Kelevra, pt 1: The Rift

So I was having a day of sorts. I got a fire going at one of the shrines and when I left, the proxies had been watching the whole time. I think now that they were baiting me. Seems like they finally got wise to what I was doing. It makes me wonder even further about the purpose of the shrines that they were so keen to defend them. Are they actually shrines? I mean, you get the odd fervent proxy, they're not unusual - but more often than not, they're not very religious. At least, not enough that desecrating a symbol alone would annoy them.

I haven't seen the tall one in months. I should be glad, but it's making me uneasy. Funny how this shit messes with you - you see it and you get paranoid, or you don't see it and you get paranoid. Anyway I get coughs, and the occasional nosebleed where the blood seems to have blackish streaks in it, so I don't think I'm "clean" by any means.

In the past few months I've been working on a weakness of mine. It's to a particular song. Which now I say it, sounds stupid, but those of you in the know . . . well, doesn't matter. After a lot of failed attempts, I came up with a solution to Pavlov my way out of this shit. Whenever I had nice food, I played music of a similar but not same genre. Then after a few sessions I switched to music more specific to the genre and era the song came from. It's taken a lot of getting used to, and more discomfort than I care to admit. Soon I need to try songs by the same artist. That will not be fun. Though it will be worth it. I doubt I'll ever be remotely OK hearing the song, but I need to be able to hold a gun steady.

Anyway. I picked a hideout a little too close to where I targeted. Meant I didn't have much opportunity to lose them, just to sweep up all my shit and go. When the sirens started, most of the proxies after me had to go back to base, presumably to help sweep up more of their shit before it became ashes or evidence. That still left quite a few after me though. I legged it deeper into the abandoned part of the industrial district.

Got pretty far, but carrying all my stuff, among them a rifle, was starting to tire me out. Worse still, under the thudding of pursuing feet I could hear the chamber of a revolver spinning. I glanced back over my shoulder - I needed a look at the gun. Glimpsed it. A Smith and Wesson probably - either way, always six shots on the revolvers that are that particular size. Dived into an alley just as he fired. That was one. Sprinted further along and dived behind a skip as he fired again. Two. That was when I noticed. Before he fired, his trainers made a distinctive crunch as he slowed to aim. Whether it was fleeing into another alley, stooping behind a skip or bin, that made it simpler to know when to take cover.

On the sixth shot I stepped out of cover and opened fire with my trusty Colt. Three shots and he was down. But different gunshot noise had alerted some of them, they came looking. Had to keep running. The scrap metal I kept seeing gave me an idea. I grabbed a sheet of what I think had been steel roofing and stood it in a narrower part up ahead as a barrier. As I put it into place I noticed a worn junction box up ahead with a frayed wires sticking out. That gave me another idea. I pulled a wire out of it by the safe part and tried to attach it to the metal. The bastard thing stopped just before it could touch the metal. I was determined this wasn't going to be a waste of precious running time though, so I took my water out my bag and filled in the remaining distance. It actually made the connection more secure than laying the wire on it alone. I didn't see exactly what happened after, but I did hear enough to know it worked. Have you ever heard someone try to scream but they can't open their mouths? And then another person, followed by another? Given the kinds of folk that read this, probably. But for the dilettanti - it's quite something.

I continued running until I got to an intersection of alleys. There was a glow of something in the corner of my eye. Two proxies lighting something up ahead of me. Molotovs. I fired, aiming for one of the bottles, the third shot hit. Flames and glass erupted on them both, and then again as the other bottle was dropped. They hit the floor, right onto the fire and shards. One way now blocked by fire, the way behind blocked by electricity, I tried for the left alley. A proxy was coming down it, grey hoodie. I went for the right, one that had set of fire exit stairs. Another proxy in a bandana. I fired a shot at Bandana and he hit the ground. I was about to charge past and away when both my legs were grabbed with a yell. I slammed against the floor hard. The breath shot straight out of me, and the gun fell from my grip. Very clever - Bandana dodging the shot and playing dead in one swift move. Watch out for that trick. I rolled onto my back and reached for the Colt. My fingertips just about brushed it before it was snatched up and I took the weight of Bandana to the chest. Not helped by the stench of body odour and Lynx. "Gotta thank her for whacking Ruby, now I can make captain!" 

I was trying to squirm out when the shadow of the grey hoodied proxy approached, then I had two people restraining me.

