I said before that this isn't my story. I said that it's for the people who never had the chance to tell their stories. And I think that the first story I should tell is Josh's.
My sixth month of running is when he got a hold of me, I think it was at least. A friend had gone missing and he was out for answers. I'd given out my number freely back then and I guess that his friend had it. If you want foolish, that's it right there. So Josh called me. There's something about only calling yourself R that makes you stick out in a contact list. He asked the normal questions;
"Who are you?"
"How did you know Abraham?"
"Do you know where he is?"
"Do you know why he's was acting so strange?"
Naturally, I told him to stop. Alright, so it might have come out more like "I don't know who the fuck you are. Leave this alone, leave me alone."
I was pissed. I was pissed that he was calling me to tell me another was gone. An acquaintance I'd met online when I was careless was dead. Anyway, I told him to piss off. Not to save him, we all know that once someone starts to look into this stuff, I mean really look into it. Enough to call strangers to ask if they knew a missing friend. Once you start doing that, they don't stop getting deeper and deeper into this hell.
I even told you guys to stop, and here you are. See? Good advice is never taken.
He kept calling, he'd found journals. What is it with the journals anyways? If you want a singular way to convince people you're mad. That you've lost it all. That you are loony toons, keep a journal. Go ahead. Draw Him over and over. Write SEES ME over and over until you feel secure. Take that stupid symbol from that youtube story, and draw it on every page. It's not like it really means anything out here. There's no power in it, I don't think so anyways.
Sorry, that's all off track; he kept calling.
"What's with these symbols?"
"What's with the spider in a suit?"
"What's with all this shit?"
I never answered him. Don't answer someone if you're under the impression you can save someone. The less they know, the less He notices them. The less they really mean anything to him. But Josh, he couldn't stop searching. He found his answers else where.
I was in Pittsburgh, sitting on the roof of some hotel when I got the call.
"What the fuck?! Who are you?! What the fuck was that?!"
It's a common question. What is He?
My answer? I don't care. He is bad news. He is like a tumor, a cancerous growth that just follows you and follows you, slowly taking away your will to breathe, to sleep, to live. He's death. The only important thing is that. So I told Josh to start running. Never stop for too long. Survive.
I said that some people say staying high works. Some people think that drawing that symbols wards him off. Some people say this, some people say that. I told him what I knew. I gave him everything that was ever given to me.
It was three days before he called again.
"I... I don't know where to go. He's still there. Always there. Just watching, waiting. I was gone, counties away. And I just... Woke up in my bed today. Like nothing had happened. What... What do I do?"
This is about the point that you stop listening. This is the point you see the futility in caring. All this running, it makes you cold after a while. Sometimes surviving means killing your empathy.
Josh asked for advice. What should he do? Where was it safe?
I answered; Big cities, rooftops. Get up high.
But sometimes the Big Bad Man gets his tendrils in you, running isn't enough.
I wish I could tell you that he still called. But that was the last call I ever got from him.
I'd like to say that he's running. I'm convinced that's only wishful thinking though.
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