October 25th of the year 2045
   War. War never changes. In the end of 2003, a week or so before Christmas, the first bombs fell. The twenty-first, if the information I have been given is correct. The first signs of change came in the early hours of morning. The sirens of nuclear warfare shouted their cry all over the world. Everyone knew what was coming. No one was left untouched. Two hours were all the leaders of the world needed. Two brief hours saw the world destroyed and covered in ash. Two fucking hours and then only silence roamed.
   My father was a boy of seven on that day and he was among the lucky ones, who had the shelter of a Vault. His father was a man of thirty-six and his mother a woman of thirty-two. They also listened to the war, the loud thumps of dropping bombs, from within the shelter of the earth. His grandfather was an old man of seventy-four. He sat in a retirement home. Then he and sixty other men and women the world didn't need anymore, were wiped off the face of the earth. Shattered and scattered. Let God sort the out and give me an Amen.
   I am twenty years old and I was born and raised in the confines of Vault 12-B. Located almost a mile in the hard earth, it wasn't even touched by the war. Not on the surface, anyway. Some of the dwellers of Vault 12-B still remembers the outside world and the lives they lead before the fire rained from above. Some of the cry for the outside world and the elders claim that one day, man will return to the earth that was nearly destroyed. That, from the ashes of a terrible war, man will rebuild their former glory. Former glory, my ass. The so-called 'former glory' was what started it all. Men raised their weapons for their glory and the glory of their kin. Men pushed a button and slaughtered thousands and thousands of people for their glory and the glory of their kin. Fuck glory.
   In our Vault, there is being waged no wars. We are no glorious. We are survivors. We are the fallout the war left behind. If we ever leave this Vault we will become glorious once more and we will kill once more. It's in the nature of man to covet what he cannot have. The elders cannot ever have the wasteland, but that will not keep them from trying. And that, in the end, will be their downfall. If the wasteland does not kill them, their pride and glory will. Trust me on this one.
   In the Vault library I came across a poem in one of the databases. It was written a long time ago. Back when war was relatively simple compared to the Great War of Fire. His name was T.S. Eliot. I have no idea what T.S. stands for. The library didn't have that information. I will probably never find out. Tear would say: "Fuck it, Petey. It's history." I cannot agree with that. War can kill us all, granted. But war shouldn't be able to erase what is kept in our hearts. The names of the past should not be forgotten. I know it is only a small matter, but I can't help worrying. Can war really do that? Can war really erase the names of those once loved and cherished? I hope not. I truly hope that is not the case.
   In the poem, which is called 'the Waste Land', Eliot wrote about the journey of the soul. That is what I think he meant. I cannot say, I can only speculate. "I will show you fear in a handful of dust." He talks about danger and fear, I think. He talks about fate. He talks about everything but love. When I first read it, I wondered why that was. Now I think I know. Love is brief and fleeting. Love is fragile and in a wasteland, such as the one a mile above me, love would never stand a chance.
   So is this true? I don't know. Someone once said that love can bloom even on a battlefield. That may be true, but the wasteland left by the war is no battlefield. It is but the aftermath of a battlefield. Love can bloom in a Vault. I know. I love Cherry dearly and I cannot see myself without her. Even as I write this, she sleeps peacefully in our bed. Maybe love can bloom on a battlefield and maybe Eliot was wrong, maybe love can even bloom in a wasteland. But as it is, I hope I never find out. The elders can have their wasteland and their glory. I don't want it. I want peace. I want Cherry. I want my memories of poets who passed away a long time ago. The Vault is our future, the wasteland our past. Let it stay that way forever.
   This is all I know about fire. It is bright and it is warm. I would rather live in an eternal winter, than experience the fire of war. This is my legacy. This is the most important thing I will leave for my children. Forget the past and focus on the future and on the now. Carpe diem. That's what I'm saying. Seize the day.
   Forever.