Goodnight Moon.

The field has become my release.
It's a day in, day out process. The heat of the morning doesn't allow one to sleep in.
And by the closing of the day, I'm so exhausted that I really don't have the time to consider the idea of something, or someone, being out there.

Today was an unusual day. A truck from somewhere near Baton Rouge pulled up earlier. It was a moving truck - tall and gray. Filled with near-rotted citrus.
The man who drove was named Rick, he had several others with him - most loaded in the back.
We bartered with them, along with our neighbor Claude.
They told of us of what has happened.
And, in my own words, this is what happened.



[Mid Spring]

Post Katrina New Orleans was, as the media has embellished upon, demolished. I suppose neither the residents nor the government were prepared.
In a shipment from Mexico, a boat of bananas, a sickness came upon shore.
Three men interred in the intensive care unit of charity hospital - sick with some sort of flu case.
The man continued to tell us that it developed into some sort of hysteria.
The thing is, that this individual case wasn't the first. It had happened hours before in the city.
And - by ways of the media - several other port cities were also afflicted with the same thing.
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Before this, Ive been clueless.
Most of us have been.
Glued to the television, we've only recieved news of terrorists and so forth.




Now it's nearly August.
The grocery stores are all but closed - people are still around - but they're all in an odd sense of state.
Raping, looting, violence.
As far as transportation goes - there's no need.
For the past 3 weeks, we've tried to gather fuel for vehicles. There's no need.
A month ago, the pipes were swamped at the stations. We simply gave up on the cause.
Kentwood is still lively, but dry of gasoline. It's way too risky to approach the town- whether on foot, or vehicle.
People are desperate, I suppose. I would most likely define it as being ignorant.
We've stayed to ourselves. State troopers are roaming up and down the highway. Several have stopped [due to the fact that we've flagged
them down]. Several of them have told us nothing but bull-shit. But a few have told us to keep to ourselves, and maintain our ground.
A group of local church members stopped by yesterday and helped us repent.
I personally don't believe in such, but ... it almost seems neccessary now. I really don't know what to think.

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So, the story of our 18.
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It began with 10, you see.
The original 10 would be:
Myself: Christopher Ryan Bracy (aged 23)
Father: Michael Bracy (aged 54)
Step-Mother: Annanelle Bracy (aged 56)
Brother: Byron Bracy (aged 34)
Sister-In-Law: Amanda Bracy (aged 31)
Grandmother: Lauraine Bracy (aged 72)
Nephew: Brennan Bracy (aged 9)
Niece: Abbigail Bracy (aged 5)
A neighbor: Harpsichord Leigh (aged 28)
A neighbor: ciny Morris (aged 19)
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I supppose the following posts will be our stories.

It's late, there is a fire to stoke, and children to tend to.
I pray that God's sympathy [or what is left of it] is with you all.

The moon is still above us all.
As you view it, so do I. Rest if you can. xoxo