23 August, A-M 17

...not much really happened today. Maybe I should rethink this whole journal thing, save it for when something actually interesting happens? No, I node that was the kind of thinking that made me stop scribing last time, so I'll keep going.

Been pondering what I should write about, other than what happens day-to-day on this floating hunk, and I realised that - this sounds stupid, I know - people reading this won't know what I know, what I take for granted, and writing about Rothe's sexual conquests won't really mean a lot to the people of the future!...Huh. Maybe that'd sound cooler if it were mine.

Anys! I decided I should let you all know how we're living (or lived, I don't know) at the moment, and how we got here. One little sidenote: We know what day and month it is, and some made calendars to keep track of them, but we don't know what year it is, exactly, at least by the old dates, so we made a new system to count the years since we regathered ourselves: After Man.

Kinda depressing, right? I thought so too, but it was grandma and her gang's call, not mine. It's now 17 A.M, so I was only a little chib when they started anew.

17 years since we set sail, and we haven't met anyone - anyone worth bringing along, at least.

We've been sailing on this boat, the Romanza, ever since year zero. Dad said that before we found her, our whole clan was on the verge of starving, and a lot of us actually fought over the little food we have. Some died, he says, and I want to ask him more about it, but every time I mention it he gets really quiet, and can't make eye contact with me. A lot of the older people here are like that. I think it has something to do with what happened to mum.

Enough yamming! So, we've got this old boat, which I think used to be a party ship or something like, and lucky us, it has fully working engines and pretty much okay solar power. It powers the ship well for the most part, but we still need fuel every odd, so we have to make port in these creepy old ship-spaces and a gang travels into town to get some. Gets kinda tense then.

Food's never really a problem, 'cos there's plenty of room for the baa's we've got and a whole floor for the greens, but

Oh, crap, Tehra just called the snuff. I can't scribe any more today, so I'll catch you up tomorrow.

Nel