SMNTY Fiction: Terminus Part 2 (Chapter 3)

Tilda and Madison experience a brief respite as the cold rages outside their temporary safe haven, and Tilda's past decisions continue to cling to them like a shadow.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:05):
Hey, this is Sanny and Samantha. I'm welcome to stephone
never told you, Protection of iHeart you, and welcome to
another edition of Sminty Fiction. Just a reminder, this is
a once a month thing we do. Has a bit

(00:25):
more soundscaping because Christina is amazing and it's on going.
It is part of a trilogy, and we are currently
in the second one, which is called Big Things Start Small,
but we're just going to call it Terminus too for
ease of understanding. Quick content warning, brief discussions of disease

(00:46):
into the world stuff. It's a dystopian story. If you
haven't a pacast it is. It is eerily like the
Last of Us, but it can't it care for the
last of us. The lots of stuff about coals. It
feels timely right now. Hunger kind of a vague description
of a panic attack. It's not too intense, but there

(01:08):
is a description of a panic attack, internalized ableism and shame.
So yes, this is sort of the second part of
the last chapter. Here's your recap. So it is extremely
cold outside. Our main characters, Tilda and her son Madison,
are being pursued after Madison was vaccinated with the last

(01:29):
and only known vaccine to HSD five, which is the
disease that has pretty much decimated the whole population in
Tilda broadcast to the country how the state, which is
sort of the rolling ruling government body, and arm the
religious organization affiliated them or behind the disease. They were
basically trying to punish people with sin. But yes, Armin

(01:52):
characters have fled after a battle broke out after that broadcast.
They are low on food. They have taken shelter in
an abandoned cabin in the woods. That is knowing it
is cold. There's a man with a horse that they
don't know what's going on with that guy. But the
last chapter ended when they discovered a generator, So let

(02:16):
us get in to this month's fiction. Not daring to hope,
Tilda shut the door and strode past Madison huddling in

(02:38):
the bathroom doorway, and extracted her winter jacket from where
it had been strewn on the floor, Jamming her arms
in the sleeves and yanking up the zipper. Madison patted
closer as she shoved her feet into her boots, hopping
and nearly losing her balance. What is it, he asked,
do I need to get dressed too. She rammed her
fingers into her gloves and pulled her hat over her head. No,

(03:01):
just wait here, I'm going to check something outside, He nodded,
his acquiescence worriedly. Tilda's boots thunking down the hallway and
back outside. The cold was on her just as strongly
as if she jumped into a freezing pond, her breath
flogging in front of her. Tilda examined the generator, trying
to prepare herself for it not working. She'd seen her

(03:23):
parents deal with generators before, and she'd observed it in
her in Madison's brief time. With the resistance. There should
be ah there, it was the cord you pulled to
get it started. Hands shaking, she wrapped her fingers around
the cord, hoping she had the strength that she needed,
hoping that it wouldn't be too loud, reminding herself that

(03:44):
it might not have any more fuel. She took a
deep breath, dug her feet into the now mostly melted snow,
and yanked. She almost stumbled the cord, putting up more
resistance than she'd expected. Spreading out her weight and getting
a better grip, she tried to get. This time, she
managed to pull the cord about midway. The generator wheezed again.

(04:07):
She anchored herself unpulled, almost losing her grip in surprise.
When she reached the end of the cord's length, the
generator grumbled, releasing a taut breath. Tilda yanked the cord
and could feel it vibrate beneath her fingers. As the
generator roared to life, she fell back and shock, the
cord whipping back. Tilda looked around frantically, wondering if anyone

(04:29):
was nearby, if someone had been drawn by the noise.
She twisted and turned, sharp eyes, darting between trees, but
she found nothing. After the initial ruvving sound emitted by
the generator, the noise died down to a quiet hum.
Tilda eyed it, wondering whether she should turn it off,
but the thought of heat, and of food, and of
water and possibly even a hot shower made the decision

