Thursday, 23 August 2012

2 - 10

Natalie, I know you'll read this. I know you know where I am.

I'm sorry. It's just that the proxy here - the man with the red hair.

I think it's Simon.

Well, I know the body is Simon's. But I think he's still in there.

I don't want you to get hurt. Just find somewhere else, forget about stopping Bleakley.


leave me here

it's been so long, and I've spent so long searching. For answers, for someone else, I don't know. I've hurt people for it. But it's here. It came right to me.

Go. Run, before the big guy gets here. Don't look out for me. Don't try and be a big hero for Peter. Peter is His unfinished business. He did a bad thing, escaping, and now he's got to wait until his Daddy gets home.

I'm so sorry.

Monday, 6 August 2012

2 - 8

We were too late. Bleakley's one of them. Maybe dead, probably a proxy. Who knows.

The answers I wanted, the answers I've wanted for over a year, are out of reach once again.

"Why did I survive, and why did he die?"

I feel sick to my stomach. Despite everything that happened, I'm still the more optimistic of me and Simon. I believe it happened for a reason. I believe I can find that reason. Hell, I believe I can get himback. He was the nihilist. He didn't need a reason for why he got torn apart.

I went looking for the article in the Eastbourne Herald site a few months ago. It's gone. It's like he never existed or something. Maybe someone read his blog and deleted all the infectious memetic material to stop Daddy fucking up Eastbourne any further or something.

I remember reading it so vividly. Stretched-out limbs. Disembowled. My head ached just reading it. I could probably recite the article word-for-word. But it's gone. It's gone, and Bleakley's gone, and even that gloomy little shit Peter is gone.

I haven't felt so utterly, terminally alone in years.