You go into the journey blind. I've never been on long road trips, let alone ones that are life-threatening. I don't know how to pack for this, so I wing it. Quickly I realize that I've bought too many bullets and not enough food. Anyone looking at us from the outside would think we're a bunch of psychopaths.

Not a problem however, because you can hunt on every turn, which is what I ended up doing. It's like that episode of the Simpsons where they hunted bisons into extinction. I was honored to join the great American tradition.

My daughter broke her arm somehow, and we all contracted a mild disease and then later a bad disease. I don't know how, probably from all that bison meat, some of which might've been infected.

Ran into a gang, survived the shootout. I guess things never change. Ran into a few friendly riders too.

In the end I made it to Oregon City though. Everybody is alive. It was much shorter and easier than I thought. The president himself congratulated us, which was quite a surprise. We settled in Oregon and became Oregonians.

Is that all? But the little square on the command line is still blinking. Life is not over yet. Was this all worth it? Why did we risk our lives? Just to settle for a meaningless existence in this god-forsaken desolate wasteland? The little square is still blinking, but all my commands yield syntax error. I've lost control over my life. I am a nothing now. All I can do is helplessly observe the time passing in hopes that my life will abruptly end due to some unforseen disaster. At least out there on the road there was a purpose. A desire to make it out alive. I fought diseases, gangsters and wild beasts just to make it to the next town. Just to feel the warmth of the next sunrise illuminate the stubble on my face as I watched what other perils the merciless road would throw at us. What lied there beyond the next hill.

But out here? None of it matters. Nothing matters... I'm just reclining in my rocking chair and looking at the clock, waiting to die.

Welcome to Oregon.