(04:51):
for her. Warily, she heaved herself back to her feet,
ears pricked for the slightest sound out of the ordinary.
She could see Matame since wide blue eyes peeking through
the window. He stepped back, gazed, never leaving her as
she pulled the door open and shut behind her. What
was that sound? His question was hushed. Her footprints thudded

(05:14):
down the hall. She turned when she entered the kitchen,
heading straight for the sink. She stared at the faucet, nervous,
until a gloved hand reached out of its own volition
and flipped it on. There was a splutter, then water
shushed out. Tilda's knees went weak. She leaned heavily on
the counter with both hands, her eyes closing as the

(05:36):
sound of water flowing almost broad her to tears. She
turned the water off. She knew it was well water,
it had to be, but she didn't want to waste
any unnecessarily. She didn't trust her luck enough for that,
and living in a state of constant conservation had ingrained
the need for smart consumption within her. The panic Tilda

(05:57):
had been tamping down surged rapidly to the surface, revealed
in contrast to her relief. Her breath came in gulps,
her throat tightened. Something was building inside her. She wanted
to scream, but she was very aware of Madison watching
her intently, his concern palpable. Tilda gave herself an amount

(06:19):
of controlled panic of halting breaths and graying vision, sagging
knees and forehead pressed in the cold kitchen counter. Then
she slowly worked it back in its dark corner, locked
it away for another time with one last deep breast.
She straightened. Her face was wet. Madison stared at her,

(06:41):
fear stark on his own face, Still weak kneed, She
walked past him and tried out the light switch. A
warm honey light from the four lamp fixtures of the
counter brightened the kitchen. Madison shied back, stunned, throwing his
arms up to protect his face. He lowered them, eyeing
the light suspiciously, disbeleeding how he stuttered. There was a

(07:07):
generator outside, Tilda explained hoarsely. It uses fuel to make electricity.
She sat heavily in the wind kitchen chair, working off
her gloves, her boots, her hat, her jacket, methodic, her
mind buzzing with what they could do now that they
had power heat. She stood, sliding her discarded clothes under

(07:28):
the kitchen table for now, and flipped off the light
switch as she passed it. She crossed at the box
on the right side of the front door. She knew
despite rarely having the occasion to use controlled the temperature.
She stared, uncomprehending at the device. The number seventy two
was displayed on the panel and on the side was
a switch with three positions heat cool off. Her fingers

(07:52):
practically thrumming at the thought of it, she clicked the
switch and position over heat. Something hum to life. Tilda
glanced at the ceiling as though she'd see heat rays
emerging from the vents. The number, she guessed was the
temperature setting she wanted the room to reach. Using the
plastic up arrow, she notched it up to seventy eight.

(08:14):
What does this mean, Mason asked, breathlessly. We have power.
Tilda took another deep, shaky breath. Yes, she almost couldn't
believe it herself. She went back to the kitchen and
fumbled under the sink for a pot, the largest one
she could find, clanging it against the side of the sink.

(08:34):
Get some glasses, she instructed Madison, gesturing with her head
to the cabinet. As she filled the pot with water
and set it on the largest eye, she twisted the
knob to hide. Madison filled two glasses with water and
til to achieved the packages of pasta and mac and cheese,
tearing open the packaging. They didn't have the necessary added

(08:54):
ingredients for the mac and cheese, but the packet would
have to do. She planned to cook it all, not
knowing how long the generator was would last. She found
them salts and pepper on one of the cabinets as
she waited for water to boil. She hoped the water
was safe to drink. She took a big swig out
of the glass Madison and placed next to her. It
tasted fine, though it wasn't like she had much experience.

