Pit. Pat.
...
Pit. Pat.
Sigh.
I feel... I feel so tired.
In the potentially three hours that I've spent walking now, my body felt as if it was working off the sparks of a damned carpet. I could walk, carry, and fight but all under a mindless gaze. The adrenaline wore off a while back and with it, the pain of the bite and scratches all over me only grew. The bleeding slowed down but I'm still hurt and wounded. My hands feel numb and I...
I feel terrible. I would take a break but stopping now with some food in tow will only invite more trouble. Something could be following us. So, I'm not taking that chance.
Besides, the faster I get home, the faster I can grab some antibiotics and supplies to patch me up. So, for now, I need to be okay.
Pit. Pat.
Pit. Pat.
I should be close by. I should be close to those buildings again. The trees are blocking any outside view but from what my muscle memory loosely remembers, we should be close. How I know is somewhat inexplicable but this path...
I think...
...
Ah, there it is!
As I wobbled a bit further on a path, almost tripping from a small decline, I found a tree that was marked with a white bandana. It was mine, given to me by a family member of mine. I figured back then that if I went too far out of the city through this road, I would need a marker to know if I'm heading in the right direction. It should've been basic common sense, yet I had to learn this from another guy of mine.
I remember the guy who taught me this. His tracking skills were just incredble; it's hard to describe how profecient at knowing just where to go at all times but I guess he just had this special sense of awareness. As if he was a walking GPS. Granted, a GPS is pretty much a life saver these days but when I saw him in action, it just almost seemed uncanny.
Strange. Confusing.
And yet, I admired it.
I think it was a good thing that I did. Otherwise, this bandana wouldn't have come in handy, being all tied up on this big, soft oak tree, which was stretching its arms all the way up with its mixture of green and orange leaves.
Anyways, now that I found that old thing in here, I believe it's just a bit north until I make it back so... Just gotta keep on moving.
Pit. Pat.
Pit. Pat.
...
...
...
Actually, did you know that-
RUSTLE.
I suddenly heard a small, yet distinguishable sound burrowing into the far depths of my ears. I jumped in place for a moment, swiftly reaching for the crowbar as my eyes scanned all directions.
What was it? Was it a critter? A bigger animal? A monster?
Whatever it is, guess I'll just have to find out.
RUSTLE...
...
...
...
RUSTLE.
...
MEOW!
Oh. It's just a cat.
...
Whew. Just a little pussycat.
Though I shouldn't be too careless about it. If there were more of them, I'd be a little more scared. Although just one is alright.
You know, I have a soft spot for cats. They're just... different from dogs. Sure, they may not be as loyal but at least they weren't as hard to maintain. Besides, I think they're cuter.
Although that doesn't matter in a time like this.
MRREOW!
Oh, it's still there? Strange. I'd thought it would scurry off the second it saw me. But instead, it just came a bit closer, sniffing the grimy and faded red-and-black shoes I wore, then continued staring up towards me.
While I loved the attention, I can only assume it's giving a damn since I'm carrying something... edible. By now, the body's heat has died down and its smell, while no longer noticable to me, has probably enticed the little feline's appetite. I wish I could reciprocate since it's my game but with what I've seen...
I've lost my appetite.
MRREOW!
I think the cat's getting impatient. As much as it seemed nice to me at first, it seems like the facade is starting. Figures.
You know what? Fine. I'll let it eat. In fact, I don't know why I'm still carrying this body with me anymore. As much as this thing could be cooked once I've skinned it, I feel like food isn't really food when it's rotting right beside me. Besides, even if I could eat it later, for now, it's just a pungent target on my back. Marking myself for whatever is out here.
Besides, I'd rather eat junk now than... what I did to this thing.
THUD.
Letting go of the critter's corpse, the small, black-and-white cat stepped back a second before slowly crawling towards the corpse, drawn by it's smell. After a bit of inspection, walking around the body as if it was searching for something, the little animal began chewing at the raccoon's chest, biting through the fur and the skin, squirting a bit of blood out before the feline backed up, seemingly both curious and precarious about it.
But, once it settled down, it swiftly returned to its side and began eating the animal without much trouble, chewing through the fur and skin and devouring the critter's organs and muscle.
The cat wasn't used to this much of a meal, I presumed. But it gladly took it.
...
I don't think I can watch devour this critter. As much as I like the little thing, seeing this... It's still unusual to me. Especially when I'm all alone in it.
I used to see this often with the tracker friend of mine but... it was never me doing this.
And having to be around to see it through... I'm just not used to it yet.
As the cat continued to eat, I slowly walked back, sliently shuffling through the grass, barely taking a breath before I could make enough distance to continue walking like normal.
But I took a moment to look back. And once I did, I could see the small, bright creature stare back at me in its dim, blue eyes, curious to where I was going... and why.
And for that moment, I almost felt some sort of connection between the thing. As if it could sense my distress.
The shit that I've endured... It's hard for me to even recall.
Yet, as I continued to methodically take steps back, the cat grew less and less interested in me and, once I've made it a couple of yards back, the cat resumed finishing its meal.
At that moment, the light feeling I had grounded itself again and the pain of my injuries only grew.
Soon, though, I'll be alright.
Soon.
...
...
...
RUSTLE.
...
Pit. Pat.
Pit. Pat.
The sun was on the tip of the horizon, turning the skies slightly purple, by the time I spotted a group of small buildings sprouted near a rusty sign, most likely being the road sign for my small little town.
I didn't think it would take me this long to get back home but considering its been a while since I've taken this path to and from my place, I guess my memory got a little foggy then.
Welcoming travelers to our dainty, yet abandoned little town (even though it was technically a city) was a crusty, dusty, and overall, ineligible post, unable to dictate to travelers and local residents like me what kind of place they were staying in.
I remembered though. And once I approached the sign even closer, I recalled what this place used to be like.
Gray, Georgia. My home. And the place I thought I would never come back to after...
...
Anyways, I should keep going. I still wasn't home just yet and I still have a bit to go.
Pit. Pat.
Pit. Pat.
Pit. Pat.
Pit. Pat.
...
You know, despite what I've said before, I really didn't think I'd come back.
Really, I didn't. I thought that I'd stay put in some other town or I'd die a gruesome, painful death before I even got close to here, especially when you consider the distance I've made. Besides, back then, I was bored with this place, especially compared to the other cities like Macon or even the big one, Atlanta.
Yet, I've come here. I wish I could say I didn't know why I came.
But... I do.
Pit. Pat
Pit. Pat.
Pit. Pat.
Pit. Pat.
...
...
CLANG!
Hearing the sound of metal reverberate through my quiet town, I looked around swiftly as to search for the source of the noise. Instantly, I spot something that caused me to hide behind an overturned table nearby and precariously watch that certain thing from a distance.
That thing would be a pack of coyotes, restlessly searching through the debris of a nearby car wreck and constantly sniffing around for food. Their noises and little murmurs with each other were loud enough that I could hear it from half a block away.
Just my luck.
Putting my scarred backpack down from my back and placing my hand close towards my trusty crowbar in case I need it, I stayed where I was, very cautious of my surroundings in fear of causing any form of sound that could attract them over to me. After all, these wild dogs have a great sense of hearing. Hell, it's even better when they're in a quiet town like this.
As I peeked out of the table for a moment, I observed the hasty looks that the pack exhibited with their bodies and their movements; the whole number of them had visible scratch marks, dried blood along their fur and dusty feet. The sight of them almost made me feel some kind of empathy for them before remembering that they would kill me regardless of it.
Speaking about wounds, though, I could feel the pain in my chest and shoulders continue to subside with my wounds drying up and the light throbbing on my head slowly absolving. This prompted me to give out a brief sigh of relief before I began to realize something.
Despite the short-term benefits presented here, if I just let these heal on their own, I can only assume that there'll be a heightened possibility of me getting infections along these scars, which is a real pain considering our tragic loss of healthcare. I also only have the faintest clue in how to treat myself, only being taught bits and pieces by some nurses and doctors that I used know, although even that still feels loose in my head.
