"I have a wonderful boss."

Riiight.

Apparently I'm supposed to be the secretary for a guy who thinks he's a cowboy.  And that I can't takes notes or file papers or put gas in a fucking car.

Whatever.

I can do the damn job.  Just watch me.

( Relevant log: A Wonderful Boss )

Two months.  Slightly less, actually, but near enough.  Two months I've been asleep, healing something that should have killed me.

I suppose I'm glad they didn't let me die.

Couple days of tests, psych evals, stuff like that after.  Typical crap.  I'm so stiff, so easily tired.  It shouldn't stick around too long, though, now that I'm doing things.

It better not.  I have a job now.  A real fucking job.  An apartment.  New clothes.  Decently edible food.

I will never go back.  Never.

( Relevant log: Worth Taking Away )

Apparently this bunch of kids in Greenwich decided last week they were all going to commit suicide because they were Evolved.  The media has been clamoring about it all day long, and they probably will for the next two weeks.  How could this happen and Their families must have been terrible and It's horribly wrong and What has this world come to and every possible variation on those themes.  They're surprised and shocked and outraged.  I guess that's only fair.  It's a shocking thing to have happen and it goes against everything society likes to stand for.

They don't look at it from the other side, though.  It's like those places that allow physician-assisted suicide -- everywhere else just has fits of shock and horror because all life is sacred and even living poorly is better than being dead.  They take that as a given; an unshakable, immutable fact.  But living is easy.  You eat, sleep, breathe; you can keep going for a very long time in auto-pilot, just... existing.  It's what we're designed to do.

It takes a kind of courage to face death; to embrace it.

And I don't have it.

( This is not a response to a Kayla-scene, but relates to 36.)

They really do.  Some people don't.  I ran into... I guess I can call her an old friend.  It's a little weird, thinking back, realizing that was only three years ago.  It feels... like a lifetime.  An eternity.

We went to college together.  She was... well, Ren'.  Loud.  Opinionated.  Fun, though.  Back then.

I'm glad she's alive.  I really am.  But it'll never be the same.  It can't.  She hates Evolved the way cats hate water.  And I... well, I'm not normal anymore, am I?

I hate it.  I want to be normal.  I want to feel normal.  I want my life back.

Times change.  So do some people; they don't have a choice.

( Relevant log: Everyday )

The parade of the dead never ends.  There's always someone who can find a reason to eat a bullet.  Hell, I have as many reasons as they do.  My family, my friends, they're all dead.  No job, no home; no chance for either.  Sure, I have my whole life ahead of me -- but a life of what?

I died today.

Oh, it was Cindy who blew out her brains.  Ever since I moved here, she was so cheerful; always upbeat, always certain that this application would get her a job.  Wanted to be everyone's friend; wanted to see everyone happy.  I was like that once.  I could have been her.  I could have been the one who pulled the trigger on myself.

Would Cindy still have done it if she knew she'd take me with her?  Worse -- because without half of your brain there's no consciousness to feel anything.  She didn't know when her heart stopped beating.

I did.

I know suicide is supposed to be a sin, but I hope she got the whole soft white light and harpsong thing.  She deserved better than what she got stuck with here.

We all deserve better than here.  I...  Can it really be pure random chance?  A roll of the dice that tore apart my life, left me with nothing, no one, and cursed to boot?  Or did I offend some higher power once upon a time?  Offend them so much that they decided one death isn't enough, but that I needed to know whenever anyone in this damned place finally realizes they've entirely run out of options?

(The handwriting gets progressively more shaky; several water-spots stain the page.)

It's the aftermath that's the worst.  Not just dying, but... knowing, at a visceral and instinctive level, that you did die, and yet... and yet you still live, still breathe.  Remembering what it felt like to stand on the edge of the abyss and know, with absolute certainty, that it is the end.  Fin.  Finished.  Done.  And then... all of a sudden, you realize you're not.  There's no warning, no gentle retreat -- just dead, and then alive.

Happens to everyone.  No, I don't think so.

I don't think so at all.

(Relevant log: Something to Hold On To)

How many stupid mistakes can I make in twenty-four hours?

