Log Entry 1
I do not own the land. I belong to the land. The land owns me.
Something my grandmother used to say to me. I don’t understand it. I don’t
understand how she could, when the toxic jungle infects our crops and pollutes our
air. It spreads like an infection, eating up our land more and more, consuming towns
and people and turning into more of its own wasteland.
‘Greed’ she used to say. But not to the jungle. To the people, to us. She would tell
me stories of the times before the last war. When the air was sweet and the wind
didn’t sting. I can’t even imagine what that feels like. She said that the jungle grew
from the blood-soaked battlefield. It fueled itself with the rage of the people, their
gunpowder, their oil and turned into a polluted wasteland.
The more we took the more it took back, the more we killed the angrier it got. She
said that we were to blame for the jungle's cruelty. That we must not enter it to not
upset it more.
She’s gone now so I can’t ask her anymore.
Log Entry 5
People are getting sick. Not from the toxic jungle though, no one goes into the
jungle, it's something else. I’m not sure what it is but I need to find out before I get
sick too.
Log Entry 8
No one is getting better. It looks like they do but it keeps feeding off of them, draining
every drop of energy keeping them bedridden. I feel powerless.
It’s the soil, I know it. The topsoil of our farms has been infected by the spores from
that damned jungle. It’s poisoning the food we eat and consuming us from the inside.
If we really belonged to the land why would it hurt us like this? I have to burn the
farms and stop the spores from spreading before we lose everything.
Log Entry 11
I dug up the farms yesterday. Way beneath the waste, there was clean soil. Cleaner
than I have ever known. Water seeped through every particle, drowning the dirt in a
dance of life. I never thought this was possible to see so much life. I don’t know how
to feel about it.
I followed the flow of water to the edge of the toxic jungle. It's coming from inside. I’m
going to follow it.
Log Entry 12
The jungle is intoxicatingly stunning. It perverts me to remove my gas mask. I can’t
describe it, I have never felt this way before. How can something so beautiful be so
horrific?
The flow split off in many directions however. Does that mean there are multiple
sources? I have followed a few but have to go back before it gets dark, I’m not sure
what will happen at night.
People continue to get sicker. More people keep getting sick. I’m not sure how long
they’ll last. I need to find something to help them.
Log Entry 17
I found it. The source of the water, of the clean soil. It’s the same source across the
jungle’s wasteland.
A lichen grows full of water like a sponge. Not from the soil, but upon it. It attaches to
the plants and trees and rocks and dirt. Not suffocating, protecting what it lies on.
I picked some up and removed my mask for just a moment. When I squeezed it,
water dripped into my mouth. I have never tasted something as delicate. I’m afraid I
have been wrong.
I’ve collected some to bring back to my people; I hope it eases their pain.
Log Entry 27
My people have started to recover slightly. I harvested small amounts of the pure soil
and water from the lichen ensuring it’s not enough to hurt it. I mix its givings with our
medicinal herbs and it seems to be helping. I am indebted to this plant.
I’ve been venturing into the jungle every day now. Observing the lichen. How it
grows, why it grows, everything about it.
It seems to be made of two parts, a fungus and an algae. The fungus implants itself
in the toxic soil and seems to absorb and decompose the toxins in the ground. The
algae feeds off of these nutrients and spreads, covering more infected areas like
blanket preventing more spores from releasing. It then absorbs moisture from the air
and swells, pumping purified water back into the soil.
It pushes this pure soil down deep into the earth, continuing its cycle. Feeding on the
pollution we tainted the ground with.
It’s not just this lichen anymore it seems. The other plants seem to be evolving,
feeding off of their poisoned peers and rejuvenating the land with their death.
It seems as though the toxic jungle has adapted to the toxins, to our toxins. Despite
our cruelty, the land has adapted to take care of us once more. It is kind.
Log Entry 35
The jungle burns.
People from a town far away have grown tired of its growth, blaming their
misfortunes upon it. Cowardice.
The plants char the ground dead of life. The lichen dries despite its own resistance.
The flow is slowing.
I’m losing hope and have now become sick as well.
Log Entry 42
‘Resilience’ my grandmother used to say. Not to us, to the jungle.
The jungle still burns but life persists. The flow has slowed but not stopped. However
it is not enough to sustain my people nor the other living plants and beings.
I have been working on a design for a device to do as the lichen does. An implant
into the soil that absorbs the toxins and uses the enzymes of the lichen to break
them down. A net that attaches to the implant condensing the nutrients from the
toxins and pushing them back into the soil, containing and purifying the
contaminated regions.
I hope it helps my people. I hope it gives hope back to the lichen, to the jungle. I
hope my grandmother is proud.
Final Log Entry
Our own fear has clouded us, shielded your kindness by a toxic facade. I’m sorry for
all the pain we have caused when you were just trying to help us. Thank you.
