10-18-3192

Things haven’t gotten better, those who I travel with are still upset, they’re still mourning over the child and it’s been some time.At least I think I’m feeling better, but I guess nobody really cares. I mean, why should they? Swift hasn’t talked to me ever since he buried the corpse and left a branch from a bush on top of the grave for some strange, odd reason. Rabies and Swift didn’t budge until they put him to rest, I figured it would be handy to cut some meat or a body part off in case we get into some kind of altercation between a rabid pack of those ugly mutated creatures that could make one sick.

I was close to leaving them behind. I think I’ll figure out what to do based on what happens tonight. I’ll see what I do.

9-9-3192

I used to think death would never touch me, but all I want now is for it to embrace me.

3-29-3192

No movement anywhere. I’ve been starting to wonder if we’ve wandered in the wrong direction, implying any one direction is worse than the other. I’m not the only one that has been starting to get curious. We barely talk to each other but every once in a while we share a story or two, basically consisting of murder and loot. Sometimes I’ll talk about the Dreamer and he’ll talk about his “famous” concoctions of chemicals and mutated plants. All natural he says, as natural as radiation poisoning.

Rabies is doing good, but there have been less and less vermin that he has been able to catch. Makes me think about the lack of life. The lack of life that’s  unusual. I feel like there hasn’t been much to do except walk, and for the first time, I’m actually hoping I’ll come across a town or something. I have steam that I have to let out. I have people that I want to kill. But no, nothing will let me get near what I want.

The Bandit, he has an eye for coordination. Which I thought was completely impossible due to the fact that he couldn’t even look straight when I first met him. He’s got this thing for colors. Most importantly, I don’t have to feed him. He manages to get his own food, and doesn’t bother gutting whatever I catch. I watch him as he opens the animal up and take out the intestines, stomach, heart, pancreas, and other stuff. He learned this from his family, though needless to say, they weren’t as enthusiastic about it as he was but in the end there wasn’t much they could say about it.

He said his name was Swift. I can see why anybody would call him that, which is probably why sometimes I wake up over three times a night and check to see if my throat isn’t slit.

He was looking out into the horizon when he told me that there was probably another town approximately 20 miles ahead. “I can smell the humanity.” He said, “And I know it’s not coming from you, Dollface.”

What the fuck is a doll?

I hate to say it, but he was actually right. He obviously didn’t smell the humanity, he fucked his nose up while snorting the wrong chems. Maybe he felt it? Yeah, I’m not too sure about that one either. The town was on the shore of a river, and there was only one building that seemed too be poorly stacked, yet stable. They have electricity, nearly every single window had light shining from it, the luxury is just. Wow.

We decided to hang outside for a little while trying to see if anybody would actually come outside and ask us why we were here or what we were doing. We ended up standing for an hour and then decided that we should at least take a look at this place. I noticed it was leaning forward a tiny bit, it didn’t seem like it was something that I should worry about.

It was empty.

Twenty stories and not a sound from anything other than the generator that kept all the lights running. We weren’t so sure what to do with this place, so I guess we did what anybody would do. Go through everything, pocket it, trash the place, get fucked up, rinse, and repeat.

My head hurts so badly. It’s been a long time since I actually had fun. I think Rabies is more drunk than Swift though. He dragged him into a bathtub and is cuddling him. I underestimated the strength of my bunny. Especially when I woke up with his leash wrapped around my torso.

Maybe this no people thing might work out for the better.

Catch up if you’re lost, or else nobody will like you. http://thepostapocalypticpost.wordpress.com/2012/01/10/1-9-3192/

3-21-3192

Everyday I wake up with a corpse of a large rat staring at me. Personally, I enjoy the fact that I get gifts every morning from this cute little guy. I think I’m starting to feel a connection to it.

I haven’t encountered another person in some time and I feel like the only person left on this nearly lifeless rock. Sometimes, it makes me smile but otherwise, it doesn’t make a difference.