I took in the dog yesterday morning.  She didn't belong here.  The kids out there would've made life worse for her if they'd found her, huddled under that trailer.  So I took her in.  Barely slept last night.  Broken right foreleg, bruising.  Set my teeth on edge and kept them there.  I think it's worst when I sleep.  Can't remember the difference between me and them anymore.

So I fixed her.  That's number two or three or five or something.  Bringing her in and keeping her should count as several.  Especially since feeding the dog for a day means I won't eat later.  Stupid.

There's no way I'm taking her over to his place, right?  Which seems to be the address on the mutt's tags.  So I go to the police station instead.  Should be able to leave the dog there with someone and they'll figure out the rest, right?  Walk in, walk out, done.

Wrong.

So wrong.

I still have the damn vest.  Apparently they want it.  So the woman's going to send him out here to get it.

Didn't see that coming.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The heck do I do now?

(Relevant log: No Good Deed... goes unpunished)

Remember what I said about burning the city down?  They're off to a good start.

The riot last night must've taken out half the farm.  Maybe not -- but it sure feels like it.  Between the fires, thrown rocks, and the crashed helicopter, there was a lot of damage.  As if we didn't have little enough already.  Go all the way down to the ground.

Whatever.

I should leave.  I hate it here.  Even when there aren't mobs in the streets.  I don't know what I'd do, but I should go.

I hate it more that I won't.  There's no point.  Sure, it's better out there, but not for people like me.  This is only one step shy of living on the street, but it still isn't the street.  I think... I'm even getting used to it.  Or maybe I'm just starting to get numb.

Maybe it's just the difference between last night and today.  It wasn't until... about when I woke up this morning that I felt... sane again.  Not normal.  Or... well, I guess this is what passes for normal, anymore.  Like having a minor headache for so long that you just... deal with it.  Only it's not always minor.

If this is a headache, last night was... calling it a blinding migraine is like calling the sun warm.  There's just no comparison.

Of course, I had to go and be stupid even after the whole mess was over.

Went out this morning -- earlier, obviously -- and what did I find?  This dog.  His dog.  Tucked away under a half-wrecked trailer, where there was no one to notice.  No one else, that is.  Now it's here.  And I have no idea what to do with it.  It's hurt.

I don't have any dog food.

( Related log:  Be the Match)

It's quiet today.  Even all the kids are inside, pretending that thin trailer walls will protect them against the boogeymen.  Against the death that eventually reaches everyone, no matter where you are and what you try to do.  Though I imagine they don't really think of it that way.  It's just as close to safe as any of us have.

The adults are all huddled around whatever gadget reminds them there's still a world outside this place -- a radio, television.  Wondering if, having survived one disaster, they'll die in... whatever is going on.  The media are all over it, pretending they know what's going on; everyone's reeling, wondering if they'll be next.  Things exploding, gunfire, some kind of terrorists involved -- it's like someone dumped a war onto the streets of New York.

Maybe this time they'll burn the whole thing down.

It's probably those Evolved terrorists everyone was saying fell apart.  PARIAH.  Blowing up a power plant (or whatever happened, I guess) sounds like something they'd do.  I can't imagine anyone else having a reason.  Or thinking they did.

Evolved.  I hate that word.  Makes them sound... superior.  Stuck-up.  Better than normal people.

How is any of this better?

( This is not a response to a Kayla-scene, but relates to the various Endgame logs: Suffer the Children, Resonance, Tripwire, To Die At Sea, Conflagration, ...And All That Could Have Been.)

They say every cloud comes with a silver lining.  Maybe this is true.

I can fix other people.  Those who don't know better would call that a blessing.

But I can also walk away from them.

He has to live inside his pain forever.  However long that means in practice.  All I have to do is go far enough away and it's gone.  Doesn't make up for anything.  Doesn't make any of it right.  But if I go far enough I can find some semblance of peace.

Maybe that's what I should do.  Just pick a direction and start walking.  It has to end somewhere.  Everything has to end somewhere.



Right.  Who am I kidding?

There's nowhere to go.

( Relevant log:  Just Plain Cantankerous )