(09:16):
Tilda asked Madison to get their empty bottles and refill them.
Once the water started boiling, she dumped in the dry pasta,
reading the directions on the back eight minutes or until soft.
She'd just have to gauge. Finished with the bottles, Madison
repacked them in Tilda's bag as she got out plates
and utensils, her stomach growling at the thought of a

(09:37):
warm food. Once the house was a bit warmer, she
turned off the heat to conserve energy. She tested the pasta, steam,
nearly burning her hand. It was soft under her fork. Carefully,
she gripped the handles and drained the remaining water out,
losing a few noodles along the way. She ripped open
the packet, revealing a bright orange powder. She dumped it

(09:59):
over the new hoping that it would taste okay after
all these years. She sprinkled on some salt and pepper
and gave it a couple of big stirves with the
serving spoon that she'd found. Madison watched following her every move,
mouth slack, almost salivating. He practically ran to get a
plate when Tilda asked at her side, vanished and back
within seconds. He held it up to her as she

(10:21):
scooped light orange noodles onto the bright yellow plate, taking
up about half of the space. She didn't want either
of them to get sick from overeating. He took a
seat at the table as she helped up herself, hands
cupping either side of the plate. As he stared down
at the steaming plate of food, she took a seat
across from him, picking up a fork, a foreign utensil

(10:42):
that felt unwieldy in her hand. They were both almost
vibrating with anticipation. Be careful, it's hot, and I don't
know how it will taste. Madison nodded, scooping up a
heaping fork full. Tilda followed his lead, taking a tiny bite.
It was hot, but not overly so, and after weeks

(11:02):
of hard, stale food, it tasted amazing, salty and even cheesy.
Madison did as told, but she could tell it took
a lot of restraint for him not to shovel bite
after bite. They had to overhlf the pot left too
dinner tonight, she supposed. She doubted they'd be able to
make the muffins. They ate in silence, The only sounds

(11:26):
the scraping and clinking of fork against plate, the sipping
of water and chewing of pasta. Both of their lips
were covered in orange sauce. Soon they slowed down, their
stomachs unused to this amount of food. Madison swung his
feet lazily under the table, finishing before Tilda. She chuckled
at the orange around his mouth, knowing she couldn't look

(11:46):
any better. Once she was finished, she wiped down both
their plates with paper towels, put the lid on the
pot of the remaining pasta, and finished the rest of
her water. Her belly now uncomfortably full, she tore off
two more paper towels, one for each of them, and
they wiped their faces. What was that, Madison asked, Macaroni

(12:08):
and cheese. Cheese, he repeated, and all cheese flavoring, she corrected.
But it still tastes pretty good, right, Madison nodded enthusiastically.
She laughed, good. I'm going to go see if the
shower works. She returned to the bathroom, moved aside the
shower curtain of blue, green and yellow squares, and propped

(12:31):
herself on the side of the tub. The knobs were
hot and cold resisted at first, but with a creaking,
whining sound, she was able to turn them, and water
poured from the faucet. Rolling up her sleeve, she tested
the temperature. It warmed. After a few seconds, She pulled
the knob over the faucet and water showered from the
stigot come on. She gestured to Madison, who had been

(12:53):
hovering behind her. She helped him out of his sweater
and the jacket and long sleeve underneath. He shivered in
the cold air. You want to shower by yourself, she asked,
wanting him to have a shot at the hot water
first in case it gave out. He eyed the water,
evaluating and then gave a short nod, All right, don't
take too long. She closed the door behind her, still

(13:15):
reeling a bit from their luck. After so much struggle,
it felt bizarre, like a dream. Tilda leaned against the
wall outside the bathroom, knowing they had at best eight
hours before the generator ran out of fuel. But that
was enough. They'd be leaving tomorrow. She was anxious enough
the man on his horse would show up. Drawn by
the sound, she let her mind wander until the door

(13:38):
reopened and steam billowed out. Madison had redressed, his wet hair,
sticking up from where he'd tried to dry it. Go
lay down a minute, she told him, entering the steamy
bathroom and shutting the door behind her. Wasting no time,
she shut herself of her clothes and climbed over the
high edge of the tub. Her form curled against the cold,
relaxing almost immediately when warm water hit her skin, she

(14:01):
breathed a sigh of relief, her muscles losing some of
the attension that plagued them. She ran her fingers through
her recently shorter hair, catching sight of a white bottle
of generic two in one shampoo Bluss conditioner. She squeezed
some out onto her hands. It smelt clean. There wasn't
a better word Tilda could think to describe it pleasant.
She worked it through her hair and massaged her scalp,

