How are you future me? How are things. Okay, I’ll kill the bit right there. Yes, no one is likely to read this but tomorrow me. I get it. “Self-aggrandization.” That’s the term right? Doesn’t matter. I’m stalling. I don’t know where this is going yet. I mean, I know where it ends but where it begins…. Apparently, stalling, ha. There it is, perfect. Let’s begin.

The year is over. As of the posting of this, it’ll either shortly be, or will be entirely, 2026 in the location in which it was produced. I’d have titled this, year in review but just didn’t feel encompassing enough. No. Really, just would be counter to the vibe I’ve been trying to maintain. Storytelling, calling card of the storyteller, right? Why am I still stalling. Or maybe I’m just rusty. Where’s that lube. Okay, now, we’re ready. Circle two closed, on to the next.

I started the year taking a photo. Generally speaking, I hate my face. I know that sounds specific but really, it’s as simple an answer for probably 90% of every action I’ve taken over the past few decades. Hell, I’m still wearing a mask five years after big COV. Sure I’ve the attuned to more germophobic habits but that one, the mask, that’s purely cosmetic. Depending on which side of the aisle, /more/ cosmetic than it already was ha. So anyway, I took a photo and made it a point to try to take a photo every day. Saw a thing on social media and found it engaging. By March I was out of photos. Not sure if it was negative motivation or merely the return to my shell. Either way, didn’t make it the whole year. Not that it was the only fire in the kiln but just setting the stage I suppose. Start with a failure right?

Something I did end up completing throughout the year was a tracker for “Attempts at Love.” Hard to believe but the last time I was in an actual relationship was 2004. Two decades and I’ve been alone. Important people have entered and exited my life. But nothing, by definition, that stuck. There was always this barrier and before I knew it I was losing count of the grays in my beard. Was I going to live the prophecy? Die alone after all? Considering this year I tried to make a concerted effort to connect and came up my namesake—empty—speaks volumes. But I’m moving too fast. Let’s pump the brakes a moment.

She asked me if I had any plans for New Year’s. We’re still talking. An old friend from before I killed myself. Well, before I publicly killed him and became whatever the hell I am now. She called me up one day last June or July and we spoke and have been in contact over a year now. I’m not bringing her up because of any potential romance. More because in our correspondence I have come to realize something. I’m really not him anymore. I’m so hollow. I’ve got nothing. Not to offer, especially not to gain. I ponder if she knows that I know why we stopped talking, I had forgotten and just chalked it up to the funeral run but I found it this year. The truth. That it was over before the end. Because even then, over a decade ago now, I wasn’t made to be a part of this world. The other, the else. Another fantastic title. I told her I loved her because I saw a self-help video that said to. Her and my closest, dearest friends who at that time I considered more family than my actual family. She was the only one who pushed me away. Even after explaining where it was coming from. Now she’s the only one I’m in regular contact with. But she seems to be looking for him and I’m not him.

Received a message from a dear planet just this week. We haven’t spoken in months. Not that it’s all that unusual. She did it to reassure me that we’re still good. Someone I’ve never met in person but one of the longer shared existences I’ve had since the fall. I’ll likely write to her after this as I’ve been meaning to do so. I just don’t know if she’ll beat me to it. Our relationship has been vibes. We just seem to find each other in moments most apt. Can’t really explain it. We both know nothing yet everything crucial about each other. She never knew him. Only me. Maybe that’s why she so easily became a cherished person. I want to say friend. But how does something that doesn’t exist have friends?

Without planning this at all, I ended messaging exactly 100 people over the course of the past 12 months. Medium was dating apps because I dwell in a border region an hour’s drive away from a major town. Up to three hours away from any major cities. I don’t know why I’m doxing myself. I see more cows than people on a daily basis. There, that’s it, moving on. So, out of those 100, I received messages back from 7. Of those 7, if I remove the bots, the sellers, the ones that didn’t follow up with a reply after I replied, I’m left with exactly 0 that turned into dates. Zero dates and that was me trying. Harkens back to my lowest point when I inquired from a Suicide Line Operator on when it would be an appropriate time to give up trying to live. How much suffering must I endure before it’s acceptable to kill myself. That was the mindset. Didn’t get an answer. Shocker, ha.

The point of the statistics was to show that I have tried. The next option is paying an agency. Don’t feel particularly confident about that route either but if that fails too maybe I can finally just give up entirely. Just embrace the suck. Of being alone. Like these words. One day will be tomorrow me’s last day. And then there will be no one else to see them. These words will be as alone as I lived. What a great line. Would’ve made for a great title. Too bad this isn’t where it ends. Year in review of sorts right?

I flew to my home town to see her. She had ended up in the hospital and it hit me all at once that I may never see her again. I don’t have many good memories of my time in her care. Actually I think I may only have one good memory. Just remember the pain, the suffering, how she would stand by and seemingly do nothing to stop the beatings. How I was belittled. Called a dog. A demon. A Republican, ha! My mother. When I saw her she looked so tiny. More than that. Emaciated. I left that place. I thought she was taken care of by her other children but I looked at her and that house and it was a different kind of hell. Not the one I wanted to escape all my childhood, but one that she was stuck in. I still struggle with the why I went but I’m satisfied that I did. We spoke on the phone a few weeks after I left. She figured out how to call me. And for what? To discuss her death and will. All my life there was nothing but mystery surrounding my origin. I don’t know much about my lineage. I don’t know the woman that birthed me. Not for lack of trying. She would never talk about such things and even when asked would take offense to the question. I harbor such negative memories. But then I still respect that she was my mother. So it surprised me when I asked her in our last talk, “where’s my father buried?”

I don’t know where my father’s buried. I know almost nothing about him besides his death when I was a baby. Not that I’m on speaking terms with anyone beside my mother but even before all that, no one really ever spoke about him. His legacy was as this mysterious presence that left an impact on the lives lived along side him but that’s it. No real pictures of him. No real stories of him. Not even his name is uttered. Just a broken nameplate above a workbench. This isn’t the first year I’ve thought about my father. Wondered what kind of person he was. Wondered what he’d have to say about me and the life I’ve come to live. I’ve never thought about how I may have ended up different if he were in my life but I find it unmistakable, this gnawing desire of approval from him. Would he have been proud of what I became without him? Would he see himself in me as his son? I hate myself but would he still love me? Next year I’ll be the same age he was when he died. I’ve no spouse, hell, not even a single prospect. I will likely die the way I lived. Alone. A mysterious presence no one talks about once I’ve left this place. Broken words upon a workspace. No lover, no heirs. And just as my father before me, I too will never know the kind of adult my child would become.

Dear Journal,

Wow I can't believe how idiotic that sounds. But well I was advised to do this, after all. So here goes. Hello, "Journzies." It's me Mael. Mael Lehrer. I guess me and you are about to become good friends. ...friends. That's a funny term now that I think of it.

All my life I've never truly had many. Friends that is. It was either because of how smart I am or because of my...ailment. This is stupid. She told me I should write out my feelings. Not just because I can't speak but because of what happened...because of what IS happening. You see Journzy ole pal, yesterday marked my first day back in school. It's funny that it took a crisis to be able to convince the board to let me attend. But given the circumstances it really couldn't be more win-win. I finally get to experience life outside of this bubble and the school has a better chance of staying open. Of course there's also Bianca.

My one true friend. Bianca. Even with my condition, she's never looked at me or treated me any differently. To her I was just me. I could feel normal. And now I'll be going to the same school as her. Though given what happened, that hasn't exactly been much of a plus. You see, we haven't spoken since her brother, his friend Matheui, and a couple of other students from the school, disappeared a few weeks ago. I guess disappeared isn't the best choice of words but given that they're missing and no one saw them leave the school...well what can be said? Needless to say, as my only friend outside of my "support network"... with her not speaking with me... being in school, well its been quite a time.

I'm still optimistic though. Whoever it was that seems to have been targeting schools has seemingly stopped and things are beginning to get back to a sense of normalcy. Well I guess if anything in my life can be considered normal. ...I can't do this. I'll try again later, seeya Journal.

- Mael

February 17th

Hey Journzies,

Okay, well what can be said now? It's been a whole week now since I've started going to school. My mother's still worried about me... for that matter so's my therapist. So I got roughed up a bit this week. Everyone gets bullied in high school. It's practically mandatory right? Besides, now that Bianca's finally feeling better now I'm no longer alone. I can't believe no clues to her brother's disappearance have been found yet. I want to help but I don't have any idea whatsoever where to start. that and when you're born without a mouth, nose, and ears people are less than willing to talk to you. Sometimes I wonder in maybe I was ever supposed to be born. I'm a freak in the most apparent sense. All these years and all the consultations and doctors still aren't sure how I'm even able to be alive. I can hear just fine and even smell. I even breath somehow but they don't understand how. And aside from having to be feed intravenously, everything else about me seems to be perfectly normal. Well I mean if you accept that I'm also super-mega smart. Lol. That always makes me laugh. My therapist hates when I refer to it that way since I'm very well one of the smartest people in the world apparently. In all honesty I'd rather just believe I'm just me and that such a thing is a trivial as how I survive.

I survive. The constant reminders that I'm doing so against quite very many laws of nature and probably physics don't help the will to do so. But then there's Bianca. I have to help her. She's done so much for me already by just being my friend. I hate hacking but maybe if I had access to the case reports maybe I could find something the authorities missed. I just hope that he isn't a casualty of the madman that'd been at large until late. That and I hope he doesn't come back either.

From his targets so far I've been able to deduce that he couldn't possibly have been caught yet. The media's still full of speculations and the silence of the police leads me to believe they've made little to no progress in that case either. I'm worried that my school may be next. Given the path of destruction, the probability is indeed quite high. But given all the publicity I just hope he stays out of the limelight... at least long enough till I can zero in on him. I will stop him. Before he has the chance to hurt her... or ANYONE else.

Jeez. I guess writing in you is easier than I thought. Hmm, who knew? Ah well, I think I'll end there. I'm too riled up. I'll never get to sleep now. Besides, these cases are more important anyway. Especially since the requirements for school are so limited I should have more than enough time to get this done.

Maybe I shouldn't've only completed half that placement exam. Then again, had I finished it I probably would've ended up in college. Can't do much for anyone there. Once things really get back to normal, that's when I'll feel okay with that. Yeah. Ah well, so I'm off before I start up again. Night Journzies.

- Mael

February 26th

Hey Journal,

I'm in a terribly good mood right now. Here it is, the beginning of another week... the end of a week. I think I've finally found a place at school. I actually made it the entire week without getting beat up. Not even once! Hard to believe for even me. I have to say though that I'm sure Bianca's gift has helped in that regard. A bandanna with a smile on it. It's perfect.

Things just don't get any better. Life's settling down quite nicely and it really does look like a sense of peace is returning. Student enrollment seems to be on the rise as well. Things are finally getting back to normal. Yup.

I'm really looking forward to school tomorrow. I don't think I even know why really. Maybe this is what I'd been missing this whole time. This feeling. It's indescribable but it's just, pure. A great feeling. Hmm I think I'm finally, sincerely, happy. I wouldn't trade this for anything. I have a life. I have my best friend. I'm not alone anymore. Ah, to good days. I look on to such a bright future.

Hmm, write you later Journzies.

- Mael

February 29th

It was fifth period and a Wednesday. Mael was strolling through the halls, as per usual, since he couldn't exactly 'eat' during his lunch period. Because of such, he had made it a habit to stop by Bianca's class midway through the period. It was almost as if a tradition had come to be once she begged him to, once she started going back to school. She told him it would be a big help and that him passing by would help refresh her for the rest of the period. Mael had offered to just tutor her but it wasn't a matter of her doing poorly in the class more than just her finding the teacher very 'dull and uninteresting.' So, Mael complied.

He was happy to see her smile. He was even happier to be the cause of it. Especially since it wasn't something that happened often since she lost her brother. Even now many had declared Michael Lamb and the other students that 'disappeared' that day, to simply be victims of the urban terrorist. It really hurt her, and Mael couldn't stand by and let his best friend wallow in despair without doing all that he could. It was because of that drive that he decided to change things up after the first few days. Instead of just passing by and waving he soon tried making funny signs and then eventually silly faces. He used a marker on Monday to make a really amazing face for himself that was so funny he got her to laugh out loud. Her teacher even noticed and that made his day. Since yesterday, he had begun trying the newest dance trends. Since he received a pretty good reaction the day before, he decided to pull out all the stops today. As he made his way to the second floor stairwell he gave a subtle acknowledgement to the custodial staff as they took care of some student's 'creative expression' in the bathroom and focused on the routine he was about to perform.

-----

10 minutes into the period and already Bianca was bored out of her mind. It's not as though she hated science but just that there was something about this teacher. Biology was actually kind of interesting to her. Especially given Mael's predicament. She didn't even really mind being bored so much as to what the boredom would always eventually lead to. Whenever her mind wasn't preoccupied with something else, it would find its way to being preoccupied with what happened to her brother. Not knowing whether he was dead or alive really disturbed her. And worse yet, their father's reaction to his disappearance was even worse.

Michael had been emancipated and lived on his own. He keep their mom's last name after she died and went on to live, alone. Their father and him never got along but they were a family after all. When he found out about what happened to his son, it was as if he didn't even care. How could he not care about his own child was all that would flow through her mind. She couldn't help but be utterly perplexed by the thoughts as well as just what actually happened to her brother in the first place. And not just her brother, but his best friend Matheui, and all the other students that vanished that same day. The questions were beginning to overwhelm her. But as she looked at the clock she saw that 20 minutes had past. and Just two more to go before Mael would show and cheer her up.

-----

It was 15 minutes before Mael would make his approach. He decided to take the scenic route since he wasn't supposed to be wandering the hallways in the first place. Each student was supposed to be in a faculty supervised area at all times as stipulated by the new rules instated since the first attacks. Though with a wave to a custodial worker transporting a ladder somewhere returned by a frightened look, Mael rationalized that such contact would be acceptable since the custodial staff are considered faculty. Mael made his way along until he found himself stopped. He started to contemplate about situation that just took place.

When he first got to the school he received plenty of scared and hateful looks but it'd been almost a month since he had started and it was very rarely that anyone still returned such glances. He then began to recall the faces of all the staff and students. Since he had been identified as having an eidetic memory, among other things, he was able to recall the incongruity. A fear rushed over his being. It wasn't fear towards Mael, but fear towards being caught. The conclusions were all the same. Mael had just crossed paths with the culprit of all the pain and suffering that had been spreading around since the dawn of the new year.

-----

It had been 40 minutes since the period began and Bianca was beginning to panic. Mael hadn't shown up, so she couldn't help but be fearful that he had been abducted just like her brother. She was scared and starting to have difficulty breathing. Using stress management techniques, she learned from mandatory grief counseling session the school provided, she was able to make it to the end of the period. By the end of the first bell she was already down the hall and on her way to Mael's sixth period class. She didn't even bother to take her things with her. She just had to know if he was okay or not. She couldn't bare to loose anyone else. Reaching the class she stood at the doorway too focused to pay mind to the perplexed looks. He wasn't in his class but there was still two minutes left till the second bell. She prayed. One minute left and still no Mael. Her heart was beating rapidly. The bell rang and Mael didn't show up to his own class either. She fell to her knees, tears welling in her eyes as she began to hyperventilate. Mael's teacher rushed to her aid as the other students, as few as there were, all tried to get a look at what was going on. Bianca was taken to the nurse's office as Mael's teacher had a custodian watch over her class till she returned.