I thought that my blessing of being the only human left was gone when I came across a bandit camp. But I saw people still gathered around their extinguished campfire, lifeless. Emotion still visible on their rotting faces. I tore them apart searching for anything that could be of any help. I haven’t been able to replenish my supplies for some times and my water rations basically teases me with false hopes of hydration. I find canteens but all of the water was tainted and tasted of chems. I wasn’t looking for chems, and I definitely wasn’t looking for water that tasted like shit, but I couldn’t do a damn thing about it and took a deep breath before I emptied a canteen. I nearly choked on it, and the taste wouldn’t leave my mouth even after eating a little bit of food. I reasoned as best as I could while I felt the stuff kicking in, it was… it was nice. It was soft and heavy. I liked it, and I nearly let myself fall asleep. And then I could feel my heart racing at an alarming rate and I immediately  threw all of the water I had drank up and onto the dry dusty ground. I’m a fucking idiot.

I sat there for a little trying to regain everything that had been sedated by the poison. I had to thank my weak stomach, but I knew it wasn’t because of what was in the water, but the fact that I took much more water than my stomach was used to. It was one of the most annoying things that I guess I shouldn’t bitch about. It took me a while, and Rabies caught me some vermin thinking it would get rid of whatever made me sick. There were four before I moved to get up and I think Rabies knew that her dedicated huntsmanship was what motivated me to get up. I went through the rest of their things and quickly tasted a drop of the other canteens, 2 out of 7 were clean. There were 6 bodies.

I stopped. I listened closely and started hearing slightly shallow breathing, coming from the tent behind me. I took  out my gun and cocked it. I didn’t even have to say anything before he came out with his arms up in surrender. His forearms were speckled with track marks and his whole body was shaking as he got out. I put my gun down, and took out my knife instead. With each step I took closer, the paler he got. “You were the guy that tainted the water in the canteens.” I took a step closer. He fell back. And scrambled onto his knees and apologized. He was chemed out of his mind, he couldn’t even hold his head up. So I asked him what exactly he did to the rest of his team.

Poisoned all the water except for a few, there was the canteen they passed around and their personal ones. He had a couple of canteens left of as-clean-as-water-can-get-for-the-Wasteland. I sat there and listened. I didn’t expect him to tell me why, but he did. Since when did people need an actual reason to kill somebody?

He did it for their stashes. He poisoned his friends after they took their nightly dose. He couldn’t look me in the eye. I couldn’t stand shame. I got up while he was talking and kept of going through everything holding something up to see if he screwed with it, he didn’t need to tell me but he did anyways. But after that, he was quiet. Only speaking when he nodded back into reality, letting me know he was somewhat alive. I went through the ashes of the fire that was last lit 3 weeks ago, and found a book of matches. Too upscale for a bunch of bandits. It still had six or seven matches left, it was light blue with faded golden letters embossed in it. I could only make out “H.C”, there was a smaller inscription but there was no way anybody could read it. I pocketed it but in case I had to burn this bandit alive while he sleeps.

I slapped him and asked him what he was on, he tried telling me but he couldn’t. I sat there and waited for him to sober up, occasionally dripping water in his mouth and keeping him on his side so he wouldn’t choke on his own puke.

I don’t know why I did it.

Lost? Here’s the first entry. Catch up. http://thepostapocalypticpost.wordpress.com/2012/01/10/1-9-3192/

2-10-3192

I’ve been keeping myself busy with all the things that don’t need to be attended to, but I do it anyways because I don’t really have much else to do. I’ve been sneaking back into people’s houses in order to look for that guy that this lady wanted me to find, you know since not a lot of people go outside anymore considering the recent massacre that took place. What if I find his corpse? Hell, I’d drag that all the way back to her just to see the look on her face.  Anyways, back to the massacre; it’s not entirely my fault. Well, yeah it is. At least I got paid for it, 10,000 bottle shards. DO YOU KNOW HOW RICH I AM? THERE’S NOTHING HERE THAT I CAN’T BUY! I could buy souls and sell them as though they were a set of old tattered books. Now tell me, did I do good?

