348 and dropping

'~1974, September 7th, Dear Dairy, Population: 344

The pic above is the man that died /\ /\ /\ 

" We believe in the Holy Spirit; the catholic church; the communion of saints" or something like that. Don't worry, I know what your thinking. And to answer your question: no, I did not go to church. I swear, I was walking back from the backers with a basket full of recently baked bread and pastries, when I saw that flicker of blond hair.

I stand in the thresh hold, next to of the hand caved rooting wood of our local church. I had never been that close, close enough to smell it: old wood and dust but it had something else, there really isn't a good way to describe it except this; it smelt warm. I didn't go to school, I guess I really took Katelyn Graces words to heart. Father didn't seem too bothered to be fair, he just asked me to get bread, hence the basket full of bread. Incidentally I passed the sign: 434. God what a terrible number, I liked yesterdays better. I guess I needn't worry. Tomorrow it might change to 433, or 432, or 0, or God only knows.

I kind of get the whole God thing. 'Cause every one gets those times, needing to know about a higher power, because he'll keep them safe or something. I don't know how one could possibly think that given the circumstances, but I sort of get it.

The quire wore long deep people robes and sang, although one or two voices were of key. The priest stood on a platform and looked through all the lingering eyes, whose line of sight drew a string to him. Just looked through all of them as if he were god him self. Still looking forward he pulled out a rusted silver goblet and started to speak, meanwhile one by one, a person, in a deep purple robe would come up and take this little white thing he was holding out to them and then have a sip of the red wine that was slushing over the goblet.

The first to go up was a short stubby man with little grey tufts growing from his chin, not quite enough to call it a beard. He had a pair of small circular glasses that were brim full of deep, deep, blue eyes, the rim covered a good proportion of his high cheekbones. The priest made a little cross in front of his chest. He sips from the goblet that the priest holds in his out stretched hands.

As the man with the deep blue eyes turns to walk back to his seat, his purple robe flying out towards him, he stumbled, then he fell. I hear a crack as his face hits the floor, his wide rimmed spectacles crack in the middle, so half clattered to the ground and half stays propped up on his face. A woman with strange blond hair had taken a sip from the same goblet just before the man had fallen. She, being the closest to him runs over and crouches down next to the crumpled body that occupies the floor, and then she too falls next to him. Their eyes stare at nothing. And they don't move.

All the eyes that once had thrown their stringed gazes to the one on the platform, all stared aimlessly at the floor. If it weren't for the current circumstances I would have laughed, it was almost comical the amount of time that nobody moved for, nobody moved and then all of a sudden everybody got up all at once, like it was some joint decision that they had all telepathically agreed on.

-the goblet crashed to the floor

-robes were thrown to the ground, turning the wooden tiles a deep purple

-a guy from one side of the room announced that he was a doctor

-and everybody just seemed to want to move, not knowing where they were going.

That's the thing with the human race I figure, we're a bit like sheep; we like routine and without our sheep dog, we wonder aimlessly among the masses. Trying to get to places that can simply not be got at. The reason being that if you don't know were you're going then how do you possibly expect yourself to get there. We can't get away from memories, there's not a person we can shun, or hide or run away from. It doesn't matter how many closets you hide in, the memory will always find you.

The only one that wasn't moving, of course, because who else could possibly hold the same logic that was stampeding through my brain. Katelyn Grace. She sat completely still. Knowing, just as I did, that if she got up then where would there possibly be for her to go.

Hey guys, soooo...

What do y'all think?

Do you think these are suicides?

If so, why are they doing this?

Do you think the population of the town is being murdered?

If so, who's the killer????

And what do you think of Katelyn Grace? Are there any other characteristics that you think she should have?

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