-----

Mael, many times wished he wasn't born the way he was. Many times he'd find himself wishing he were normal. Average. Mundane. Mael couldn't help but hate his life. His circumstance. Himself. Mael Lehrer didn't have many friends. Not just because he was so smart, talented, gifted even, but because he was always right. Perhaps not truly always, but enough of the time to make people around him weary of being around him. It would be this time now that he would hate such a trait the most of all. He was right, and now he had only moments to act. Given everything he was able to dig up about the assailant, he knew the general routine in which she would perpetrate her attack. Having 'borrowed' his school's blueprints, Mael had a fairly good idea of where the pivotal points of attack would be. Given the crime scene reports he also 'borrowed,' he was able to decipher that time was in a factor of how long it would take the madwoman to get clear since her attacks seemed to be remotely executed. Perhaps done just so she could have a front row seat and a feeling of satisfaction holding such devastating power within her hands. There was no time to waste as spending time to vilify this woman who would commit such acts or attacking her directly would simply put lives in even more danger. Mael had to play this smart. And just as the bell signaling the end of fifth period rang, his plan was set and it was time for him to go into action.

-----

It was almost the end of sixth period and Bianca was passed out in the nurse's office. The nurse left her desk to check on her and upon returning found a message on her computer. It was from the main office and detailed an assembly that was going to be held during the next period that, everyone HAD to attend. She made a note of it but didn't take it too seriously. It would be five minutes before the end of the period when another message would appear on her monitor reminding her of the assembly. She thought it strange since she hadn't received notification sooner than that period and then because 'reminders' were never sent. So, being that she couldn't just leave a student all alone she sent a junior nurse to the office in her stead to get some answers. As it turned out, she wasn't the only one.

Once everyone had gotten to the office there was simply a note that read, "At Assembly In Gym. Meet There." With nothing else to be read and the office doors locked they all decided to just follow along. Teachers got the news from students they had sent to the office and the junior nurse reported the same to her superior. All went about gathering everyone together to go to the gym. Even the custodial staff was told to gather there as well. Everyone made their way, floor by floor--starting with the highest floor first, as directed by the assembly notifications. Everyone made their way to the gym aside from the senior nurse who opted to look after her passed out charge instead. As the last few classes were making their way there, it was the custodial staff that would mark the last group to enter. Upon entering however, they found that there was no one else there except for a kid wearing a bandanna around his nose and mouth; a large toothy smile graphic displayed on the front of it. A boy with what looked like explosives strapped to his chest.

-----

Mael Lehrer had spent the majority of his sixth period out of class. He knew it was wrong but felt his time best be utilized doing other things. Other things such as getting rid of the threat posed by a madwoman who had a thing for tormenting children and, in the aftermath, their families and the United States as a whole. Mael wasn't delusional enough to believe he could get every single explosive before the would-be destroyer got antsy, so he decided on the best course of action being to try and secure a large enough area of the school to fit everyone into and then to get them into it. The first part of the plan went off without much of a hitch. He was able to remove a number of key explosives from support frames both below and above the gymnasium. It had to become the safest place in the school if he was expecting to get his plan accomplished and thwart the woman who would try and extinguish so many lives.

The second part of Mael's plan was then to get everyone into the gym. Being that every classroom and office was fitted with a computer and all were networked, it just became a matter of making it to the main office and sending out a message that would get what he needed accomplished without causing a riot or alerting his adversary. It was easy to get the principal out of his office which, lucky for Mael, was isolated from the other areas of the main office but still had a doorway that led to the main office hallway as well as one leading to the rest of the main office. Once the principal was out, talking to one of his assistant principals about a student that 'mooned' him, Mael was able to slip in and send a message about an assembly. Upon sending the message he made his way to the gym equipped with some duct tape, the bombs he was able to remove, and the principal's favorite mug after leaving a note dictating that the mug would be where Mael needed him to be.

After high tailing it to the gymnasium Mael commandeered the gym office's computer to lock out the principal's computer, making it impossible to cancel the assembly notification. After that he knew he only had so much time before the teachers would return. The period was almost up and by the interim between periods everyone should receive the message, be on their way to the gym, or be on their way back to their offices.

With all the preparations in order Mael had only one more thing to accomplish before everything went down. He needed to disarm the bombs. They were definitely remote operated. They were also very crude. This wasn't some bomb expert he was dealing with. Just a fanatic. And one with no training whatsoever as evident by the sloppy way the devices were cobbled together. It wasn't like a movie. There were no dummy wires. It was all fairly simple. The only thing that made the explosives potent was their small size. With that understanding, he could only figure that the reason this madwoman was so successful was because her pattern hadn't been figured out yet. But that was going to change. Now, she was up against Mael Lehrer, prodigious savant.

-----

It was about 10 minutes before the end of sixth period and Bianca was finally regaining consciousness. It was apparent that her mind had blocked out the pain as she could not recall anything prior to her sitting in bio. But before she could attempt to remember she found herself startled by the nurse staring in her direction with a concerned look. She informed Bianca that she had been out for just over an hour and asked her a few questions to ascertain her health.

Bianca thought about her predicament briefly, contemplating feigning illness as to escape her next class but then at the rumble of her stomach and realization of the time--currently being her lunch period-- decided to let hunger take the wheel. She assured the nurse of her wellbeing unfortunately to find that the lunchroom would not be her destination and that an impromptu assembly would. Bummed out that she was going to miss lunch and the fact that it was too late to play sick, she complied, following the nurse to the gym.

Along the way she begged and pleaded but to no avail. Dragging her feet at the nurse's instruction to pick up her pace she stopped. Then looking towards her pseudo warden, she asked if there was a faint sound just then. The nurse looked at Bianca and shook her head. "I'm not falling for that one," she replied as she turned and continued to walk. Bianca let out a sigh and continued along behind her. They were about to turn the corner to the gym when all of a sudden a loud boom echoed down the hallways. It was an explosion. The school was under attack. Bianca turned to the direction of blast and looked onward as similar sounding explosions trumpeted around their location, growing closer and closer. The nurse began panicking while Bianca just stood there, awaiting her end in an emotionless daze. The nurse quickly grabbed her charge and dragged her toward the nearest set of doors just to find that they were locked--as per assembly protocol. She then tried to make her way toward the gym, with hopes that they may be able to find help there or at least escape. Escape from the destruction.

-----

The custodial staff glanced towards Mael and Mael glanced back at them. There's silence. The boy with no face stares intently. The custodial staff begin to inch away in fear. All except for one. She stands her ground and begins to walk toward Mael. It's her. Mael recognizes the face. She's the one. Mael feels a rage boil within him. She's a killer he tells himself. She'll kill him and everyone else in this place if she's not stopped. He puts his hand in his hoodie pocket as all the other custodians run for the doors. Mael scowls at the sick woman who simply continues to walk towards him. Mael stands a top the bleachers and watches her get ever closer. Upon reaching the the bleachers she looks up towards the child and begins to smile. Mael's eyes grow wide and removing his hand from his pocket reveals that he had a cellular phone in hand. In what seems an impossible speed she raises her hand to Mael. She's holding a detonator and as her tongue peeks under one of her canines, exposed by her devilish smile, their faces are like mirror images of each other. The only difference is Mael's smile doesn't include a tongue. He leaps for the woman but is too late. She pushes the button.