"Dead or alive?" asked Grey.

My pockets were turned inside out by Bandana fumbling for ammo, which he soon found, reloading. "Fucking dead."

Suddenly the dim from the flickering sodium streetlight was gone, eclipsed by a black shape. It was like an antimatter rift had opened up over us. With it came a loud, visceral tear - the aubade of something cutting insatiably through flesh and bone. Droplets of blood hit me. In the dark I could make out a spike sticking out of Bandana's mouth like a hook. It had been driven in savagely from the back of his head. Blood flowed over Bandana's dying lips in a closing red curtain. Grey could barely cry out.

Then the dark rift spoke - burning with excitement. "Fucking dead it is, then." The weight was lifted off me as Bandana was hauled up, up and away. The sodium light drifted back until the silhouette of Bandana's corpse was hurled into it, smashing the bulb. Complete darkness, followed by the rift laughing from indiscernible directions, then the gun hitting the floor of the alley. Figuring Grey was distracted, I kneed him in the balls, punched him across the face with all my might and rolled out from under him. He staggered, his jaw having been considerably loosened with a crack. Bandana's dead body fell down from the obscured heights.

I scrambled away, drawing my L1A1 and tucking myself behind the fire stairs. A relief that the light was gone. Darkness is a sanctuary. I heard some noises as Grey shuffled around. Then bright phone light glared at me. I fired. The bullet blew his skull apart in a red splatter.

Now I was starting to put it together. I picked up the phone and shone it up. The rift was gone. The laughter was familiar, the modus operandi, and one of the few monsters like that who would actually come to see me.

"Alright," I said, "come on out."

The fire escape stairs creaked. And then the voice reverberated through the alley, possibly from above. "My, my, so uncivilised . . ." Then a sliding sound. I could sense something traversing the darkness, now level with me. "But then again, looking at your handiwork, it's safe to say that civility is the last thing on your mind right now." When I turned around with the phone light, the admonisher was nowhere. Just the corpses still bleeding out. The source of the voice was now moving rapidly, shadows flittering. I looked right.

"In the four years of my absence . . ."

Left. Corpses.

". . . you've grown up . . ."

Right. Empty alley.

". . . become more vicious . . ."

Up. A vacant staircase.

". . . far more dangerous . . ."

Everywhere. The encroaching gloom.

". . . it's almost hard to believe it's you . . ."

I gotta keep moving, so I'll cut this post here. I'll tell you how our little meeting went soon enough though.

I'd been keeping watch

Specifically I returned to peek at my previous hideout. Why? Well, I knew they'd found where I was, and I knew they'd be back to search it. If I were trying to find me, that's what I'd do. So I'd been keeping watch on it for a while. As predicted, there were two people combing the place over, maybe around 4:00am.

Being robbed a few months back turned out to be a slight blessing here. There really wasn't much for them to find except a few discarded energy bar wrappers, painkillers, a hair comb, an empty lighter, a whetstone, toilet roll and some newspaper. Still, they picked the stuff up, and to my surprise, put it in ziplock bags.

In trying to sniff out my tracks, they neglected to cover their own. As they left I tailed them. I was expecting a safehouse. Instead, they took a dirt lane into some fields, unkempt, with tall grass and dry vegetation, rusting barrels and farming equipment, and then I saw it. A husk of a house, probably built in the 60s or 70s, but long abandoned like the fields, boarded shut. They faltered approaching it, but ultimately went in. It was maybe an hour before they came out again. I stayed in place. I wasn't ready. There could have been anything, anyone in there, and it was a long way from help. 

But I took it as a place of interest, and started to scout it out. Returned to keep watch on it a lot. Eventually put together a rough map of the area and the places I'd be best hidden, the easiest escape routes, and of course a vague understanding of the comings and goings. It didn't seem like anyone lived there at all, I would simply see one or two people going into the house from anywhere to half an hour to two hours, then leaving. They'd enter by pulling one of the boards aside. Sometimes they'd have those little ziplock bags. Most of the time they'd have regular bags or bin-bags, but they'd leave with them far less full.