(14:24):
staring at her feet as dirty water swrolled around them,
leaving behind bruises that could have been mistaken for dirt splotches.
Washing away crusted blood and bits of leaf, her muscle
throbbed like one big bruise under her skin. She washed
the SuDS from her hair, a sheet of it fanning
in front of her face. She found a bar of
soap and started scrubbing, wishing she'd thought to look for

(14:46):
a washwag before she'd hopped in the shower. Some of
the dirt had hardened, almost absorbed into her skin. She
washed at her face and scrubbed at her feet, almost
losing her balance several times, wondering what it would be
to die here by following in the shower instead of
all of those years bent out in the wilderness. She
covered her eyes, taking several breasthts. She made sure her

(15:08):
hair was free of all shampoo and conditioner, pushing it
out of her face before switching off the water, almost
immediately feeling cold in the absence of its warmth. Her
body shook like a leaf, and she climbed out gangly
in all limbs. She shuddered when the soles of her
feet touched the cool tile of the floor. Tilda grabbed
a towel from a rack attached to the wall and

(15:30):
scrubbed herself, eager to dry off the cool droplets clinging
to her skin. She caught sight of her body in
the mirror and froze bones showing through a myriad of
scars and bruises and perfections. She wrapped the towel around her, subconsciously,
averting her eyes. Shame welled up within her. Quickly, she
ran the towel over the rest of her body, running

(15:51):
it roughly through her hair, wringing the ends. She remembered
something her mother had done, twisting her hair and the
towel and sitting it atop her head like some odd
head peace. Tilda tried it a couple of times, but
it kept sagging and falling. She ran the towel over
her skin once more for the remaining dampness, and dressed
with alacrity, practically jumping into her pants and throwing on

(16:13):
her sweater, Wanting to stop the steady spread of cold
to her limbs and bones, her nose cold, in her
hair like a helmet of ice. She rubbed her arms
to generate some warmth, but it did little to nothing. Sighing,
she gave her sad appearance one last glance, turning away heavily.
When she swung the bathroom door open, steam swirled and billowed.

(16:36):
She'd never imagined they'd luck out and get showers and
warm food. Heat. They hadn't found this, they probably would
have frozen to death in the woods, undiscovered for years,
no one the wiser, no one to warm them all.
Under her sloppy guidance, Tilda took a seat next to

(16:57):
Madison on the couch. He was slipping through the magazine
Tilda had previously perused. He looked at her, his face
twisted in confusion. What's a beach body? Tilda chortled, I
don't know. People used to want to be thin. Yeah,
I guess so. The look of shock on Madison's face

(17:20):
was almost comical. Why it was considered beautiful, and that's
how clothes were designed to fit. I think beautiful Madison
her rump thunder his breath, clearly thinking that was one
of the silliest things he'd heard. I know, it's weird,
Tilda agreed. So they starved themselves to look good, Madison demanded, incredulous,

(17:47):
Tilda shook her head. I don't know. Maybe it didn't
make much sense to her either, But then she thought
of how insecure she felt at the sight of her
own body, and she couldn't say you wouldn't do anything
to alleviate that. She could relate to the need to
not feel your skin crawling with disgust when you caught
sight of yourself in the mirror. Apparently that was something

(18:10):
that transcended time, apocalypse or not. Madison flipped the page
in gast aloud, pointing his finger at a picture of
a man and nothing but a pair of shorts. Look
at all those muscles, he exclaimed, aghast, Tilda croked her head,
never having seen that amount of musculature. Was she supposed

(18:30):
to be attracted to that? She looked at the wide
grin What in the world was he smiling at the
perfect white teeth, smooth skin free of sores and pores
as well? He seemed to her different species people were
attracted to the oddest things, Tilda thought, part amused and
part inadequate. That how I'm supposed to look when I

