World Status: Post Apocalypse

Current Location: UN Headquarters, Geneva, Switzerland

Log Entry: #042

It has been a month since we have buried our only human visitor, Jacque.

Francis lead the ceremony, well, little gathering we had out in the courtyard. Both Ludwig and Alfred had toiled without complaint to dig a deep grave by some flower bushes for several hours. They were tired, dirty and smelled of wet, rotted earth but they stayed to see Jacque laid to rest. Matthew and I lowered him into the grave whilst Francis threw in the first shovel of dirt. Many nations had come to watch. Out of intrigued, morbid curiosity or something else drawing them to it I'll never know.

I think it meant a great deal to Francis that people even came. Though I can not say I'm surprised, I am a little concerned about just how quickly Francis was able to form an almost familial bond with Jacque. I'm worried for my friend and his sanity.

He conducted the whole ceremony in beautiful French. Unfortunately, he would not allow Matthew or my self to translate it for the others, why I'm not certain because it was truly eloquent and lovely, as I'd expect nothing less from him. Even so, Francis was able to produce tears from everyone. And we hardly knew Jacque! Perhaps we weren't crying just for him but all of the humans. Who can say?

I write all of this now because I can't believe it's been a month. There's been an odd feeling hanging in the air since we've buried him. I'm not sure if the others can sense it, if they can they aren't mentioning it. Something foreboding, other then our appending doom.

Honestly, it feels as if death has lingered and is hovering in the corner, waiting to strike again. Maybe I'm just being silly. Yes, I hope so. I need to turn my focus on others things.

Francis needs me more then I think he ever has right now, even if he won't admit it.

No, I was not being silly. There is definitely something wrong here.

Matthew AND Alfred both confessed to me that they felt something was in the air, a mood shift as they called it. Now, if it had been just Matthew to tell me this, I would have said they both of us were just being oversensitive to things in our quarantine. But the fact that Alfred of all people has picked up on it too, my suspicions are correct. Even Ludwig came to tell me that Feliciano was feeling uneasy. Feliciano! I'm starting to get very worried and not just over that.

Francis hardly talks to anyone now. He is like a shell of his old self. I can't say I like the new him. I wish for my old friend back. There were plenty of times back then that I would have given anything for him to just shut up and stop talking. But now, I find myself longing for our usual banter. Call me Black Sheep of Europe, Tea Drinker, Eyebrows, something! I've tried to provoke things. I've called him a bastard, wine loving snob, fobbish twit, Fancy Pants. Everything I could think of but none have sparked that old fire and fight in us.

I'm mourning for a friend who is still here in flesh and blood.

Alfred has told me that we should not give up on Francis, that there's a way to draw him back out, we just have to find it. Damn Alfred and his eternal optimism.

I don't share it.

Everyone now avoids the courtyard, with the exception of one. Francis, please can anyone talk some sense into you?

As for the courtyard, where we have Jacque buried it is, really indescribable. Death is not only lingering, it's waiting. It's wanting to strike again. It's horribly oppressive, suffocating. I won't go out there. I can't breath in the open. There is also the remnants of Jacque foul stench rising from the ground. No amount of flowers can cover that. That combined with the feeling that I might die if a linger too long, I can't bring myself to go out there.

I wish Francis would share this sentiment.

Every day, Francis takes a flower out to him. Where he finds them, I'm not sure, perhaps another garden somewhere but it's always the same. A single rose. He sits out there for hours, talking in French to the grave that can't hear him or understand it's affect that's is being wrought on my friend. I hate this. I want him back, I want my friend to be alright!

I sorely wish Jacque had never stumbled into our midst. We should have turned our backs instead of allowing him the kindness the humans denied us.

I'm not sure what else to do. I'm at my wits end. I feel like we should hold a funeral for Francis. I've lost him, he won't speak to me. He rebuffs Matthew at every turn, not even Gilbert or Antonio can get a laugh or word out of him. Alfred hasn't given up, exactly, but he ignores Francis while telling me not to lose hope. Hypocrite.

He's out there now, of course. Talking to the only person he finds solace in. I've listened in without his knowledge before coming to write this. I expected, perhaps wanted him to be saying eloquent things. Philosophies of life. Something. But no, Francis is out there, telling the mound of dirt how lovely the weather seems to be in our little shelter. Telling a corpse that the sun is shining. That he doesn't know where the birds have vanished to but that he is sure they are singing somewhere, happy and free.

Birds and weather! Nothing more important then that! He is causing me heartache and pain for nothing more important then birds and weather. Right now, I feel so betrayed.

He can curl up and die with Jacque for all I care. That might make him happiest-

Scream! Some is screaming! It sounds like…

No.

Fran-