These concerns will have to wait, though, as I hear the rustling and soft clanging metal halt, propelling me to check what had changed. Taking peek again outside, I could take a brief look before I watch how a smaller group of the coyotes began to disperse themselves towards my direction, forcing me to crouch quickly.
Shit. This is not good. With my body stained with a dead animal's stench, along with having cold streaks of blood stripping down from my torso, I'm quite literally might be the best possible meal these dogs can get. And as much as I can admire the extent of the coyotes' capabilities, I don't want to continue to do so if I am being devoured by said animals.
Additionally, I can't just shoot them dead. It would draw noise and attention to myself, bringing in more potential predators to the town and keeping them in here for longer with what would seem to them as free food.
Frantically, I searched for a way to distract them from searching my area, looking for anything that could draw their attention. I could only spot a few pieces of rock, stone, dirt and grass protrude around me, giving me only a few things to work with.
Rapidly grabbing a regular-sized pieces of rock, juggling it momentarily in my hand, I then continued to remain keen in where I could use this. There were a few old shops and stores around me that were within throwing distance, although most had their windowpanes shattered, destroyed or completely absent. And I couldn't throw it close to where I was. My smell would become more interesting than anything I threw out here.
Crap. There was nothing I could do. Gradually, I hear the footsteps grow even closer to me, approaching what could be only yards away from me. My hands and arms were shaking at this point, madly pursuing something to get me out of here. As I continued to sweat profusely over this tense situation, my mind, in the nick of time, discovered a way of saving my ass.
Even though it would require a small, external sacrifice.
Briskly shifting my arms and hands inwards and out, I took off the jacket and shirt that I was wearing, revealing my skinny and bare interior that was riddled with marks, and hesitantly threw them into an alley nearby, only reaching the entrance before the clothes roughly diving right back towards the ground.
The coyotes noticed a sudden shift in their surroundings, eyeing the alley while also surveying the area around them for any movement. While I observed their heads look away from me for a moment, I instantly threw the rock as well to the alley, striking hard against the wall and leaving behind a chain of chalk along it before its piece ricochet off it and further into the alley. At the sound of this, the coyotes start barking profusely, noticing these disturbances with a form of primal fury that came with their savagery. Suddenly, without warning, I could feel a strong whiff of wind pass through the table and could hear the tumbling and the scratching of the concrete floor as I could hear these things fumble along with the clothing.
After checking to see if these animals were still out the streets, disregarding the ones tearing up my clothes, who were growling endlessly, I slowly began walking backwards, still staring straight down the road as to not be caught off guard. I kept doing this dance for a couple of minutes, getting further and further away from them, who started to run out of steam with my clothing and once I spotted them leave the alley and continue their inspection of the land, I abruptly bolted through an alley on the other side of the street, running through a couple stores in between while trying to make as little noise as possible.
I continued to rush through the urban part of the town, avoiding any semblance of a creature that I could see as well any building that could fester a large audience of animals, no matter the type.
After a few minutes of running, gradually beginning to lose my breath, I managed to stumbled onto the suburban part of the city, which was enveloped more so in woodlands than the central part of the city, which only coupled a few trees in a few corners. Taking a small break from that chronic job I took, huffing and puffing below a huge tree that was between two rundown homes, both of contrasting, unsaturated hues of pink and blue, respectively, I looked back upwards, surveying the area I found myself in and figured a way back to my house from where I stood.
In addition, I observed how the sun had gotten lower and the blue of the sky was growing ever more dimmer and darker. I had to get going.
Shaking my head a little to forgo those feelings of anxiety and fear that had grown inside of me, I took a deep breath, sighed heavily, and continued to make my way back home.
Pit. Pat.
Pit. Pat.
Pit. Pat.
