Hope is a Dangerous Thing [EDITING]

Chapter One

I pulled a book off of the shelves of the bunker library and took it back to my seat. A soft thud echoed across the walls. The trio were out on another trip to god knows where, doing god knows what. So that left me all alone in the large bunker that felt a lot larger when I was all alone with no one to help fill the void. I rubbed the back of my neck to try and relive the ache forming there. I straightened my back and slumped back over the books.

    My eyes scanned the words on the pages, not actually comprehending anything on the pages. I blinked a few times, adjusting my glasses once more in a vain attempt to reduce the strain on my eyes. The words began to blur in front of me. I lifted a shoulder and laid my head down on the open books. My eyes kept scanning the words in front of me as if I could even see them as they all blurred together in front of me. The same paragraph over and over and over again with nothing new to be learned from it. I kept trying to make myself read the words but they just kept blurring in front of me.

    The books weren't actually anything I should be reading at the moment. Sam, Dean and Cas never really understood what I wanted to do with my life. They wanted to hunt monsters, take down demons and save people. A noble life to live if you liked breaking more laws than what was needed for the job. I wanted to crack codes and solve age old mysteries that hadn't actually been solved before. But I had to actually follow the trio who had taken me in awhile ago after my parents decided to be abusive assholes. I have to admit, I was a conspiracy theorist before the boys met me and some of the monsters the trio hunted actually provided some answers to what I had once questioned which I assumed would be good. But it didn't calm me at all. It was more so of a thought that had never really went away. Hexes, curses, the whole like but nothing actually confused me more than the Twenty-Seven Club which hadn't been able to be explained just yet.

    I had always been happy to jump onto the conspiracy theory train. Unsolved murders and serial killers had always fascinated me, as they did many people, so naturally I went down a YouTube hole one day which landed me on the conspiracy theories. None were as interesting, or as odd to me, as the Twenty-Seven Club. Of course, everyone knew the most famous members of the club; Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse. Though, no one had actually known about all the others whose names were lost to time or lack of fame and I don't blame people for forgetting. There was just not enough coverage for the others. Interest-of course-picked up after Jim Morrison died and honestly, I don't blame people for this either. He was a famous person and media was on the rise at the time with the new advent of the television and celebrity and hippie culture. Before, there was no media to report widely on the deaths of those who were dying. It was just something that happened.

    Now, I am in no way trying to say that these deaths were apart of something bad or mischievous as not to hurt the families of the victims of the horrendous deaths. I would sound callous and rude if I just unabashedly said that. What I am trying to say is that there is a certain amount of oddity that surrounds these people's deaths which caused people to speculate. It makes no sense to just say that all of these people, especially the core members, died completely of accident or bad timing. It just doesn't make sense to me at all. Though I could never calm my brain down. There is a reason people think that these deaths are as suspicious as they are. There is something to be said about the collective thinking of humans that makes us so weird and It would be amazing if I could actually spend the time and money to spend the time researching it.

    I would have been an excellent writer and investigative journalist if I had put my degree to use. Though, at the age of twenty with no amount of describable skills or job experience outside of a few small jobs I took up during college, I don't think I ever would have done anything with it other than worked at grocery stores. I could have made a name for myself publishing the books I had written that were sitting on my computer, edited to the best of everyone's ability and ready to go but I also knew that being a published novelist who solely lives off the money they make off of books would be a lofty and unreachable dream at best. Only the best and most famous writers made that much. But, maybe one day I would pluck up the courage to start selling the books even if it meant putting everything I had into it.