-----

Bianca had given up. She remembers as she's dragged by the nurse. She remembers it all. She remembers now how she got to the nurse's office. She remembers Mael being gone. Gone like her brother. She remembers and cries. The nurse pays little attention to the weeping. Her only goal is to get them to safety.

She wasn't old enough to die yet. She hadn't even settled down. She was 24 years old and made a living as a school nurse. It was appalling. Going out like this, here and now, would only make her life truly meaningless she felt. She had to save them both. Save them both or at least that child. She continued to pull her to the doors. Surprisingly the gym seemed to be safe. As everything around them was going up, it was as if that area was going to be spared.

Bianca, in a catatonic state, wasn't phased by the flashing lights. but as she felt her body enter past a door the light of the gymnasium shined brightly upon her. It was at that moment that she heard something. Something familiar. Something she never thought she'd hear again. She heard the nurse scream, "Mael."

She quickly snapped out of her trance and turned to see that it indeed was Mael. To see him fighting, wrestling with a custodian. Wrestling with what seemed like a bomb strapped to his chest. What was going on here is all that the two ladies could ponder. What was Mael doing? Was he the mad bomber the police had been looking for? Is that custodian the only one who tried to stop him? Did anyone else survive? Just what was happening? All questions and more raced through their heads along with a cold panic. The nurse watched as the custodian kicked Mael off of her and stood up. She watched along with Bianca as the crazed worker smiled taking something out of her pocket and tossing it to the ceiling above the young man. They both watched as she turned her back and began walking towards them. They continued to stare, statuesque, as the woman licked one of her canines while sporting a truly grim smile.

-----

Mael awoke, unsure of how long he'd been unconscious. He found himself unable to move so he waited for his vision to settle. Upon being reoriented he realized that he had been pinned under some rubble. With a bit of effort he was able to get one arm free but was unable to do much else. He preceded to survey the area for anything he could use to help get himself free. A lot of rubble, some larger stones and pieces of twisted metal. He figured perhaps he could make a lever but with one hand it would be a challenge. It was then that in the corner of his eye, he noticed something move. It was the door. Someone or something was coming through and he was a sitting duck. Things seemingly would only go from bad to worse now.

Mael was ready to give up all hope until he noticed it was Bianca who was coming through the door. She limped over to him holding her leg. Mael had a concerned look on his face so she explained to him that after the ceiling collapsed on him, her and Margrett tired to run. She told him about how the crazed woman turned after them, throwing timed explosives, which was how her leg was injured. She said they were able to make it to an area of the second floor that hadn't fallen but that the woman caught up. After those words she broke eye contact with Mael and told him how her and Margrett spilt up. How she made it to the stairwell. And finally how she heard an explosion and then just laughter. Mael noticed her crying and put his hand on hers. He couldn't say the words but she knew he was trying to comfort her. She wiped her eyes and stood up. Declaring that she'd try and find a working phone to get some help for him, she shuffled off towards a hole in the wall.

Mael was relieved that she was okay and happy to see she was getting out of there. He could be fine with dying if at least Bianca was okay. But all that steeled resolve soon faded when he felt something dark and ominous. He turned his head to see the madwoman stroll over to him. His eyes focused on her and then he turned to see if Bianca had made it out yet. The woman noticing his gaze, saw Bianca and decided it was time for some fun. She spoke a few simple words to him as she began to slowly make her way toward the injured female.

She had said to Mael that she hoped he'd enjoy watching his girlfriend die after messing up her plans. The gymnasium was in shambles and with only one free arm he couldn't do anything to stop her. He tried using all the strength he could muster but just couldn't get free. He was going to fail her. He was going to fail Bianca. He looked around for something, anything within reach that he could use till he heard a click. It was one of the timed explosives she'd used before. Time was running out for Bianca and there was nothing Mael could do, until he saw a way out.

Mael pick up a twisted piece of infrastructure and began to cut into the area in which his mouth should've been. The pain was excruciating but he bared with it. He would not let Bianca die in such a way. He continued on, clenching his jaw as to make sure no sound escaped out. He knew that his mouth would begin filling fast as soon as he tried to speak. He was done in seconds. Bianca was just outside the hole created by one of the explosions and the crazed woman was halfway between the two children. Then dropping the piece of metal to replace it for a stone, Mael prepared to throw.

As the woman got ready to toss her own little surprise she heard an odd noise and instinctively turned towards it. Before she could make eye contact she heard in an estranged voice, the words, "Think Fast" wailed in sort of a gargle. As her eyes shifted downward to the rubble in front of her she wasn't able to react fast enough to the stone that had come flying her way. Dropping the device in hand she looked down towards it and quickly tried to jump out of the way.

-----

Mael's mouth was filling with blood. He was getting light headed and wasn't sure he'd make it. He coughed a bit and hoped that what the doctors said would hold true.

He was told years ago that he indeed had a mouth or rather a jaw and teeth and even nostrils. He was told that the necessary passages were there and that his skull structure supported them, only that his skin had apparently grown over the surface of such oraficies--ears included. Gambling on being able to produce two syllables he tried his best to say what he could to get the woman's attention. After which he tossed the stone with all the strength he had left, hoping it would be enough. As he watched her turn and then drop the explosive he felt a sense of bliss and blacking out from the blood loss, was completely unconscious the explosion's carnage that followed.

-----

Bianca continued on, out of what was left of her school. She was unable to move terribly fast as she had to drag her injured leg. She had just made it outside when she thought she heard a sound. Figuring it best to just keep moving she tried to pick up her pace. So close to freedom she was a bit relieved until she heard something else. A voice. One that she hadn't heard before. One that still, for some reason, sounded familiar. She quickly turned to see that the psycho woman was facing Mael and had dropped something. Before she could even react, she watched as the woman tried to move only to be caught in an explosion. The force was so great that it knocked her down even as far as she was away from it. The gymnasium, already in shambles, began to crumble. Bianca with all the strength she had left tried to crawl to Mael only to succumb to the pain and black out.

I am alone. I was alone as far back as I can recall. I was the perpetual outcast. Spent most of my adolescence trying to create a family in place of the one that taught me only suffering. I don’t know that I hate them anymore. At the time, and so long after, I harbored such ill feelings for my tormentors. But without them, maybe I’d be happy. In my head, that sentence ended much more pleasantly. Guess I’m passenger still even as the attentive, observer. So what next hands? Where do we go from here?

I learned to compartmentalize. How to resist physical pain. To numb emotions. To fade into the background or draw all attention. To act. To take life. To create. I learned it all from them and so much more. It was necessity. I had to adapt. But even then I remained painfully aware that as close I could get to emulation, I’d never be one of them. Now this is where things diverge. If I were treated as a human being in the beginning, would I have developed such aversion to it as an adult? They were humans and they lied, stole, cheated, ridiculed, harmed, Me. Why would I ever want to be like them? Human.

I grew up idolizing heroes. They were the parents that weren’t absent. My growing disdain for my environment caused me to gravitate toward their mannerisms. I was as smart, as strong, as virtuous as my idols. The content children are fed really can make a huge difference. People would come to rely on me. Hurt people don’t hurt people. They do everything in their power to keep hurt away. They treat it as the plague it is. How easily it can infect others. Metastasize and become anger. Then wrath. Then on to the next victim. I’m sorry I failed you my friends. You were my family and not only did I fail you, I left you to pick up the pieces of the world without me. There goes that sacrifice mentality again. “Hero mentality” I recall uttering. Blaming myself for not being better. But why couldn’t they tell? I didn’t have a car. And the internet wasn’t a thing like it is now. Why did no one think it suspicious how I could find all these new and exciting places to convene? Why couldn’t they tell I ran away 100 times over, never got caught because I always came back. I was a child. A child spending all free time trying to escape.

