70 reads

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..

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

Why did you come back, Aus? Is there something you forgot here?

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?

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.

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?

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?

Find me.

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