My Dearest Friend
It has been a short minute since they’ve evacuated. Maybe to anyone else it would more accurately be around five to six months.
Even so, I’ve found an effective method of time travel. That being: alcoholism. Many’a days been spent rummaging through wine cabinets.
Maybe even yours.
It's more comforting than waiting out my days here, but my “time travel” will oft lead to a certain outcome. Hunger.
Gotta love canned food. There for emergencies but not convenient for carry. People couldn’t take it all. So in an entire neighborhood you’d find supplies to last a couple of weeks. Pair that with a pan and tin utensils and you’re set for living. Or whatever you call this.
So that’s been it. I’ve been going from neighborhood to neighborhood, eating what I need and drinking all I can.
You’d think that there’d be more than just me. I thought so too. I knew there was for the first day. Random gunshot could be heard all day. I hid, thinking it was the turn to anarchy, but the next morning, I met my first neighbor. He was dead, a hole in the head, but closest to a neighbor I’ll get it seems. He was kind enough to lend me his gun.
It’s not an uncommon sight anymore. Neither the smell that comes with them. It seems those others who stayed behind didn’t stay to live. Most of em, at least. On rare occasion I find places looted that I know I hadn't visited before. Even so, it still feels like im alone out here.
And that was that, until recently.
After I gave the third community the privilege of my plundering, I started to discover something unique. The first one was in a gallon ziplock bag taped to a window. Then I found them anywhere else at random.
I copied them. I don’t know why, though. I suppose it is just a little rude of me, but it is nice to read sometimes.
I’ve ordered them to the best of my abilities, there’s no dates or anything. I’m not entirely sure if I have all of them though. I’ll need to go back and see if I spot any more.
As far as I can tell, there is only one author writing these.
Well here goes..
#1
Hello, dear old friend!
I’ve been so alone, but you will find me now in my words. I knew you’d come back eventually. After what happened.
I’ve placed these anywhere that I know you’d stop by. You’re too predictable that way.
-Fen
#2
Why did you come back, Aus? Is there something you forgot here?
#3
If you look south from here, you can still almost see the playground where our nephews used to play together.
Now there’s no slide, no swings, no castle.
They’re gone too. Or are they still playing?
#4
Sometimes I go to the abovegrounds and rest my ear on the dirt. I can hear them all chattering down there. It’s comforting to hear everyone content.
#5
Doors don't open themselves, Aus. The stick I left in front told me the door had been opened. The prints told me only one person.
Where are you?
#6
Why aren't the filters running? I check them regularly, they've always been in good condition under my watch. I can still hear the voices from the abovegrounds. What happened? What did you do? Are you going to take them as well?
#7
Find me.
#8
Find me.
#9
Where are you?
#10
HELP I NEED HELP DAMMIT
#11
Find me at the lake, please. We can work this out.
#12
There's still time. But it's running out. Please, please, please. We all need you now.
#13
I can't hear them anymore. They were banging on the doors. They wanted out. They've stopped. Why haven't you returned?
#13
Only one person had the ability to open those doors. Only one person could turn off the power. Only one person got out.
Why did it have to be you?
#14
Of course they're not. I don't need to stretch much to say you are probably content with it all.
I realize now that we are both at fault here. We both designed it. I decided you should be in charge.
But I'll make it right. You've finally returned and thats all that matters.
You'll find these and I'll know when you do.
I'll find you crawling around in the darkness, whithered and worn.
We should sit down for a meal together. My time here has made me a surprisingly good chef.
I'll chop off every one of your fingers and your toes and force them all down your throat one by one. I'll shoot a hole through each foot and each hand. The next course in the meal will be your eyes, ears, nose, and finally your own tongue. But don't worry I treat my customers well. I'll find the nicest pillow to suffocate you with. I'll love to see your mutilated face twist with pain as you try to fight back. I'll love to see the lack of expression in your lack of eyes once you finally give up.
I sincerely hope you find this one, dear friend.
Yet at the same time, I don't. You like surprises.
-Fen
"We trusted their smiles..(heavy breathing).. such friendly smiles.... We couldn't have known (A knock. He inhales sharply.)... The men on their ship said they detected a malfuntion in our exhaust... They offered help in their video... Those goddamn smiles... (He starts banging on the desk) They are coming. They are coming... hehehehehehheehhehhehehe! No! NO! They are coming!THEY ARE COMING THEY ARE COMING!
DON'T TRUST THEIR SMILES THEY NO LONGER HAVE CONTROL OF THEIR—"
He suddenly stops. He stares at the camera as a friendly smile spreads on his face.
END OF TRANSMISSION.
There is a voice inside me saying this would end soon.
I don't know if I can believe it anymore.
I've pushed everything that loved me so far away, I can't reach it anymore.
Everything I loved, I neglected it. And so they died within me.
I don't know anyone to talk to, because there is no one.