(18:53):
get older. Tilda gafaud at the image he's question produced. No,
she chuckled, Her stomach spasming tickled. Almost immediately, she felt
a sweeping sensation thinking of Madison grown up. She'd never
given it too much serious thought before, always more concerned
for surviving the present to give the future much thought,
outside of where they would stay, what they would eat,

(19:15):
which direction would they go? She gave him an easy smile,
stroking his hair. No, you're not supposed to look like that,
Madison twisted his lips. But that's what people liked, thought
they should look like, not anymore. Tilda glanced at their
reflections on the television screen. Madison relented, resuming his perusal

(19:40):
of the magazine. Tilda pulled the blanket and comforter around them,
Tired with a full belly and cleaner than she'd felt
in weeks. Madison immediately snuggled up against her, resting his
head on her shoulder. It's weird what people did before,
Madison said sleepily. Tilda himmed her agreement, turning to check

(20:00):
out the window. Patches of snow had melted, but it
still took up most of the square field of vision.
The window offered her rays of sun, filtered unevenly to
the forest floor as clouds passed over them. While brighter
than the previous days, it was still largely gray outside.
They waded through time the rest of the day, cuddled

(20:22):
under blankets, reading small conversations, the light leaching gradually out
of the room like a curtain, very slowly being closed.
Pink and orange hues painted the floor, jagged shadows of
tree limbs and branches, like thin arms, closing it on them,
trapping them in a cold embrace, until there were only
fingers clutching at the edges of the room, and then

(20:44):
darkness fell quickly and totally. Tilda clicked on the lamp
standing on the side table, an iron wrought thing with
a family of bears at the base, following each other
in a never ending circle. The lamp shade was faded yellow.
Sickly light flooded the room, a small spotlight of it
in the darkness. It must be a new moon outside.

(21:06):
Maison and Tilda curled up more closely. How long would
the power last? The cold morph Madison's voice making it
sound thin and tempered. Tilda took a deep breath. A
couple of hours, not much longer. I think we have
to leave tomorrow, don't we, Maison asked in the quiet Yes,

(21:28):
Tilda responded. Madison didn't answer, just pressed tighter to her side.
The sounds of their stomach scrumbling filled the room. Disgruntled
and greedy, it took a lot of coaxing, but eventually
Tilda's hunger went out, and she unhappily extricated herself from
the blankets, chucking them around Madison, who almost immediately removed
them and followed her to the kitchen, draping the thinner

(21:50):
blanket around him like a cape. Tilda turned down the oven,
light blue and fluorescent. She opened the pot, wondering if
she could give it the pasta without burning it. She
twisted the knob to low masson rummaged behind her. She
watched the pasta, stirring it to keep it from burning.
She was struck by the thought that their world was
very small, that they were contained in this moment. A

(22:14):
tug at her side pulled her away from her reverie.
Madison was at her side, two white packets in his hands.
I found these. It says it's called hot chocolate. She
could tell by the hopeful expression on his face that
he was very much intrigued by this idea and that
he very much wanted to experience it. It says, just
add hot water, he added, helpfully. Get a pot, she

(22:39):
told them, and he eagerly jumped to a bay. Clanging
through the cabinets, he held out what must have been
the largest one he could find until the left smaller one. Please,
he disappeared and returned at her side within moments, a
much smaller pot in his hands. Much better, She chuckled,
see if you can find some bugs, and dutifully began

(23:00):
searching while Tilda filled the pot with hot water and
placed it on a smaller eye, turning it on high.
Her son, even after eight years, the words sounded foreign,
reappeared at her side, a brightly colored mug in each fist.
You can leave him on the counter. Madison did so
with two clinks, and she gave the pasta another stir,
testing the temperature with her finger. Satisfied, she requested the plates.

(23:25):
Madison returned almost before the words had left her mouth.
Tilda removed the pot of now boiling water and carefully
divided it among the two mugs and put the pot
in the sink. She ripped open the packets of chocolate
powder and tiny dehydrated marshmallows, funneling each into the mugs,
opening the drawer with utensils and picking out two spoons.