So, eventually I decided to see what was in there. It was obviously not being lived in, and for a while, with old flattened green carpet. But someone was keeping it relatively tidy - there wasn't the usual rubbish, graffiti or used needles you'd expect. There was a bunch of cheap retro furniture inside, dirty mattresses tossed on the floor. But it was pretty bare otherwise, and I checked in all the containers I found, nothing of consequence. Well, there was B&Q receipt from 1997, but that's only mildly interesting because that's the year I was born. The attic was full of spiders, asbestos and little else. If I can credit my life experience with one thing, it's ridding me of my fear of spiders. They're pretty nice beings compared to what's truly out there. Hell, they're pretty nice compared to asbestos.

I continued keeping watch. Again, I would see people go in with things, and leave without. Then I'd go back in and find the place exactly the fucking same. Empty drawers, nothing new. I thought I was going crazy... well, crazier. It was... fucking maddening. 

Uncomfortable story short, I ended up punching the wall and left a dent. On one (pretty strong) hand, my training was paying off. On the other, I had now damaged the place in a way that might rouse suspicion, so no time for long term plans now. I kicked over a bedside table and it hit the mattress, and that's when the carpet moved weirdly with it. I lifted up the mattress, and that's when I saw the hole underneath it, cut out of the carpet, floorboards underneath pulled out, and a ladder descending into the black. Used my phone's torch to take a look. It was a cavern of sorts, crudely plastered, supported by beams, with a slice of carpet taken from the house leading to a vague pile, immersed in darkness. Going down the ladder was a surprisingly easy choice. I was kind of buzzing with happiness that I wasn't crazy- crazier. Whatever. Amazing what the smugness of being right can make you do.

It was a shrine to the monster. There were carefully stacked bones, some human I think, but some definitely not. Some branches from various trees, arranged into humanoid, elongated shapes. Masks, knives and hoodies. Erratic drawings and notes, in different frenzied handwriting and papers. An assortment of symbol-etched cups of blood, at varying stages of congealment. And most bizarrely a collection of completely normal but used everyday items - pieces of paper, pens, hair brushes, tissues, condoms, T-shirts, deodorant, toothbrushes. Sifting through all the crap, I saw my hair comb that I'd left, and my whetstone.

I pondered the significance. I even thought of asking you guys, but I didn't have time, and couldn't risk them knowing I'd found this place.

Do they think the monster is some kind of sniffer dog?

Fuck, is the monster some kind of sniffer dog?

I don't know whether it was functional or merely ritualistic, but decided I couldn't risk it existing either way. Now I needed to get rid of it all as quickly as possible. 

First thing, tied my jumper over my nose and mouth and ripped out as much asbestos as I could from the attic, dragging it out into the field. Then started pulling up the dry, dead foliage from the field. It took a couple of trips, but eventually I gathered enough to distribute around the house. Tore the boards off the house plus some more out the floor to get the oxygen flowing all through. Got my lighter. Struck it up. Fled.

Ahh. This was honestly one of the few pleasures I've had this year. It put me in a relatively good mood. I love fire. I love fire as much as I reasonably can. I love its light. I love its heat on my face. It cleanses. Breaks and makes molecular bonds. Rends the flesh from the bone. The fire burned bright and beautiful and red like Mars, smoke ascending to the sky. 

But I won't get too carried away with the memory. Need to stay guarded.

I've still been trying to get stronger. Standard training. But one of the things I need to do is fill in my weaknesses. I can't get caught off guard when any prat with half a brain cell can hold up their phone and play... that song. Who knows what that would make me do?

I need to fix that. Somehow.

A Direct Address

You're not going to want to read this if you hate whining. I would suggest skipping it. I have had a lot of warm showers and sleep in the past few days. Been making the most of it all. And it's given me time to think.

Why was I so angry that Kelevra was back? And Morningstar? I realise now, I had practically the same reaction finding out both were back. Denial. Anger. Breakdowns. And it never occurred to me to think of both of them at the same time, and what it means.

Why was I in the dark? Because Kelevra and Morningstar. Why was I let out of the dark? Because Kelevra and Morningstar. Why was I in the dark for that exact amount of time that I was? Because Kelevra and Morningstar. Kelevra even said so himself, he chose the moment I would be let out of the dark. Everything I went through, he wanted that to happen. Just as much as Morningstar.

As much as I want to believe it's all on Morningstar, that's just not true. It's on Kelevra too. And it's on everyone else who had the knowledge and power to stop it, but not the will. It's like they were baking a fucking cake. Stick it in searing heat just enough, slowly, but not too much. I was saved because I was a project. I wasn't saved because I was loyal, or friendly, or anything like that. I was a project. An interesting experiment.

