Back

I'm back. I woke up on the kitchen floor. They graciously left my laptop in here. I'm covered in dirt and my nails are bloody. I was outside, digging in the ground. No reason. No sane reason. I also clawed at my wallpaper along one wall and smeared dirt and a little blood all over it. The floor is covered with broken pens and scribbled paper. Just Operator Symbols and...more of that nonsense that I posted.

I'm apparently so happy that she's gone. That she's 'free' and I want others to follow in her example. That it's the only way to hurt him. Yes, if there's no one left to speak about him, that would do it now wouldn't it?

It hurts you know. I wake up and every part of my body hurts. I can't take it...I actually considered in a moment of weakness...but when I made a dive for the knife drawer, I blacked out again. --- LIKES me alive.

I don't sleep anymore. I just black out. Then someone else goes to work and acts normal. Then someone else comes home and scrawls on the walls, speaking in nonsensical babble. Preaching about Excalibur, Grendel, and Roland. Nonsense giving poetical gravitas by use of a large vocabulary and pseudo-Jungian terms.

Then I wake up...on the floor...filthy...aching in pain.

--- is in my house. In the guestroom, if you can take the irony. And I can't do a damn thing about it. I can't leave the kitchen. I blackout otherwise. At least as long as --- is here, then --- isn't outside. Not that being in two places at once ever gave --- pause before.

I try. I try so hard...

redlight laughs at me from the living room, and I can't tell if it's my laughter or not. Either way, I hate him.

Still, the bastards left me the computer, and a kitchen full of stuff. I won't give in.

Maybe the lunacy is right, with Fizzbomb and the others being free, because it's a damn sight better than being someone --- keeps alive.