I don't know what to hang on to. I've dug myself so deep.
I want this all to end.
Maybe the voice is right.
Maybe it will end right now.
I Can’t Tell You
I can't tell you not to.
I can't tell you that you don't have a right to feel the way you do.
I can't tell you for certain that it will get better.
But I can tell you that you can change your world.
I can tell you that your feelings and hardships are completely legitimate and understandable.
I can tell you that this is not the only way.
I can tell you that no matter how terrible you may think you are,
No matter how many people you think don't care,
No matter how alone you feel right now,
There is always someone who loves you.
That's why I'm here.
This is your choice,
I can't tell you not to.
But please don't..
When I was quite younger, I remember my parents bringing me to some kind of restaurant. Italian, I think, or something. It was all loud and noisy in there. The soft music playing was barely audible over the chatter of customers and employees.
The waitress smiled and handed me a "kids menu" with two crayons. I picked up the green crayon and held it in front of my face, unsure of what to do with it.
This might sound weird, but I had never used one before. Let alone seen one. I guess my parents thought that I had inherited their athleticism, and I wouldn't be interested in such things.
Well it didn't necessarily smell good... But did it taste good? Hmm..
BLEGH!
Nope. I threw it down in disgust.
"Mom."
No answer. She continued inspecting her menu and babbling to Dad.
"Mmommmmmmmm!" I had now resorted to poking her with the orange crayon.
"Seth! Sit still for Chrissakes!" then she turned back to her menu.
It's probably safe to say I got a bit frustrated at this point. I angrily started kicking the table.
Now my father started to anger.
"Do you want to be left out in the car?"
I restrained myself. Grudgingly. I sat completely still, holding in anger. And as I sat there I started to feel that orange crayon burn in my hand. Thoughts flew around in my head: What did I do wrong? Why should I be punished? I only wanted your help. PAY ATTENTION TO ME!
I slammed the tip of the crayon onto the menu, and warm, flickering color spread across the page.
Fire.
The room was cleaner than I ever kept it in the five months I lived there. I guess a room is never really clean until you decide to leave it forever. It was about time. I really do not understand what possessed me to bunk with my soon-to-be ex-roomates.
Well, okay, we all hit it off when we met during the first week of classes, but Jeff and Dylan, they're the kind off guys where the longer you know them the more annoying they get. The more rude they get. The MORE YOU JUST WANT TO STRANGLE BOTH OF THEM UNTIL THEY ENTER ETERNAL REST SO YOU CAN STUFF THEM INTO TRASH BAGS SO YOU CAN DUMP THEM INTO AN ABANDONDED WAREHOUSE WHERE THEY WILL BECOME RATS, WORMS, AND MAGGOTS.
Sorry! Got carried away.. Heheh.
Three large boxes and a suitcase lined the wall. My desk had trash all over it, though. Jeff came in with a vacuum and Dylan with a waste basket. About time they help out around the place, seeing as ONE OF THOSE LITTLE PIECES OF SHIT WASN'T EVEN PAYING RENT.
Woops, again..
Well, Dylan was brushing stuff off of the desk and into the waste basket, when I noticed something familiar.
"Wait."
Thankfully, he did. I picked up the orange crayon and slipped it into my pocket.
"What, you still get the kids menu?", Jeff snorted.
"Nah, it's from when I was a kid. It's when I discovered my-" fortunately, I choked a little. They would have found out I was more of a freak than they already thought I was. "-mmmmmmy favorite color! Yes. And my low for art."
"Well," Dylan interjected, "color choice has been one of your worst problems."
"Ha-ha."
I managed to pick up two boxes, Dylan picked up the other, and Jeff started vacuuming. We got out to my car, and I started placing the boxes in the trunk while Dylan went in to get my suitcase.
I was waking back to the door when Dylan came back out, dropped the suitcase, slammed the door, and locked it. What a personality.
Suitcase loaded, I turned the ignition. It hadn't occurred to me how angry I was until I saw myself in the rear view. My mind started racing.
I got the urge to do it.
No. Not again. They may have been jerks, slobs, AND OVERALL SHITHEADS WHO TRIED THEIR VERY HARDEST TO MAKE YOUR LIFE MISERABLE.
The crayon started burning in my pocket.
SO WHY NOT!?? WHY SHOULD THEY BE HAPPY WITH HOW THEY'VE TREATED YOU SINCE DAY ONE?! THINK OF HOW THEY USED YOU!
I checked the mirror again. A mad smile spread across my face.
"Why not?"
I got out, engine still running, and walked to the front door. I stared at it for a few seconds, and then took the crayon out and tapped the door. And tapped it again. And again and again and again, until flames had spread all over the door. And they continued to spread until I could smell wonderful scent of burning carpet inside.
I got back into my car and pulled out of the driveway. Their screams, barely audible over the music.