After walking for about half a hour through a mini highway through the heart of the city, keeping myself vigilant of the surrounding woodlands and the small rustling noises of leaves I heard along the way, I found myself in a circular neighborhood, which I remember was the street of Oakview Circle. Knowing that this was the neighborhood where my house, I made a turn through the surrounding forest and crossed through the gap between two other houses.
Passing through a more couple of homes in the neighborhood, all of which featured very monotone colors and dusty surfaces, I finally began to see a view that I used to see every single day of my life. And within it was a home that I used to lay my head in a long while ago.
The property's front, which was painted in a sooty pattern of brown and black, was slightly masked with a few trees in front of it alongside a barrage of brown and yellow leaves rustling over it, marking it similarly to the other houses.
However, this house was always like this, long before the world went dark. As to why...
I don't know. Never asked the realtor that sold us the home.
I approached the house with curious intent, trekking down the long runaway straying from the road and leading into the home, which sloped downwards a bit as if it was like a miniature water slide.
Lightly stepping onto the dusty, white front porch, which was currently in the process of being overrun with weeds, vines, and small batches of green flowers, my mind began to involuntarily envision the childish memories I've had in here.
The laughs I've made when my mom messed up with the dishes.
The teases my mom would make when I looked grumpy and shit.
The cries we made when we watched a good-ass movie.
The hope we had for the future as we sat down, hearing the last echoes of our radio before it died.
I always thought I'd grow old in this place, despite the tedium the town itself presented. I always thought I'd remain in 143 Oakview Circle, despite all that it had. I really thought.
I'd never thought the house would get old without me.
Opening the dark, crusty wooden door, creaking loudly the wider it spread, I stepped into the living room, featuring a dusty and damp couch near two fragile chairs set below a sturdy, yet dilapidated table. It also contained a kitchen counter filled with withered and dull flowers and plants, which filled me with sadness when I saw them in that state, especially since taking care of them was my mother's favorite hobby. Finally, as I slowly closed the door, which groaned along its retreat, I viewed the final details of the living room: a musty carpet set below a broken table that once held a bunch of books, now disseminated below its wreckage, between the space of the couch and a grimy and dead TV.
The house has changed a lot since the last time I've seen it. Although I shouldn't be surprised by it, it does at least hit me a little harder than I thought it would.
CLICK.
With the close of the door, I instinctively attempted to turn on the lights but after with the soft reminder of silence, I flicked "off" the lights and proceeded to head further inside into the house. I went upstairs to the second floor of the house, carefully putting each foot up each stair due to the amount of noise it began to make.
God. This house sure is a piece of work, now, huh? More so now than how it was before.
Once I placed my feet on the somewhat stable surface of Floor 2, I instinctively headed towards my bedroom, almost as if I had just came home from school. But as I drew out my hand to open the door, I looked towards the other wall which contained another door to the other bedroom of the house.
I stared at it, sort of trembling at the sight of it. I knew what it contained but I didn't want to confront it just yet. Not right now.
Shaking my head for a second, I turned the knob on the doorhandle of my room and thrust it wide open, entering as the door began to close in on itself. I quickly took a look around, trying not to catch myself with all the emotions that revisiting my home was bringing me.
Yet, I was still caught by it, even if it was just outlines of it due to the rising darkness that covered the room, making me remember many of the little moments between the happy and pleasant memories I recounted earlier.
The moments of rest that I took, just laying down on its blue and red covers, nestled in by my blue-and-black-striped blanket and its accompanying pillows, and looking up towards the bare ceiling, contemplating the life I had and the people around it.
The hours I spent cleaning, vacuuming, and tidying the room, listening to my favorite records on the record player by the window and singing along to my favorite tunes.
The days I spent drawing, watching videos on the phone, and playing games on the TV, hiding it from mom as she'd throw a tantrum every time she caught me.
Sigh. The things I used to do in this place were timeless.
How I'd give anything to have those moments back. Even if it was for only a little while.
