Dear Diary (A 100-Word Story)

June 1

Something is wrong.
The earth blooms on June 1, every year.
It has always been so, at least since man stopped aging.
Until today.

June 8

The snow piles higher than I’ve ever seen, in any season.
I’ve spent the last eight days shoveling around the place, but the blizzard refuses to abate.

June 20

I climbed atop a pile of crates stacked in the center of the room.
Shoved my way up the chimney.
There are footprints in the snow.

July 2

I’ve loaded all three shotguns.
I drank the last of the elixir.
Now I wait.
I am ready.
Are they?