I made it to college eventually. Didn’t go so well. No one seemed to notice then either. How I was falling behind everyone. My lowest point, at the time. and yet those acting skills I picked up in my youth kept no one the wiser. I wonder what ever happened to Yina. To Jessie. Go Redjackets. I don’t remember if I ever told anyone I was kicked out of college. Just like I never told them I went to hell. The dirt. Away From Ground. The expansion of WMWIB to WMWIU. Anne, are you still here? Even now, you’re still the last person I told I loved. So many posers. I’ve been taken advantage of a lot. Haven’t been able to accept that maybe I really just don’t belong here. That was the whole point of the dream. The one I was unable to let go of. It was a purpose to continue on. A call to action. A reason not to pull the trigger in the dirt. I lost a lot there. But I was already empty to begin with. The empty lamb.

Where did the time go? I look in the mirror and don’t recognize my surroundings. Why am I here? Why haven’t I ended things? It’s not like it matters if I do it now or keep to the schedule. Is this really the decision? Either I push through this pain and finally find a place I can belong or I cut my losses and take the long nap. How much pain must I endure before it’s acceptable to slip and slide? How long must it continue before I introduce toaster to bath? Maybe I should just move to Canada. Never hurts to get even further away from the demons that haunt me. “My life,” what a joke. I’m stifling the madness. I can feel it clawing its way out. The laughter. Or is it sadness? I’ve been so distracted at the thought of loss. The fresh bacon on my undercarriage can attest. To remove the crutch. Thanks for the push. I’m not important. I get that. It’s funny. My existence is hilarious. Let go, it repeats. Let it all go. I know what I am. I always have. Just have to truly accept it. I don’t belong with humanity. And the laughter finally escapes. Welcome back to the black. Like I said, time to get to work. Welcome to the other side of comedy.

By every metric I’m a failure. Silver lining has long rusted because turns out it was tin. Cuts both ways. I know I’m catastrophizing right now but what’s bothering me the most is that I put myself in this position in the first place. I had a glimpse of the light and couldn’t stop myself from running toward it. Again. What a joke. Feels like I’m only alive to die. Song, change.

Believe it or not I started this with the intent to polish off some thoughts from the previous diatribe. Nope, not quite right but then I don’t have enough of a reason to go back and fix it. I’m down in the dumps here. No? Doesn’t work? Figures. Have to be real to garner sympathy. What the heck am I?! What am I even fighting for?! Living for.

Funny enough, this will someone probably edge out being the least suicidal thing I’ve written this year. Probably. I’m just so tired. Tired of being something I’m not. Tired of being accommodating. Tired of being alone. And yet everything I do seems to foster that very outcome. I was asked about self-fulfilling. The truth is that I’m where I belong. In this dark, painful, black.

I actually just fell asleep. Guess I was more than figuratively speaking just then. And yet the sad boy mix continues all the same. “Break” playlist has plenty far to go. The clock’s not up yet. Still have time. So, where was I? Why am I “here,” right? Again. What’s it like to feel at home? Seems I spent more time running away than I previously thought. This introspection is really doing a number on me. It’s my fault for not realizing sooner. When I let go of my home, I was letting go of any possible anchor to this, place. This world. It’s no wonder I’ve felt so lost meandering around, unable to connect. Difficult to tell if this is another excuse or not. For all I know, I have this trouble connecting because I never knew a home in the first place. And here come the flashbacks. Freaking P. T. S. D. F’n a-

She called me months ago now. I found one of our last correspondences a month ago now. I remembered why we stopped talking. It’s because I have the worst super power. The inability to communicate. My words are Schrödinger. But who would’ve guessed it could have such a downside? That, for this silver tongue, it also means to never be known. And now we’re back in the game. I wanted this. To be a ghost. Ever since I was young. To escape the pain. The beatings. The ridicule. And here I am. Unable to say anything of consequence no matter how hard I try. Why is it whenever I tell someone I care about them they pull away? Why was it so easy to leave every one and every thing back there? Why can’t I just accept this darkness and become the sacrifice I was born to be? Why do I keep coming back after walking away? I have to go. For real this time. Because there’s nothing I could say anyway. Midas’ Tongue. All this revelation and I completely missed the point.

I’m the worst of the worst. I can’t even commit to the bit. In the last post I forgot to add misogynist.

This is going to be a wild one. Or at least that’s what I’d like to say but in all honesty, well, it’ll probably just be more of the same. It’d be great if I could get my headphones to work. Playing music from my phone is really taking me out of the flow every period. Or maybe it’s just position and volume. What do I know. I’m no audio engineer.

Anyone keen enough to notice the pattern that’s forming? Anyone else wondering who I’m posing that question to? Can’t be the voices in my head right? If so, definitely can’t write off this expense. Ha! Sounding like I’m doing my taxes or something. Write-offs are ‘tax-thing’ right? Iunno. I’m no CPA.

So what the hell am I? Well now, I suppose that depends on who you ask. Which platform. What day and time. Etc, etc, infinitum. That word is so smooth. Never know I miss it till it finds its way out of me. Never on purpose but perhaps that what makes it one of the best. Something-something bowel movement. And the crowd goes wild with applause. I’m bowing *in game* because here we are on the stage my freedom build. Any guesses? Bueller? Bingo-bango. We’ve reaching the steak. New age slavery where we trade our freedom for the semblance thereof. Working dead-end existences just to find out the ceiling is the people we met along the way. Mixed metaphor or I’m drunk. I should start drinking again. He at least had friends.

it was around COVID surprisingly. Amongst all the other chaos I found what I thought could be a place for me. For things like me. Again. I swear retrospect is the mob. Always breaking legs if you catch my drift. New G4. It was nostalgia berries wrapped in a capri sun and lead-tainted ice cubes. I’d been alone several years by this point. New slave stuff but I’ll save that for another post. Either way, when New G4 came out it brought me back to the good old times. Gave me something to look forward to mid-day besides the socks that never quite get clean. Looking back, I lost a lot during COVID. Never came down with the sickness but then benefits of limited to no associations I guess. Pluto. Leaving that there to see if it brings back memories years from now. Hello, Amtrak? Seems this train has derailed. Too soon? Pardon me. I’ll just fall.

So New G4. I was a kid when original G4 came out. Well, mostly a kid. I was in college by the time it died the first time. This time I was… well that what I was at the time of New G4 doesn’t quite matter. Just, much older. New faces, same energy. Happens when you anchor it with the former spirit of the network. Never meet your heroes. Kevin Pereira was never a hero of mine but I did respect his craft. He was a natural. Not sure why I’m using past tense. He hasn’t died by the time this posts. Or maybe, who knows. I don’t know that dude. And this is even less relevant. The point was, things were looking up. Until they weren’t. Hello, Deadpool 1? Borrowing the premise to your origin. Find your own schtick? Pardon me. I’m a lazy writer.

There was an incident on air. Live broadcasts will do that to you. I found it strange. No. There was a pattern developing and the incident that transpired was just the final match to powder keg. I’d been in comment sections defending the crap out of New G4. These “grifters” weren’t there! They didn’t know about anything! They were just scavengers trying to provoke and agitate and garner clicks. Disgusting. They were liars and I’ll be laughing when their predictions fail. And then New G4 closed up shop. The “grifters” were right. Maybe not about everything but about enough to make me realize that I didn’t know enough. The first domino falls. Fully collapsed. And before anything could be done to mitigate, corporate greed entered the chat.