Now, that bed of mine could no longer support me, bending downwards to the floor as the weight of the soggy and dirty mattress crushed the dilapidated wood below it. The vinyl records I used to collect were all dusty and grimy, their covers still being legible despite the water damage. It appeared that these records were still capable of being played after some moderate cleaning, making me feel some spark of joy for once. Sadly, the death of my beloved vinyl player and the nightstand that once stood it up prevented me from doing so as they were crushed by a few small boxes that had been almost thrown around the room.
The drawings I made were now crushed and desaturated, littered all over the floor as if it was trash, and the phones, the video game consoles, and the television were all decimated and abandoned, broken beyond repair and dead beyond belief.
I almost began to cry at the sight of all of it, quietly sobbing at the state my room was in. To me, everything that was once mine and had comforted me in my darkest moments was now reduced to only dreams and ideas.
Fairy tales that I told myself.
Lies that the real world left behind with its departure.
I couldn't stand it. I wanted to get out of here as fast as I could. Despite everything I've done to get here, in only a few minutes, I've already began to regret ever arriving on that doorstep again. But I couldn't do anything about it now. And besides, I rather know that things aren't okay anymore rather than keep believing a fantasy.
Wiping off the light tears off my face, I hurriedly approached my bathroom, turning on the flashlight I had in my left pocket, and entered the room, now featuring a filthy, grimy, and heavily-stained bathtub with a non-functional showerhead, a fractured and dry toilet seat, a hair-filled sink, and a damp and broken mirror above it. The bathroom was tighter than I remember, barely allowing me to search the drawers for any ointments, bandages, etc.
I found a few bars of soap, some alcoholic disinfectant, and several bandages, which I figured to be just enough to cleanse some of my major wounds. Additionally, I managed to find some old bottles of water and a flashlight that I had left behind, already filled with two batteries. Seeing these materials provided me with some needed relief.
Maybe this will work. Maybe it'll be okay.
As I set them up on the sink, I felt a cold breeze enter from the window and hitting me by my chest, reminding me of my exposed skinny and further adding onto my soft, yet distinct pain.
Placing down my backpack by the toilet, I then placed my flashlight onto the center of the sink, retrieved one of the water bottles, opened it, placing the car to the side, and placing it on top of the sink with the rest of the medicine I found while I took out a small piece of cloth out of my left pocket. The cloth was previously used for my sweat but now, after drying it up by twisting it and letting some of my water clean it up, it would be used for cleaning myself.
Slowly, I dosed the towel with a brief, light stream of water, and, after taking a few deep breaths, began to pass it through my neck, where that damn raccoon bit me.
SHHHHHHHhhhhh...
Hah.
Even with its corpse out of my hands, it still manages to haunt me with the sharp and acute agony I felt as the water mixed with my blood. My mouth seethed in response, repulsive to the great torment this was causing. The blood also stained the towel heavily with its warm red glow, forcing me to continue dosing other sides of the towel with water.
Eventually, after a few minutes, I manage to soak the bite-wound with water, alongside with some of the scratch marks scattered along my chest. With that, I laid the blood-stained towel down by the toilet seat, huffing and puffing as my body slowly dried up with the bare, red skin of my wounds. I then took the now empty water bottle and, adhering to my instincts for the first time, dropped it by the vacant and grubby trash can beside the toilet. However, I wasn't done just yet.
Once I gathered my bearings, I nabbed the rubbing alcohol from the counter, firmly twisting the cap downwards as traditional with a lot of medicine. As it opened, my nose could immediately sense the strong, sharp, and musty odor, which made my body nearly bend to its power, considering what it will cause. Reaching inside my left pocket once again, I took the last clean towel I had, lightly doused it with the alcohol, and, holding my breath, swiftly dipped it into the bit-
SIZZLE.
Ah, FUCK.
...
GROAN...
Ah shit.
This was harder than I thought.
With only a single touch, my right hand instinctively moved away from my neck, as if it had a mind of its own, and it proved to be difficult to even placed it back in, fearing that it would suffer even more so.
Yet, I still couldn't risk getting an infection over this.
My body needs to think of the long term, here.