(23:45):
She shut the drawer with her hip and stirred the liquid,
tiny rollbols of chocolate and booies of white sugar getting
sucked down in the vortex. Careful, it's hot, she murmured,
passing one of the mugs to Madison, who carefully walked
it over to the table. Determined not to spell any
of the steaming chocolate. Til To followed suit, setting her
mug on the table and then returning to the stove

(24:07):
to shovel the remaining pasta on their two plates. Tilda
turned off the stove to conserve power. She placed one
plate across from Medicine and one in front of herself,
handing him a fork. Together, they started eating noodles and
sipping at chocolate, going about it much more slowly than
they had earlier on the day, saving what would probably
be their last warm meal and the relative safety of

(24:29):
these walls provided to them for a long time. You
like the hot chocolate, mats, and Bob has said, eagerly,
slurping some from his mug. What are these white things marshmallows,
Pilda responded, tiny ones. At the look on his face,
she realized the word, of course, meant nothing to him.

(24:49):
They're like sugar and flour and cream of charter. They're
sticky and chewy. People used to put them on sticks
and roast them in fires. It'd make them melty and smashy.
Then you make a sandwich. We had sweet crackers as
the bread, and chocolate and the marshmallow which would melt
the chocolate. They called it a s'more. Madison listened, entranced.

(25:15):
A some more, Yeah, because people wanted some more of them,
Tilda explain, smiling. Madison's mouth fell open in a wide
Oh what a strange ritual, it sounded, now, even to
Tilda's own ears. Her parents had taught her this odd
bright in the fireplace in their living room on cold nights.

(25:38):
The ingredients weren't necessarily hard to come by, but they
weren't the easiest either, Tilda reckoned. She'd only made some
more as a handful of times more than Madison probably
ever would. She'd kept an eye out for the ingredients.
She wanted Madison to try it. As ridiculous as it was,
there were so many things she wanted to show him,

(25:58):
so many things of the old world that would soon
be forgotten, traditions and rituals and ways of life dying out.
She wanted to share those that had been passed to
her before they went extinct, lost to the darkness. Tilda
took a gulp of her own hot chocolate, Swishing the
chocolate around her tongue. She felt a comfortable buzzing underneath

(26:19):
her skin, like her powdered chocolate and cheese and carbs
had awakened her blood from a long slumber. She felt
heavy and heavy. Her stomach was uneasy, unused to the
rich food, but she plowed through, determined, unwilling not to
experience this very rare thing. Soon their plates were clean,
their mugs empty. They both stared forlornly, not wanting their

(26:42):
meal to be over. Squashing the desire to remain sitting statuesque,
Tilda cleared the table, piling their dishes in the sink.
She heard the swish of Madison's makeshift cape as he
exited the kitchen. Afraid the generator could cut off at
any minute. Tilda filled four glass with water, leaving two
on the counter for later and taking the other two

(27:03):
to drink for now. She switched off the light so
that the doorway to the entry was illuminated. She followed
Madison into the living area, flipping on the heat with
one finger as she passed. If they were leaving tomorrow,
may as well use up the last of the generator.
The heat hummed to life. Tilda placed a glass of
water on the side table for Madison and clutched the

(27:24):
other in her hands. She crawled under the comforter and
began slipping slowly, molling over the options available to them,
not wanting to dwell and venturing back out into that cold,
but knowing that they would have to. Madison interrupted her
grim thoughts, What would have happened to you? Confused, Tilda
turned to look down at the top of his head.