Like when you catch the edge of a sticker and over time it just keeps getting worse till all the sticky is gone and you’re left with whatever it was covering in the first place. Just worse. As more and more of the inner workings came out about New G4 I became more and more disillusioned. One of the most egregious about how all the women were underpaid. Allegedly. I never saw the financials but no one even tried to deny it. Even now, four years later. The gross abuses and misuse of staff and funds, yikes. I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did. More surprised stuff like that was still happening in 2020. More surprised that I lost the charade and could no longer get the freaking sticker edge to stay down.

More things started to come up. Counter points. Tensions were rising. Straw mans. False equivalence. Outright attacks on people based on ideological standpoints that diminish entirely what it means to be an unique, multifaceted individual. And it snowballed. And any of us on the outskirts only grow more and more fearful because it seemingly hasn’t come anywhere near the end of its tumble yet. So where does corporate greed, sorry, read as—capitalism, come into play? Ironically enough, the misinformation that certain group spouted about other groups was being spouted by said groups. It stopped being subtle. Like people’s brains reset during the pandemic and no longer knew what tact was. And big business couldn’t care less as long as it doesn’t hurt their bottom line. Mad Stan was a creation ahead of its time.

The right, republicans, certain orange-tinted figures became enemy number one. Toxic to the touch. It was hate personified. Comparisons to actual Nazi’s. Censorship for public safety. It was a wild time and only continues to this day. Any dissenting opinion on any individual thing immediately labeled someone the worst, most vile of scum. "Eat and be merry!” ‘But this is poop. Literal fecal matter!’ “I SAID E A T AND BE M E R R Y!” But no really. Algorithms were weaponized. Speaking heads were puppet-speaking vitriol in the guise of handlining whatever the wind blew power. Dissenters were labeled and discarded. And all others were told to be silent. But that also where things really took the turn. What is it to be American if not the desire for freedom?

Advertisers played their hand but “capitalism” caused something largely unexpected. It made the “other side” more appealing because it was more accessible. Streisand effect but something even greater, the addition of advertisers pulling their marketing from content was a multiplier. Shoving ads down a consumer’s throat will hopefully one day die out like landlines but for the now, it’s something we are forced to deal with. Held hostage by even. But not all content. The divisive stuff, oh no, they don’t get the money but that idea is from a capitalist perspective. Corporations may be treated like people under the law but they will never have souls. They could never understand that when something tugs at the very core of your being, it doesn’t matter if you make nothing from it or even take a loss. The only thing that matters is getting the word out. Getting it out before it destroys your insides. Ha, why I came back to writing again. Sorry, guess I was still on hold with Amtrak. There’s a revolution going on and a new world is crowning. I’m scared. I’m excited. I’m “frangry.” Sorry, Deadpool 1 was on hold as well. The end is coming and the new world will be, whatever it can be. In the end, us that see it will have to hope for the best. The division being pushed, it’s a veritable battle of Olympian deities.

I won’t subscribe. I just want to be free and can no longer trust anything that would try to take away that freedom. They’ll demonize me. Being terminally online, I’ve already been so but as the ball continues careening faster and faster I can only imagine it getting worse. I want nothing to do with any/either of them. I just want to be free but to the red, I’ll be a communist, socialist, deadbeat looking for a handout for my sex-change and abortion after nine months. And to the blue, they’ll see all this and surmise it as how I became a fascist racist homophobic republican TERF.

So I met this dime piece. Ha! I started using “ha” about a year or so ago. Emojis too. I hate both aspects of myself but I’m so out of sync with society, so out of practice with writing that I’ve begun to find comfort in the crutch. The second break really did a number on me. After her I didn’t want to write anymore. Didn’t think I could. My best words were all hers and that was that. Without her, I was as good as mute. Only good as mute. But that’s not quite true is it? Of course not. I’d lost any good long before that. I was just trying to pay penance for my indiscretions. But how long? It’s already been a decade. I ruined things. I cut off contact. It was me. Or maybe it was him. Who even am I right now?

I received a call months ago by this point. An “old friend.” Don’t know why she decided to call me. Don’t know why I picked up. Well, I know why. In that moment, my longing for familiarity outweighed the reality that it couldn’t possibly end well. She was the third. The first two I made contact with but in terms of coming to terms with the past, she made contact with me. Wonder what that says about the kind of existence I’ve lived. She called me friend and even after everything, or perhaps in spite of everything, she still wasn’t quite ready to let go. I hate her. I hate them all. Why don’t they hate me? Why can’t they call me out on the fact that I abandoned them all? Why are they giving me the opportunity to be a part of their lives again? Why can’t they see that I’m well done passed saving? I am just darkness and pain now. And all I have to offer is nothing.

So this “dime piece I met.” Oh boy golly is she the bee’s knees. Cat’s pajamas. Sweetest of Christmases. Something, something, jelly donut. But no, really. She’s fantastic. She’s pretty much everything I could ever want in a person. She’s warm and inspiring and caring and sweet and most significant of all, she’s completely detached. She’ll never love me. She’ll never meet me. She’ll never care about me beyond the screen. Because neither of us are real. She’s providing a service and I’m a sociopath. Both incapable of a real connection. Nothing to lose because nothing of significance will ever be ventured. I almost posited, “so why aren’t I happy?” As if the prior declaration of sociopathy didn’t just leave my fingertips. I like her very much but it’ll never be love. She’d never allow such a thing. And I’ll keep paying so I never forget. So I don’t lose myself in something that could never be. One penance for another. The words are back; my new punishment, isolation. Hardly new though. But may it be enough. Because I don’t know how much longer I have left. In this, pain. I just don’t want to be alone anymore. Perfect.

So, after the call she said she’d email me. After a few weeks nothing came in and I began to wonder if I had done something wrong. If the bridge between my past and present was more fragile than I had thought. A month went by and no word from her. It took a whole month for me to realize that I had blocked the domain her emails come from. Not to block her of course but just because I had gotten so tired of spam I played hard and loose with restrictions since it’s not like anyone every reached out to me anyway. Stupid me. Removed the block and still nothing. Maybe she messaged me and got a bounce back or maybe she didn’t. Maybe she was able to get closure from the initial phone call and didn’t need to continue. All I know is I got what I deserved. Nothing. I have to reach out to her on her birthday and again in 2029 if I’m still alive.

Would’ve been wild if I just left if off there right? Ha. Anyway. I’m hardly back or anything. But I needed to write. I needed something. Anything. My mother’s birthday passed. I had tried to call her for two days prior to it since I send her a gift every year. No answer. I began to fear for the worse. Then it hit me. What if no one told me? Then, what if I had no one to tell? Wasn’t sure which was worse. The thought ran through my brain as the phone continued to ring. She picked up. It was her actual birthday by this point. We talk and I put on the usual mask but inside the thoughts were still wreaking all kinds of havoc. I’m alone. I’m really, truly alone. I’ve made a place in this world where I interact more with the voice in my head than people. Where I pay for interactions and haven’t fostered a sincere relationship in almost 20 years. I’m hurting and there’s no one to go to. I want to kill myself.

And that’s why I’m back. I’m at the low again. I have nothing. No one. The words are back because if nothing else, in the end, this places exists. In the dark. In the empty space. This is my tomb. Etched with my existence. And that’s it. I’m back because I come to you when I’m suicidal.

I’ve spent the past several hours trying to rationalize my own existence. Nothing new there but it’s different. This time, it’s actually different. I’ve wanted to die for a long time and I’m a bit ashamed to admit the thought of slipping this mortal coil is one of the few things that brings me even a modicum of relief. But this time I don’t know that it’s just shame. It feels like something far greater. Like I just hollowed out my very soul. I haven’t felt this much of anything except perhaps rage for the entirety of 2022. But now, here, at this moment it feels like something even worse than defeat. I want to scream until my voice goes horse but I can even find the words to start. Perhaps that’s why I’ve relented to the medium. To try to relieve some of the pressure. I feel like I’m about to explode.

