MY NAME IS DAVID KALLAS.
I am in trouble.
I do not know how long I will live.
My only possessions are the clothes I’m wearing and my backpack, which contains this pen and pad.
I do not know if my mother and my house still exist.
What’s more, I have a splitting headache.
But let’s look on the bright side.
I am alone with Ariana Maas. I am too embarrassed to say exactly how that makes me feel. She is smart and gorgeous and kind and thoughtful, and she has a body to die for — which I am reminded of only because our clothes happen to be tattered in some convenient places. We are alone on top of a hill outside Wetherby, Massachusetts, without anyone around for miles. Unfortunately, Ariana is fast asleep. She’s also sucking her thumb and muttering. This is not normal for her (I don’t think), but under the circumstances, I can’t blame her.
Which brings me to the minus side: I believe I have destroyed my entire hometown. This, of course, weighs heavily on my mind. It’s a big thing for a seventeen-year-old to do, possibly a first. I think, however, it’s too late to put it on my college applications.
The smoke is still billowing below us. It looks as if we’ll be up here a long time. I feel numb and nauseous.
I need to piece it all together. To start from the beginning. At the very least, the writing will keep me sane.
More importantly, there will be a record. Someone will know what happened here.
And someone will need to know. Because it all may happen again.
And when it does, there may not be anyone left.