(27:46):
What do you mean if you hadn't, you know, laughed
with me at the hospital, what would have happened to you?
Tilda had never given it much thought, outside of perhaps
I shouldn't have done this. At least Madison would be
safe even if he wasn't with me, She pondered, for
a second. Knowing what she knew now that the father

(28:09):
was the son of Aaron and Darla Delane, arguably two
of the most powerful people alive, she imagined they would
have wanted her as far away as possible, tucked away
out of sight. She didn't know if they'd told the
nurses what their son had done, or if the staff
had even known Madison's true identity, how they planned on
claiming him. Yes, they would have shipped her to the

(28:29):
middle of nowhere, where no one would know her and
no one would ask, and she'd die in obscurity, a
working prisoner. I don't know, she said, which was the truth.
She could only speculate. I think they would have put
me to work somewhere far away. They wouldn't have killed you,

(28:51):
he questioned, quiet, No, there aren't enough of us to kill,
not when it takes work to keep things running. As
soon as she said it, she wondered if she should have.
It was a dark thing to say to a child,
even if it was honest. And what would have happened
to me? He whispered. They would have raised you, Tilda said,

(29:15):
with hollow certainty. Perhaps that would have been better, even
if the thought of Madison growing up with the people
who believed HSV five as punishment for humanity's sins, who
were complicit in its initial spreading, made her breath catch
in her stomach. Queasy. Madison seemed to ponder that for
a moment, and Tilda couldn't help but wonder if he

(29:35):
was thinking the same thing. His next question surprised her.
Do you think my grandmother is dead? The image of
Darla bleeding on the floor immediately rose to Tilda's mind
with unwonted clarity. Again, she replied, I don't know. Since
they'd escaped d C, there had been no broadcast, although

(29:58):
Tilda didn't suspect arm would be doing any broadcast anytime soon.
She changed the world order without meaning to. She had
just wanted to do what was best for Madison, and
what did the world think of that? She felt a
surge of homesickness. Tilda imagined her mother sitting in her
favorite em old green chair, reading a heavy tone. Tilda

(30:23):
turned off the light, but they both sat awake thinking. Eventually,
Madison and Tilda wandered into sleep as the darkness closed
in around them. And that brings us to the end

(30:53):
of this month's fiction. It was kind of funny to
read over the show. I was just kind of laughing
with Samantha. I don't remember a lot of this, And
again just a reminder, I wrote this for Nano Raimo
National Novel Writing Month, and I have not really edited
it because I kind of both didn't want to add
that extra work to me, but also I think it's
interesting to look back at what was going on in

(31:15):
my head when I first started this job. But stuff
one ever told you, and so it's been fun going
back over it. This chapter was funny because I know
exactly what I was thinking. I've never had a generator.
I don't know how they work. If you are listening
to this and are like no, but I did grow

(31:40):
up near a survivalist neighbor who had one, and he
was very always telling me like how I'm going to
survive and the wilderness when things go wrong, So I
could see that shining through. It is also funny how
often the generator is a thing in horror games like
The Last of Us. That interesting they hear the generator

(32:02):
and then the zombies all comers. Also, it cracked me
up because I was like, wow, my comfort foods are
the same because there's that whole bit about when they
finally get hot water, what do they make? Mac and
cheese and hot chocolate. So it is kind of like
a snapshot into what was going on at the time,
but it's also fun and sometimes kind of like huh okay,

(32:25):
yeah that's still true. I'm still the mac and cheese, yes,
hot chocolate yes. But anyway, I'm very excited to share
where this goes. As much as I don't remember, I
do remember the end, and I'm excited. But I hope
that you're all enjoying it. And as always, Christina is amazing.
We love hearing from you about it. We love that

(32:45):
we get to do things like this every now and
again because they do take more work. But yeah, if
you have any any theories what's gonna happen, or if
you have any things from the public domain that we
could give a similar treatment to, we would love to
do that. You can email us a step ad mom
Stuff at iHeartMedia dot com. You can find us on

(33:06):
Twitter at mom Stuff podcast, or on Instagram and TikTok
at stuff. I'll never told you. We have a tea
public store and we have a book that you can
get wherever you get your books. Thanks as always too, Yes,
our super producer Christina, our executive producer Maya, and our
contributor Joey. Thank you and thanks to you for listening.
Stuff I'll Never Told You is production of by Heart Radio.
For more podcasts from my Heart Radio, you can check
out the heart Radio app Apple Podcasts wherever you listen

(33:27):
to your favorite shows,