Sunday, September 11, 2011


I went toward the screams. Like an idiot, I went toward the screams.

I'm not good at this kind of thing, if you haven't noticed. I'm not a bad-ass, I'm not a fighter, I'm just a painter. I'm trying, though. God dammit, I'm trying.

The screams died off as I got closer, and I had to pause. I honestly didn't know what I expected to find in there. Maybe that's for the best. Expectations screw you over in these situations. You know, when everything else isn't screwing you over already. I read, ooh. I'm rambling again, aren't I? Sorry.
I shoved the door open with my shoulder, the dog in tow, and gun at the ready. What I found wasn't pretty. Blake was kneeling over a body, breathing heavily. The body was young, male, wearing jeans and a football jersey.

Oh, and he was missing half of his head. Well not missing. It was spread all over the floor.  Blake was in shock, I think. Honestly, there's no thinking to it. He was in shock. I could've shot him or something right then, and I don't think he would've even noticed. Of course I didn't. Honestly, it's rude to shoot your best friend's boyfriend.

I moved to his side, keeping Patch's shivery, whining self away from the body as best I could. I wanted to be the shvery, whining one, dammit. From the look on Blake's face, I honestly don't think he did this. I moved over to him and touched his shoulder, jarring him out of his stupor.

He flailed. Of course he flailed, and I got hit. Not that I blame him. I should've said something, but if the puppy's whining  and the fact that I'd puked up blood and who knows what else yet again due to the sight and smell of the room didn't stir him, I doubt he would've noticed me talking.

And that's when the puppy started barking, and he started apologizing and acting like he'd seen a ghost, and I flipped, got him to shut up, and accidentally coughed blood in his face. Sorry about that by the way, Blake. It was completely unintentional.

Anyway, we calmed down a bit, and moved away from the body. His version of the hotel was a lot more... visceral than the one I'd been in. I kept walking, trying to ignore the gore and other such things. Talking is a great distraction from things. As are hugs. I gave him a hug, thoguh I couldn't let him hug me. Not with my ribs acting up again.  I need to talk more. It hurts, though. I think he's starting to understand the depth of this situation more... Blake's a nice guy. Like, honestly nice. I really feel bad for dragging him into this... Whatever happens to him, it'll be my fault.

"Fear of blood tends to create fear for the..."

Great, someone other than me has sense of humor here. I kind of hate that, because it makes things worse for some reason. Blake and I talked a bit while we searched for the way out of his personal trap. Another door, another patch of inpenetrable black. It was worth a shot.

"You fucking brat, you ruined me..."

I dragged Blake through the door before we could hear more or see the source of the voice. More blood and cobwebs and god, my throat is on fire. I don't want it. DON'T WANT THIS.


We're still in the hotel, or a version of it. This one is quiet and pristine. Not unkempt like what I found or terrifying like where Blake was. Everything's muted, and it's so... Lonely. I'm leaving this post before we go to look for Tia. Because I need to fall apart soon. Priorities, I have them. I patched Blake up as best I could with the first aid kit in my backpack, but he's fine to move.

I smell fire. Talk to you later.


  1. You don't even get voyeurs like the others do you, Elisa, darling? How many will even notice or care when you fall? Two? Three? Four? Five? Five, at most. It's no better than you deserve, anyway.

  2. Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit. I care, so there.

    Lis, you can do this, sweetheart. Keep fighting.