Eve. Monosyllabic.Everything should save time, even your identity.

My mother left me a calendar with a single date circled nineteen times.

Breathing requires the use of an oxygen mask for every hour of every day, of every night.

However, my mother 'forgot' to keep hers on and slowly suffocated out of everyone's view or so she thought. 

I watched and kept silent. I didn't want to disturb her peace.

Her actions didn't surprise me. She warned of an event approaching that would completely eradicate our ability to live on this planet she once called earth unless some miracle happened. 

Before she passed, she left a bald-spot in the shape of a cross on the side of my shaved head. A sign of good luck in case we were ever separated. 

Following my mother's death the resident 'therapist' of our gypsy group gave me the task of saying a few words on her behalf -- for healing purposes. 

He said when I was ready I could broadcast it to the others.

I will do no such thing for them but I'll broadcast it to you...

My mother made several mistakes that I will not make.

She pined for humanity which gave her death a due date. She grieved over innocence which made her obsessed with day-dreaming--that's how death got the jump on her. 

Dust was the last meal she ever had. 

Remember. 

Her search for purpose in life led to her neglect of death. Her need to be whole again made her forget that half is always better than one. People can steal less of and from you. 

She taught me many useful things like how to find batteries and salt-beds, how to separate oxygen from water.

Science was her passion but it couldn't save what she loved most. The earth and most of its people.

Her  favorite past-time was making acronyms from words in order to expand my vocabulary but there was always one word we disagreed on.

Home to mother meant Hearth of My Existence.

Home to me means Hole of My Extinction.

I've never had a home and don't plan too. Sitting still is one of the worst things you could do these days, you get ideas in your head. Bad ideas.

These days you better be as restless as the wind or death is going to jump you. Literally.

You march. You move. You live.

My favorite word is rot. To me it means the rotation of time. Time is neither still nor stupid. It keeps moving and peeling and exposing. You can always find out a lot about someone's soul by the way they rot.

My mother rot rather quickly. Her soul rests in pieces now.

The end. 

Having one, ironically. It's too human an emotion. My mother was too in touch with her humanity and look at what happened to her.

Rather vain, don't you think?

My imagination. The stranger my thoughts the easier my reality is to bear.

The young boy in our camp. He makes me...want to feel younger than I am in this world of aging and rotting.

Innocence is an infectious disease but sometimes especially when I see him smile, I want to be ill.

I try not to hold his hand. It's softer than mine.