures do no eat, for there is no kitchen; plywood and 2 by 4s occupy the space on which one might expect to find a food preparation facility. One can only wonder about a creature with no need to prepare or consume food.
Could such a creature have any soul?
Yes, I am living in an alternate universe. In this place, all my best organizational skills are tested and subsequently ignored. My notion of clean versus dirty has been toyed with so deeply that I can longer discern the difference. I wonder, even, why I must shower daily. I change the bed linens, and scoff at the fresh new dust I have laid upon my mattress. The linen closet is not, after all, air tight.
But I am a brave soul, a pioneer woman living in circumstances harsher than camping. I shall persevere, and in the end will emerge triumphant, with the cleanest, most fastidiously organized kitchen and bathrooms this solar system has ever known.