• January 1, 2058
    Grandma’s House

    Dear diary,
    Since this is my first entry, I’ll give you some background. My name is Lillianne Helen York, daughter of Niamh Persephone York and the late Francis George York. Mom and I are currently living with my Grandma Ri and Grandpa Ed. Grandma and Grandpa gave you to me for the new year. They made you by hand together, but of course you know that.
    Grandma’s been telling me stories about herself when she was my age- 15. She says things were happier then- happier than they are now. There used to be millions of cars on the road, poverty was restricted to big, faraway cities, and food was plentiful. A good education was possible. Everyone had a TV or a computer, even personal music devices that could go on the internet.
    I try to imagine that world of bright happy colors and it’s hard. Days start and end gray. Violence is commonplace, and food- good, quality food- is hard to come by. Electricity comes and goes, same with money.
    But I am happy. I have my mom and my grandparents. I never knew Dad, so I guess I can’t miss him. I also have the stray tabby that comes and goes. I named in Rudolf cause of his pink nose.
    I have to go now. Grandma’s calling me to dinner.

    Later…

    Back again. It’s nearly midnight and I can’t sleep again.
    Grandma put on her cape right after supper and disappeared downstairs. She’s a pagan, you see. I followed her down to watch. She uncovered her alter and lit the candles. She kneeled down in front of it and meditated. I love watching her. Her robe is constantly changing. At the neck was vines and Celtic knots intertwining into various shapes and designs that followed her life path. It was only about two thirds done. Unfinished vines still lingered at the bottom. She began a prayer in hushed whispered tones.

    “Bride of the earth,
    sister of the faeries,
    daughter of the Tuatha de Danaan,
    keeper of the eternal flame.
    In autumn, the nights began to lengthen,
    and the days grew shorter,
    as the earth went to sleep.
    Now, Brighid stokes her fire,
    burning flames in the hearth,
    bringing light back to us once more.
    Winter is brief, but life is forever.
    Brighid makes it so.”

    She rose and stood there lingering. She undid her cape and let it fall to the ground. Grandma was shaking as she blew out the candles and covered the altar back up. Suddenly she went back on her knees. I moved towards her but Grandpa- who had a knack for appearing suddenly- stopped me and went to Grandma. Silently he hugged her and cradled her. She nuzzled into him. Grandpa looked at me sternly. I understood the order. I went upstairs to my room.
    I hear them now. They’re talking about the heretics. You see, the Catholic Church has gained power in our area. Church and government have become one, much to Grandpa’s displeasure (He’s an atheist.) Everyone in the area has to receive communion once a week. Recently, people have been accused of heresy and been jailed. Grandma has dragged us to church at least three times a week since this started.
    Grandma’s worried for her life, our life, and the lives of our friends.
    “It’s a caza de brujas,” she whispered. “They already have twenty, Ed! Who’s next?”
    “I don’t know, mi amora,” he whispered back. “I don’t know.”
    I’m scared. I pray to all the gods and goddesses I know that we will live.