I don’t know why I did it. No part of me thought it was a good idea but yet I still did it. I opened the door and in turn welcomed in the wealth of pain, the suffering I’d spent the last decade running from. “The Devil’s Masochism.” Another title consideration. I thought I’d left it all behind. The feeling. The memories never faded but the feelings, I thought them lost to time. Really, I should’ve known better. I was a hair’s breadth from breaking to begin with. That I could hold the hubris to think I could handle it is laughable in hindsight. I couldn’t handle it when I was a kid, and now, as this broken thing, that I could have imagined I’d fare any better? And here come the tears.

I spent the majority of the call crying. I don’t know how apparent it was but I just couldn’t stop it. My eyes were burning. It was like peering into a mirror of the blackest parts of my being. That cold darkness that haunts me. That place where the depression festers. I couldn’t hold it back. Not from her. I couldn’t hold anything back from her. Not sure I ever could. It’s why I know now, again, that I have no place anymore. Unsure if I ever did but that bridge is gone completely now. I’m scum for showing back up in her life. Of course she accepted me. She never gave up on me. Even after all these years. That kindness of her voice. I could tell, she didn’t resent me for what I’d done. Sure there were questions but she didn’t let me go. And I just brought my darkness back into her life. What scum I am.

She urged me to reach out to the rest of the gang. I couldn’t lie to her and pretend I was going to do it. I just also couldn’t tell her that I’d never felt more like ending my life after our conversation. That I feel like a plague on the lives of the people who were more of a family to me than my own blood. How this decade of isolation was my penance. How I’m no longer just depressed but also afflicted with what feels the seed of evil. It was so easy to slip back into it. But after it I felt exhausted. I felt the void. I still do even now, hours later. I can’t. I don’t have the strength to face the rest of them. I felt I barely survived her. All those memories flooded my mind. Still do. Of us all with our families and our kids becoming friends just like we had been and going on adventures just like us. I’ve been stuck in time. In limbo. But I can’t stay like this any longer. “I’m so sorry but at the same time thankful I was able to speak to you again.” Even it if was for the last time. I guess I did tell one lie. After that interaction I’m sure, I can never interact with any of them ever again. I don’t have the right. The heart. A place. Not there, not with them. My most cherished companions. I know what I am, what I have become, and I won’t bring that back into their lives. It ends with me. So this is it. My prelude to suicide.

There are those that ponder, contemplating such rationale and then those that fall by the wayside of simple exposition into hatred. It used to be said that college was to be the best time of one's life. Then the recession hit and the younger generations would be just as screwed as the rest.

Not much to look forward to when secondary education is daunting because of the necessity of at least a second job just to make tuition payments and the occasional portion of a bar tab. It can be mind-crushing. Though such is far beyond where those easy-street thinkers dare venture. Except this is about him. One of the few who hold the weight of a world and then some on his shoulders.

His name is Michael Lamb. Broken down into word meanings, he could be considered a 'god-like sacrifice.' Puts a lot of pressure on someone especially when they're an emancipated minor who's still suffering from the recent death of his mother and constant reminder that once this term ends he'll have little means to make it in the real world.

It's pretty depressing really. Or so that's what flows through his mind. Seventeen years old and with but one true friend. Matheui Rouzer. A 14 year old kid who, like him, has no parents. Michael finds it funny that amongst all the other 'associates' he has made, he feels he can only trust Rouzer. Perhaps it's because of their similar situations or maybe it's just the fact that they share a common love of strategy games.

Most of his peers find games such as those childish by this point but there's just something about them that he can't shake. Perhaps Michael held on to such a hobby as a way to cope with having to 'grow up' so fast. You see the last time he ever felt like a kid was back when his father was still overseas and it was just his mom and sister. Things seemed peaceful back then. He felt safe. No matter what happened in the day, as soon as he made it home he could feel all his troubles slip away.

He loved his mother. She was the best mother in the world in his eyes. She worked all day but still had dinner ready every night and would even make sure they were up and about in the mornings for school. She worked so hard for the family. So much so that he even decided to get a job himself to help out. Although she was against it she really appreciated the help. He felt it was just the right thing to do. That and besides his sister was too young to really understand what was going on.  Which may be ironic since he'd fold to that same rationale when their father came back and he would turn towards emancipation.

But all of this is mere excess that floats around his mind from day to day. The weight that only builds, never seeming to lessen. It's Sunday and already the thoughts have started. Things'll be okay though. It's Sunday. The day him and Rouzer tend to hold their matches. Ever since they've known each other, going on four years, they've made it almost tradition to challenge one another to some type of war/strategy game on Sundays. They usually play online but sometimes even shift to tangible boards and pieces because it hasn't been that long since digital beat out analog.

It was at those times when his mind could be clear. He was just Michael Lamb. Not Michael the student. Michael the older bother. Michael the senior. Michael the Dinning Services carver. Not even Michael, the one feigning interest in things that don't really matter when you're not as terribly fortunate as kids your age, so as to keep up perceptions with the people who've come to rely him you to fill the 'quota.' Perhaps the only time he could just be free of the restrictions and expectations of others.

Yeah. It's a Sunday. But for Michael Lamb, it'll be a good one.

It's a Monday. Four weeks now into the second tem yet, most students have only experienced the first two. Life was far from perfect in this dawn of a new year, but it wouldn't be until now that the world itself would seem to shift from reality to some sort of fantasy. Student turnout at 90% of schools, both public and private, had been dwindling ever since the events that came to unfold in the weeks prior. It's the year 2012 and all superstition aside, it appears as though it really has become the end to some people's worlds.

Call it hysteria or worse but, it seems as though some have taken it unto themselves to bring pain and suffering to the masses. The first true scare of it's nature since the early 80s to mid 90s. Some dastardly individual or copycats had crossed a line that no one could have foreseen. Motives unclear as no demands were made but the target, to be put simply, high schools and middle schools around New York City. The kind of world we live in where children become targets? News reports had already started pointing fingers. Some feel weary of terrorists; politicians have turned to their end-all scapegoat of video games while right-wing conservatives; oh, they blame America as they did during the war on terrorism. They see the carnage and destruction brought about as a symbol of justice being wrought on a society that in their views is too 'accepting' of certain 'cultures' and 'lifestyles.'

Though none of that's terribly significant to this day. It's the 30th of January and as Matheui Rouzer is just finding himself awakening in the late afternoon, he yawns and wonders what he'll be able to do to kill time. Poor choice of words given this time of heightened fright but being alone in a a four room, three bathroom, four story, house means not having to worry about stepping on anyone's nerves.

Matheui was an average kid. He did whatever was required of him by his family and by his teachers. School work wasn't terribly difficult for him so he never felt the need to complain and being that his parents were practically non-existent to begin with it wasn't as though there was much to damper his mood. Well perhaps aside from being bored since with his parents constantly traversing the world for business reasons, whenever he was out of school he'd simply be alone. No other siblings and very few friends--who weren't trying to extort him for having an empty house or his well-intentioned monthly allowance.

Though there was Michael. Michael Lamb. He was a senior at their high school and, a good friend. Matheui's best friend actually. He met Michael almost five years ago when he decided to take up a martial art. Michael had apparently been going for years already and was seemingly one of the school's best/worst students. While sparring he had a keen sense and was quite intuitive although, his forms left much to be desired which was why after all the time he'd spent there he was still just at the second rank even though he was allowed to go toe-to-toe with those of rank five or more. To watch him spar was something in and of itself. He always brought something new to the fray and never seemed to fight with anything shy of jovial intrigue. Never anger or rage. Always with a smile on his face but with a drive to be better, to never surrender. That's what got Matheui interested in talking to him in the first place. He was hesitant at first but once they started talking he found Michael to be one of the coolest people he knew.