But even though I'm singling them out today, for obvious reasons, they're hardly alone there. I had so many people telling me what to do. What code of ethics to adopt. I was a project for everyone. Those two were just a little more obvious about it.

And only now at 21, when I'm not reeling from hours of physical torture and hunger, do I realise what this all actually means, you know? Stupid, right? I'm sure you were a fucking genius at 16, too. Every nice thing anyone ever actually did for me back then was a means to an end. Except Incognito, maybe. Who knows. Maybe he wanted me to carry on his crusade. Doesn't matter. He left, like everyone else.

It's weird that I never said "fuck you" to Kelevra for letting me be tortured. It's REALLY fucking weird. That is exactly the kind of thing that warrants a "fuck you". And maybe I can't shift my ass until I say it. So...

Fuck you, Kelevra.

No, really, fuck you. I know you were upfront from the start. I know I should have been smarter. I should have listened to what you were really saying. Should have understood it, instead of blindly taking pride in being an exception to the many people you just kill. There's a million mistakes I made. I know that. But it feels good to say it now, because what you did just pisses me off. Fuck you.

At the same time, you made me realise a lot of shit. You were as clear as possible, clearer than anyone else. Made me realise I can't trust anyone but myself. Not you, not Kalika, not anyone. Everyone has an ulterior motive and abandons you eventually. So I have to get by on my own. There's strength in realising that. And that's why you're my friend.

Did you all know Incognito never really gave me a particularly tough time about my friendship with Kelevra? I mean he gave the perfunctory lectures about Kelevra, but he never ever refused to train me, or prevented me from talking to him. And now I wonder if he knew that on some level, Kelevra would boot me into reality. On why you should never trust. Again, who knows. Maybe he was just happy for me to keep Kelevra talking and busy.

Thank you, Kelevra.

And fuck you.

Into current events now. This all made me realise something else. When I borrowed that money, I don't think I ever had the intention of paying it back. I don't remember how much I even needed it in the first place. Maybe I just wanted to screw someone over. Maybe I was looking for a fight. Some catharsis that would be justified because they technically attacked first.

Anyway, after my little encounter with the three fucksticks, I decided to start on some recon. I knew Goodwill's entourage had found where I was, and I knew they'd be back to search it. If I were trying to find me, that's what I'd do. So I've been keeping watch on it for a while. I'll tell you how that went later on, since it got pretty weird, and even I'm sick my own whining for now.

Doing more training. No bad can come of being stronger. Open season on Goodwill. Open season on everyone. Enjoy.

I miss my Colt

Honestly? Honestly. I feel better walking at night. Dark is like a blanket. A hiding place. No one can see what you do. You can barely see what you do. No matter. Because you can see others. And I noticed them tailing me. Three people. Two women. A man. Backpacks. A few strategic turns and I was certain. Pretended not to notice.

Alright, I'm a little giddy. Should save and finish this post later. Hands are shaking and shit. Will fix grammar too.

Right, I'm back, so, the people. I guessed they were Goodwill's. They'd tracked me to the industrial park, right near my hideout, which was an abandoned warehouse. The list of people who want to fuck with me is still pretty short despite recent developments. What I didn't expect was the handgun. People in this game are slightly less well equipped these days, as well as weapons being regulated pretty heavily here. I freely admit that was a mistake on my part. Expect the unexpected, right? That should have been a clue I was dealing with something more than your average servant, but my instincts kicked in. 

And so I punched the woman. She had a blue jacket so let's call her Blue, I guess. Then I tried a disarm. She had a fairly tight grip on the gun, probably should have tried it before hitting her. So I pushed the magazine release and the cartridge clattered to the ground. I released the gun and kicked the cartridge  away. Still, I was outnumbered. One of them could easily go fetch the cartridge like the bloody trained dogs they are. I needed a way to get everyone still. The other woman grabbed me, young woman, she was a lot weaker than the other, so I got my combat knife and twisted her arm until I was holding her at knifepoint, then yanked her back to create some distance. 

I put the blade on her throat, drew some blood. "I'm going to count down from five, alright? Kick the gun and cartridge over, and give me any money, put it all against that wall" - I nodded to That Wall - "and then leave. Five..."

