To Flee a Planet

8

This chapter is dedicated to the amazing Dredloc for giving me incredibly insightful and lovely reviews! Thank you so much my friend! <3

[Song of the Chapter: I bought my dad a CD for his birthday, and this is one of my favorite songs on it! I love listening to it while reading/writing. ;)]

Enjoy!

That evening, I read the small note again and again and once more. I'm lying in the same uncomfortable bed as before, under the same sheets and I'm trailing my fingers over the handwritten words under the same faint moonlight.

I've read the note so many times that I could recite it forever.

You made it out. You're one of us now.

We can help you.

Wait for the next note.

Don't trust anyone.

It's a confusing mix of comfort and commands. Judging by the diversity in different handwriting, it was written by more than one person. That might explain the contrast in approaches.

You're one of us now.

That line warms my heart. It's sugar. A door. Hope.

Don't trust anyone.

Panic was my first reaction when reading this edict. But then it occurred to me that this is meant as a caring warning. They care for me. They want me to join them.

We can help you.

If it weren't for the jagged and brute line trying to cross the words out, this would have meant acceptance and aspiration. It would've guaranteed support.

The fact that those words are trying to hide away under a veil of black ink, reminds me that nothing is good. Nothing is pure. Not in this world, and certainly not in these circumstances. I should realize this and swallow hard and take up the other advice of not trusting anyone. I should take this as a hint to rip the note in pieces and throw the paper scraps out of the window.

I mean; they might not be able to help me. It's not part of the plan.

I'm not part of the plan.

What's in it for me? There's no assurance at all.

It may be nothing more than a trick.

For the first time since my arrival in this place, I let the tears escape my eyes. I don't know if it's out of happiness or sadness that my feelings are overwhelming me.

I've finally found people in this place that make me feel less of a lunatic, but the only reason that they're reaching out in the first place is because I've proven to be as crazy as them.

Later that night, after being restless for what feels like eons, I turn onto my stomach, turning my head to the right and wrapping my hands around my pillow as I try to find a comfortable sleeping position. When I do so, I feel a whisper tickling my fingers.

I blink a few times as my heart rate picks up like my fingers have been scorched by electricity.

Slowly I pull the small piece of paper from its hiding place under my pillow. My stomach is filled with excited frogs jumping up and down in harmonic chaos.