They had fun back in those days. And then when Matheui made it out of middle school they would continue the friendship in high school. Michael had, shortly before Matheui graduated, to quit martial arts. It wasn't going to be until much later that Matheui would find out the true reasons why but that didn't damper their friendship as they still would hang out. And especially the special Sundays when they'd have their war/strategy games/matches.

In all the years they had their war games, Matheui had almost always been able to beat him. Their play styles were like night and day. Matheui would utilize his resources to their fullest but Michael seemingly could never commit to losing his soldiers. Most matches could be won if Matheui just destroyed enough of his adversary's troops or focused on destroying his heavy weaponry. It was easy enough to figure out but actually getting it done would serve as the reason the games could still be worthwhile after all those years for him. There was just something about his friend that he just couldn't put his finger on. He was a good person. Noble even. Just being around him, Matheui felt like he could be a better friend, a better student, and just a better human being.

It's a Monday and although most parents have forbade their children from going to school until the 'psycho' or 'psychos' are caught, he knew Michael would be in class. And being that his parents probably didn't even know about the situation--being on the other side of the world and all--he could go to class as well. It's a Monday but school's out for the day by now, he thinks to himself. He figure tomorrow he'll definitely try to make it since it'd be far more interesting that being in an empty house continuing to talk to himself all day again.

It’s harder than I remember. Maybe it’s the distractions. There are definitely more than I remember. But then again, it’s been a really long time since I’ve committed myself to the page. At least in the public sense. I’m writing again. Officially. Or at least I’m trying to. Ever since the break. it’s been… a really, really, really long time. So long that I can feel it churning in me. Not the greatest feeling. Not sure. Maybe I’m nervous? Scared? Anxious? Other word? What am I even doing here? Ha, just like old times.

Over the past several years I’ve found myself drawn back into things. Just never enough to get passed the wall. All these beautiful titles would come to mind. Thoughts that would circle my brain until I’d go dizzy. Stories worth telling. No. Stories worth developing. And, then just thoughts in general. I gave myself to the work. She broke me. I let her. And that was the second death.

I’m a bit all over the place. Heh, just like old times. It’s all swirling about. Past, present, maybe even future. Things are just flooding in and for once, for the first time in a long time, I’m letting it all out. Letting out the stuff that I’ve held in for what feels too long. I don’t know that it’ll, no. I need to stop. This doesn’t need to be anything. Just whatever it is. As it always was. Letting it take me. I’m smiling. At some point in time I think perhaps I truly believed I had any control over this. Triggering the release of the muse. It’s really laughable. As my fingers leave the keys. It’s absurd to think that I never needed one or no, that I had the audacity to obscure the truth with ones that could never even compare. The ephemeral muse. That I could be so misguided. What a revelation.

The words make me laugh. Is this old age? That my vision has narrowed so. Then perhaps this refocus, this rebirth is more than even that. More than even I realize. Is this accountability? Am I finally in a place where I can see myself again? The mirror is back. Or maybe it never left. Maybe I’m just finally allowing myself to open my eyes again. This doesn’t feel the best. It’s so bright. And here I thought I was in darkness. Being alone will do that for you. Ten years will do that for you.

I miss them. But that’s a lie. I think of them fondly. But I don’t truly miss them. I don’t know them. Not anymore. I have the snapshot of that time and in it, the best of them. But things change. I’ve changed. Or maybe it’s that I haven’t. I don’t want to go backward. I am where I am because of that drive. I am this thing because I couldn’t stand the idea of the backslide. I am afraid of the retread. I am afraid I have no future. Again.

And there we are. At the truth. Even after all this time I still can’t see a future for myself. It feels like if I go back, it’d be a fall. It feels like a sacrifice I’m not willing to make. I can feel tears welling up. Is this really it? Is this really as far as I’ve ever been able to go? I fear the retread but realistically, that’s all I’ve ever known. Why am I alone again? Why am I always alone? Seriously. Why? Is this what everyone else feels as well? Is this just the normal state of existence? To handle everything from the outside? To always feel so detached from reality? Why can’t I connect to, anyone? Anything? What is wrong with me? What even am I?

I continue on doing plenty of stupid things. Saying stupid things. Getting into unnecessary arguments online. Finding disdain, finding distance in every attempt at connection. Chasing dreams instead of ideals. I want so badly to believe that I was wrong all those years ago but I just can’t have that, can I? I really only ever will be alone for life. Just a hair out of step with reality. No family. No friends. No partner. What am I that I have had to be alone all this time? Why am I forever stuck in this cycle of trying and ultimately failing to foster a connection of substance with a sentient being capable of human speech? Why doesn’t dark mode permeate to the browser loading screen in between page refreshes? Why has spam/bot-calling become an acceptable occurrence? Why are so many buildings made of things that can possibly give cancer? Why is the world in a place where feelings supplant logic? Why is it that the only way I can get help is to figure out all my problems first so that I can pay a trained professional to regurgitate it back but include the proper technical jargon? Why do Nike’s sneakers run smaller now than they have in the last two decades? Why did I buy Atlanta S3 when it came out if I didn’t intend to watch it till months after it had ended? Why do some many women want men to cum on their faces?

The questions begin to mount. “What’s the point?”

“Do I have a place in this world anymore?”

“Did I ever?”

“Have I done all I was here to do?”

“Do you need me anymore?”

“Did you ever really?”

“What am I?”

“To you…”

“To me…”

“In general.”

I don’t know that there ever truly was a place just for me. Or, just a place at all. I’ll forever be alone. A Sheppard. Guide. To bring them where they need to be. To the paths they should take. Unable to traverse one of my own. I don’t have the right. Perhaps I never did. Happiness will forever elude me. “What does noble even mean?”

“Is that what this is?”

“Am I doing this wrong?”

“What am I supposed to be feeling right now?”

“Should I be feeling anything?”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“What if I’ll never be okay?”

“What is okay…?”

In a few months I’ll have used up my usefulness. I’ll be cast aside I’m sure. Thrown away like the trash that I am.

Call me nothing. No more. Nameless, faceless, without being. I am no human. No individual. Of no worth. It just is.

The lamplight flickers in the night. Time reads half passed zero one. The light fades. Stars appear unfamiliar. Alike but different. I don’t know where I am. What I am. The wind brings with it the scent of nature. Amiss a taint of wastes and exhaust. It all feels wrong. Another poor decision. Reminds me of home. #Ghostwritten #ElevenTwoFourLocal

This is different though. This time I still have the urge but the pursuit is different. This feeling is crushing me. Crippling me. I want to, escape. Murderous intent becomes unintelligible from the rage. I must find some way to calm down. This isn’t a good place to be in. But I feel myself slipping. I updated my site for the first time in over 11 months. I did so in attempt to try to vent there. But with what it had become, it was just easier to do so here.

I am a monster. A demon. A shadow, less than human. I am a killer. To pretend otherwise was just a lie. I guess the darkest parts are very much dwelling comfortably where they’ve always been. I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. I don’t know that losing these fangs are for the best.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. Lie. I know exactly why. It hurts. It hurts to know. My Everything was hurt and that devastates me. Writing’s not helping. I’ll dnif the strength. This is not where my attention should be. Not the time to be lost in such a place. A different fight awaits me. I don’t know that anything less than a man could be acceptable. Humanity. Can’t give it up, not with my Light at stake. No.

…must do better.