The woman regarded me. "You should know - Poppy isn't a proxy." She said the name as if it were supposed to mean something to me.

"And you should know - four. Three..."

"You're not going to do it."

"Two."

"We know you're a sensitive soul. Cut the act, it's embarrassing."

"One."

I just stared at them.

Blue laughed. "Called it."

I think I'd lost track of my counting. It wasn't important. Honestly, the whole thing was fucking gruelling. Sitting around, waiting to die? It's boring. It's agitating as shit.

I plunged the knife into Poppy's shoulder. Until I felt it scrape a bone. And twisted it. Barely muffled the scream with my forearm. In fact, she bit me as she crumbled to the ground, but I didn't feel it at the time. Frankly, I felt fine. I stamped on Poppy's shoulder, her scream sounded weirdly distant. Hoiked her back up again by the hair.

Blue had called it, via almighty common sense. Why would you tell anyone when and where you were going to strike?

"You're sick," said Blue.

"No, I'm bored," I said. "If you want get her to a hospital in time, you know what to do."

"You're not getting shit, you psycho bitch," said the man. He didn't sound certain.

But neither did I. "You don't want to give in because it will make you seem weak and pathetic, right? Well, I'm weak and pathetic to begin with. So your secret is safe with me. Now give me the gun and the money, and you can fucking leave."

Blue and the man looked at each other. The sting of boredom was setting in again. Fortunately Blue put the gun on the ground and kicked it over. The man did the same with the cartridge. I should have asked them to do it one at a time; keeping an eye on two people is difficult, fortunately nothing came of my mistake there.

Now I think back on it, the way Blue said her name, how they were willing to give up their shit to get her out quick. I mean I don't think she'd have bled to death that fast. I was probably maybe 40% bluffing, because I was thinking of ways to speed up the bleeding.

Nonetheless I upheld my end of the bargain. I took my knife out of Poppy and pushed her over to them. They caught her, quickly carrying her away. Think I heard the man mutter "I told you Poppy wasn't allowed..." to Blue?

Now I think back on it, the details are jumping out at me.

Who the hell is Poppy? Other than "not a proxy". And does that mean Blue and the other man are proxies? Are they your average proxy? Working for Goodwill? Now I'm not sure. Still reeling from this. I don't think I can figure it out tonight.

But at least I have some cash and a gun. The gun's pretty nice too. It's not a Colt but it'll do. (Man, I really want a Colt. Would have saved me so much trouble. I could have dealt with everything in seconds. Baby steps though.) Swiped a room key at a hotel so hopefully I can get a few days in here before someone notices. I really need the sleep and water.

Maybe Blue had a point. Maybe I'm a sensitive soul. I mean, definitely. I cry a LOT. I'm a slave to my emotions. And today that emotion was boredom. I can't really be above it.

Goodwill

This is awkward.

I think it's time I cleared the air on something. Something that I really should have told Kalika, and all of you, but I haven't heard from her in months, so I guess we've severed ties now.

That whole thing, with our shit being stolen. That wasn't just theft. It was repossession. And I knew pretty much as soon as I got my thoughts together. I'm still not sure how the culprit pulled it off, mind you. But I'm pretty sure it was him.

Here's the thing. I'm in, like a lot of debt. Is it the "kick down your door and fucking kill you" kind of debt, or the "repossess your house and have you slowly die in the cold" kind of debt? I wish I knew.

The only reason I'm telling you all now is because I'm in over my head on it either way. Maybe three years ago I met a fellow runner, called himself Goodwill. Well-connected. He seemed like a nice person. Frankly, too nice for someone in this shitpit of an existence. Literally had this smile all the damn time that didn't break. He made loans to other runners to get them on their feet. And I... may have decided I was going to take the money and go off the radar. He wasn't exactly poor to put it mildly, especially for a runner. So while I understand that what I did was wrong... fuck it, whatever, doesn't matter. While (actually, because) he was bizarrely congenial, I never took him for the loan shark type.

When I started a blog he tracked me back down pretty quickly (yeah, call me stupid, I fucking thrive on it.) So I pretended I was planning to pay him the money all along and just got caught up in life. That's where I was sneaking off to, to pay what I could.