I realized that I don’t really have a favorite color, but that doesn’t mean anything does it? I ended up talking o a little girl I met outside of a church that house injured Wastelanders, she told me that she loved the color purple. Purple? Nobody has seen a purple that hasn’t been turned to brown over 200 years ago. But alas, she has. She pulled out a little notebook of everything from the pre-rad era; it held colors, animals, myths and legends, and the idea of there only being one “God”.

I wanted to take the book from her but I really didn’t have enough time to kill her to take it. I’ll get to her in a couple of years I guess. Maybe she’ll be of some use to me. If I don’t die before that.

It almost hurts me when people look at me as if they could tell everything that I’ve done wrong. I almost laugh, I almost think of how further conversations would go between me and those who stare.  It never stops either. They look away as if looking me in the eye were to burn them. I can feel an anger go straight through my veins and it feels as if it’s trying to push its way out the same way I push the chemicals in with my syringe. It seems like a losing battle, but I have no other choice but to battle it while I watch it win.

Its times like these that make me feel as though there is something wrong with me.

What I really love is when I stand at the edge of a canyon or crater. Nothing ever manages to survive once they fall in. If the fall doesn’t kill them then the lack of everything, will.

Sometimes I just wonder what the dead do. I never followed a “religion” because my father always pointed out the things that were flawed about every faith we ever discussed. Most people do things to end up in a place of good or a place of suffering and torture. What? I don’t even understand the one about torture. We are living in the Wasteland, aren’t we? Where the summers get so hot and the winters so unbelievably cold; there is no torture that could be considered worse. It doesn’t help with all those people preach peace and burning people at the stake. I bet you that once they’re done with the burning the poor orphans that run around in rags and ill-fitting clothes gather around to eat those who have sinned. I basically figured out that in every religion there is, I’m going to a place that supposedly worse than the world I live in today.

I don’t know where I’ll go when my lifeless body hits the floor, but I think that I could be sent to the Void. My father told me about it. The place where time doesn’t exist. Neither does space. There is officially nothing there, it officially doesn’t even exist. It’s the idea of nothingness, the dread that fills you when you realize that everything that you have ever done never mattered in the end.

The Void exists inside of me. It resonates. No matter what I do.

I feel that dread with every breath I take.

 

1-28-3192

It feels like I’m dying slowly. I really fucked up this time, I was going to try and sell all of my chems to make up for the shards that I lost but this past week… I just don’t even know what happened to me. I left the house after breaking the barricade I put up at the door and ran for it. I owed the woman rent, after I splurged too. She yelled and ran after me until I left the town boundaries. She stood there cursing me as I turned around and flipped her off. My father used to do that whenever something like this happened to us. They never run after wastelanders, they’re so afraid of us. For every time we fight for our lives and come out on top, is everytime we looked into the eyes of our opponent and brutally take their life as though we were the god of death.

My body has been reacting big time, and it’s only been a couple hours since I last took a hit. I decided that I’m going to have to do something or have to seek the bandits out on my own in order to obtain some shards. My hands are shaking so badly that everything is taking much longer than I thought. There is nothing I can really do, but lay here for the next seven days. I would expect plenty more entries seeing that I’m broke and can only make off by robbing or pick pocketing those who happen to venture by. There is no use in trying to make friends here.

There never will be.

The need to sleep has been diminished. I don’t have a thing to do as I can feel my body fighting itself, my skin starting to burn, wishing I could peel it off as I groan in agony, and then my extremities start to grow stiff and cold. I placed my frozen hands on my face and let the heat transfer, giving me less than a moment of peace. My stomach burned as it ran on empty, but I wasn’t hungry. I started to wretch but I couldn’t manage to expel anything other than my own saliva. I don’t know why I go through this each time, I wait long enough for my body to get rid of it but there is never a way of my mind getting rid of the want. I want it more than I want to hurt other people. I want it more than anything I could ever think of. I want it more than I want my father to be alive.