So, as a desperate attempt to not have to deal with this any longer, I used my left hand to grab the alcohol by the bottle and, without hesitation, I sprayed it onto my-
...
...
...
"ARRGGHHHHHHH!"
SIZZLE.
AH FUCK.
FUCKING PISS.
SHIT.
AARGH.
MOTHER FUCKER. How in the bloody hell did I not go through this shit already? How is this shit so fucking painful?
Aargh, GOD DAMN.
Fucking hell.
Uugh.
HUFF. PUFF.
HUFF. PUFF.
Huff. Puff.
Huff. Puff.
Huff.
Puff.
...
Huff.
...
Puff.
The sting was unbearable, leaving me stunned in place in the growing dark as my body was shocked by the prickling of my neck and the throbbing of my chest. Those few minutes I spent locked in place felt like the most fucking miserable 8 minutes of my life, incapable of even soothing my aching as it went on.
But, thankfully, as time went on, and the minutes started to feel like hours, I was able to finally move on; the torture eventually subsided, leaving itself to subtly sting every once and a while. And that was even further reduced after I wrapped my wounds with the meek, yet sturdy bindings of the bandages I placed, although I had to tie the bandages around my body manually as the adhesive within them dried off years ago. Once I allowed my sutures to settle, I dried up the sink of all the liquids it had and, after putting my backpack on my back , I took all the supplies I had outside by hand, which I could barely carry as everything shook above my arms.
The backpack was no longer usable. The scars had been stretching ever since the bear decimated it, rendering the ties I made for it nearly useless. I could feel the contents inside reaching the edges of the bag, almost falling out with each step I took. And even the bag was dry now, I could almost feel some residue of its moisture penetrate through my skin, causing me some pain as I continued to walked outside the bathroom.
Despite the time I've had with it, it's better that I replaced the bag with something else. I had a bunch of backpacks that I used for school before the world went to hell. Despite the time they've had sitting in my closet, there's bound to be one suitable for keeping my supplies.
But that'll be a concern I'll resolve later. Right now, there are some other things to tend to.
As I let go of the medical supplies, placing them onto the floor near my bed, I began to feel some relief in knowing that I had managed to save myself from an infection. Yet, I knew that with using these limited resources that this already drained household contained, this wasn't enough. This isn't something to celebrate over. And no matter what, I still haven't gotten myself out of the woods. At the very least, we're no longer in the trenches.
And now, despite all my transgressions, I must do the one thing I came to this place for.
It wasn't for the medicine, of course.
It was never about revisiting where I used to live nor was it ever about the lost sanctity of my old room.
Hell, it wasn't even about seeing my cool vinyl collection once again.
Instead, it was about something more important than that.
Someone more important than that.
"Hahaha..." A voice echoed through my mind and with it... so did I.
After finding and briefly cleaning a tan T-shirt that I had hanging in my closet, I found myself walking out of my room, closing the door behind me and holding a candle with my left hand. With my right, I reached for the light in my back pocket and, after a few clicks, sparked up a flame that I used to light up the candle. Placing the lighter back in my pockets, I then reached for something I had on my right pocket. Once I drew back my hand, I found myself holding onto a piece of paper that, for some inexplicable reason, my hand couldn't turn over to the other side.
With that, though, I faced against the opposite door, hesitant to even touch the door handle.
My mind raced with doubts and emotions, trying to process everything that I did and was about to do. What happened, what was happening, and even what will happen. Whether it could or not, it did not matter.
All I knew is that right now, this was it. I have to face it.
Slowly, I walked towards the door, and with each step, thoughts and feelings began to detach themselves from my head, gradually cooling off the warm colors in my mind and gently turning me ever more colder by the second as I gripped onto the door handle. My hand shook with fear and yet, it confidently pushed itself downwards, allowing the door to open itself wide and reveal what it had stowed away for all these years.
I don't want to continue preaching or expressing or narrating about it. I just want to talk...
To her.
...
...
...
Pit.
Pat.
Pit.
Pat.
Pit.
...
Thud.
...
..
.
"Hey, mom."
...
"I'm... I'm sorry I... I haven't been able to visit."
"Dad wanted us to... To get away from this. From all of this, as you remember. And he didn't want me to come back."
"He thought it'd be safer. Better if we left. Reasoned with me that we could... we could make a new home."
"Although, you and I both know how I am with new homes. Moving day sucked."
"Anyways, the place we find was okay. My dad... He did the thing where he, uh... He led me and some of his friends into protecting some people that we encountered way up north."
"I didn't know if he should've done that, but... You know him. He wanted to help. And I guess, by the rules of extension, I did, too. So, we started helping people."
"We did this sort of thing a lot, to be honest. Hehe. My dad was so stubborn about making sure every person was, you know, protected. Saved. Alive."
"I don't know if he did that because of you but... I can say he made such a community out of it. And well... as you can see, even though I'm not there right now to admire it, I can't deny that he made something amazing."
"Heh, I wish I could've brought someone else with me so that they could meet you. You know, I had a girl over there. Yes, I know it's shocking but it's true. Her name was Elise. She was a nice girl, very kind and honest. She reminded me a lot of you so... I guess it's one of the reasons why we fought over every single little thing. Because she's like you."
"Anyways, I found people there that I liked. I had fun with them. They were great, of course, and I liked having people to talk to. Heh, I don't think I would've made it over there if I had to just talk with my dad. That would've been depressing. Heh."
...
...
"But, even with that, I felt like I couldn't... fit. You know, mom, everyone has a purpose, you know? It's the one thing we as people strive for. And, well, in everyone I met over there, I could see in their eyes their acceptance of a purpose. Their ability... to do said purpose. It was undoubtable."
"Yet... I could never see that in myself. I may never have thought that I was useless but... I never said I was useful. Maybe in another life, I would've been something far greater. But, as of then, I was just... a disappointment."
"Of course, Dad would never say it. Never admit it. He always gave me things to do and always reassured me that I had a place there. That I had a home. But deep down, when I looked into those black, narrow, and open eyes of his... I knew that he knew it too."
...
"You know, my Dad and I didn't always see eye-to-eye about certain things. The way he was conducting things in that community we were in... it just didn't sit right with me. But that was all it was. Despite my frustration with his manner of doing things, he at least got them done. He at least tried."
"And yet, one day, he... did something to some outsiders that... That finally broke me. I couldn't stay there any longer. Not with him."
"Not with anybody."
"And so, when Dad finally looked the other way one night... stopped thinking about me for just one moment... I left. For freedom. For home."
"And, after a bit of thinking... I ultimately left for you."
...
...
...
"I miss you, mom."
"It's been hard. It's been... sad since I've seen you. It just hasn't been the same."
"And I know that its like the understatement of the decade when I say that but... it's true."
"I can't... I can't... I can't just... Describe it to you. I can't tell you how much... How much you meant to me. How much you meant to my dad, even when you and him weren't in the best of terms. How much you meant... to my life."
...
"I want to see you again. But I know I can't face you. I can't go down to your fucking grave, pull you out, and accept that you're... you're somewhere else now. Because you're still here to me."
"I know it's not true. I KNOW... it's not right. But I can't. I just FUCKING can't. I can't look in this stupid piece of paper, seeing what used to be, and say to myself that you're only a memory now. I can't say it to anyone, not even dad, that you really aren't six feet under right now. I can't convince you otherwise that you are still here if I... if I... if I..."
...
SOB.
...
SOB.
...
...
SNIFF.
...
"If I would rather have you or dad dead..."
...
"I would rather you look me in the eyes as if I was a monster... rather than you not being able to look at me at all."
...
...
...
"'Cause if all I have to lose...'"
"'Is standing in my way...'"
"'It's you I'll have to choose...'"
"'But please don't take it the wrong way...'"
...
"'Please don't take it wrong...'"
...
...
..
..
CREAK.
...
Pit.
Pat.
Pit.
Pat.
Pit.
...
CREEEAAAK.
...
SLAM!