And then I met Kalika. And I guess I wanted a friend. I know she's not my friend, and never was. But fuck, I haven't had company in so fucking long. She wanted to do her research, and suddenly I was funding the equipment and doing errands for her. Not only did I have company, but I had a purpose and something to focus on other than the constant fuckery of being on the run from a force you'll never understand. This is all pathetic as molten shit, I know, but I didn't want to be alone again. So I dug myself into this one pretty fucking aptly.

Anyway, Goodwill probably sussed it all pretty quickly. That radio song was requested by one of Goodwill's. Probably to let me know they were watching me, and knew about me.

I'm in and out of safehouses and hotels right now. The more I change location, the better.

Theft

Our shit went missing. Well, that's not the right phrase. Our shit was taken. Kalika is pissed off and blaming me. Hell, I think I blame me too, but I don't actually remember anything between our shit being there, and our shit being taken.

When Kalika goes out I stay up to guard the place. Usually we sleep in shifts, so when one of us isn't here, the other stays up. And as a system it works. It's never gone wrong. Well, not until I fucked up again.

I remember sitting on the floor near my Colt, whistling to keep awake. Must have been about midnight. The traffic outside was sparse and the room was as light as I could get it. Then there's a big time gap. A couple of hours, apparently. And I don't know what happened in that gap. I don't remember seeing the monster or anything, so I don't know if it was that or not. All I know is I sort of woke up in a serious sweat to Kalika shaking me, with a pounding fucking headache and feeling weak and sick. It was weird and cloudy, I remember the feeling and images but at the time I hadn't processed them at all. Eventually I came around and sat up. "What's . . .?"

"Are you a fucking koala?! How long were you asleep?"

". . .What . . .?"

She scrolled and tapped on her phone furiously, pacing. "I leave for one night. One night. One fucking night. You have one task and that is to defend this shithole. I return and everything worth something is fucking missing. My equipment. My notes. Your weapons. Our laptops. Everything valuable. And then there is you, not worth the shit off the bottom of my shoes, of course you're still here. How fortunate I am, sharing this place with a piece of shit. I set up here because I thought you had a shred of diligence. FUCK you!"

I don't remember everything she said word for word to be honest, but that's the gist of it. I feel like it went on a very long time. Then she slammed the door on the way out. I don't know where she's gone. Or if she'll even be back. She's been gone for maybe seven hours now.

They didn't take my phone or combat knife, probably because those were on my person. That's about the only respite I get here from the mindfucking piss show that is this life.

So that's the news. I'm a piece of shit and I have no idea what happened. I guess I better start thinking. When this god damn headache goes. And now I think about it I should probably leave, because logically someone knows I live here. Uh, still processing shit. If there's any common sense thing I've missed, drop it on me.

Botched

I should have known better. I haven't been out since Kelevra and some others were possibly back.

Kalika wanted some stuff from a warehouse on a five finger discount. Science shit. I don't even remember now. It was a number on a box I had to find. Test tubes? Distillation tubes? Serum tubes? Always with the tubes. What is she, a fucking hamster?

Security guard on his phone, was about to see me no matter what. Should have just darted out and ran. Some... fucking stupid part of my brain decided I should incapacitate him. But it went wrong. Something building up in me, it erupted. New language, new rules. Carefully incapacitate him to fucking hit him. I hit him. I hit him again. Hazy. Weird mist. I only stopped myself when my ears hurt from the screaming. Not his. Mine. Fear? But my hands weren't numb; my knuckles were sore and bleeding. My blood wasn't cold. It was scorching. He was bleeding, staggering. I didn't even realise how hard I hit him.

Rage. I was screaming in rage. 

Tried to call emergency services, ended up yelling incoherently at the operator, tearing the phone out the fucking wall and running. I dunno if they showed up.

I feel like I "woke up" just through the door of my safehouse. I didn't remember much of what I had actually done, I just remembered anger and screaming.

I didn't sleep for days. Then, I slept for days. With nightmares like I haven't known for a few years now. But they helped me piece together what happened. Even if I wish I could go on not knowing.

Kalika just goes off and lays out in the woods. She doesn't give a shit. Good for her, really. Why should she? Why should I?

Everybody leaves. Or dies. I hate them for leaving. I hate them for dying. I hate them for not staying. But then, why the hell should they stay? It's not like I have anything to offer anyone but pain and anger now. And it's not like I stay. I wish I was just nowhere. Not dead, not alive. Just nowhere.

And then I hate them for coming back.