And Then The Murders Began

Chapter Thirty-Six: Nutzy Land

I can barely sleep, the concrete out here is freezing and the fur on me and the clothes that I have on aren't really suited for the season and as much as I want to complain about how all of this just isn't fair, I can't. I can't even complain, I chose to come out here, to ride away from a space that was at least gonna be safe for a little while longer and now I'm here, fucking freezing and trying to sleep on the steps of a store in the middle of nowhere Canada and hating myself that most of this journey has just found me walking and wandering and getting nowhere... other than ever more scared and very very concerned for my own safety-

Well, no, when I think about it, that's not entirely true, I wouldn't be out here if I was concerned about my own safety... I guess my concern is that this all feels very very anticlimactic, like, oop, whoop, I've done figured it all out and then I'll be able to wrap this all up neatly, even if it's at the cost of my health and sanity, something that I'll never manage to get back, but if that means that all of these fucking shootings stop, then that'll be a trade that's worth it... but yeah, to stay on track- or rather, to get back there, this doesn't feel like it could really just end and then I realise that once again, I'm applying the fucking sunk cost fallacy to pain... what the hell's that about, like, oh, I've hurt so fucking much that this doesn't even come close to making up for it kind of a thing? That's fucking ridiculous, but then again, who am I to speak?

I don't really think I should, because there's a quote that Ms. Tremblay used to use on me, that one shouldn't confuse the ease with which someone will whine with their willingness to actually fix the problems they're whining about; after all, life is all about finding that balance point between "Namaste" and "fuck around and find out." I don't know how this will end, but hopefully it's not going to end with another shooting, I don't think that I could take it anymore if that really is how it all ends up going down... I'd be back at Fundy High, and instead of letting Lylah turn the gun that was in my paws at the time and point it at her own chest and then go right ahead and blast herself, I'd be begging her, hey, Lylah, please let me turn that on me, save yourself, let me die-

And then, now as I'm sitting here, wishing I could sleep but even still, given the cold and the wind and everything, finding some shuteye evading me, I find myself wondering if that's how it's all gonna end for me, that I'm gonna end up finding the person responsible for all of this but then they're going to end up forcing me to commit some sort of heinous act and I'll take the fall and then be forced to prove my not as strong guilt as one would have thought or take the chair and let myself roast.

I mean, I'd prefer- really really really prefer to, ya know, not roast- but if I roast at least I hope they'll let me be a nice one, like Arabica or something like that, not a seriously singed and crispy crunchy dead roast.

I guess that my real complaint about all of this is that all of this work, all of this tracking, it's really come to nothing, like, hi, here I am, still as freaking bitter as I was almost a year ago at eighteen, only now it's late and cold and I'm alone in the middle of the woods and I'm more pissed about it than I should be... I wish that, if I were given the option, I could go back and just let her shoot me, like she wanted to, told her, sweetheart, I still love you, shoot me a half a centimeter higher and to the left and you can have me because I'm done done done done done with all of this.

The phone hasn't rung again, which means that there's definitely someone monitoring it for real, because if it were solely a chat bot I'm sure that the damn thing would be ringing nonstop, off the hook or on the hook.

Maybe I'm presuming too much and there's not someone there and this is all a fever dream because I really have been sentenced to death and that dream that I had about it all and the courtroom thing was real and these last few however long it's been have been fading picoseconds like in An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge?