It has been a very long time since I've been settled in.
I hit the road for a while, a very long time. A few months ago, things got very heavy. I'm still sorting it out. But I never forgot this. The purpose that I created for this. To tell the stories of people who weren't so lucky, people who haven't gotten away. But I think that may have put me into danger. Let sleeping eyes wake up, watch me. Remember.
I haven't had the time to sit down and explain, I know. It's been hard. Really hard. But I feel like I can stop for a little bit. I can try to tell what has happened to me. I'll try. I'll try to start from the beginning, hard reset. But this won't be anyone else's story. This one will be mine.
It's late. Too late to start what's happened over the past few months. But I want people to know I'm safe. To let them know I'm still running, doing my best to stay alive. But He never sleeps. He never rests. He is always there. Waiting, knowing. Following. Planning, plotting, proceeding as scheduled. He encircles us, entrances us. Waits for us to make that one slip-up. Well, I did. I messed up. And I almost payed for it.
We can't win through skill. All we have on our side is luck. Sooner or later, it has to run out. But for now, my luck holds strong. That sounds silly, when I read over it. All of our advancements, all of our achievements. And they mean nothing. Not for people like me. All we have is luck. All we have is chance. A coin flip. Heads, you live. Tails...
Alright. Enough. All I know is that I'm here, not saying where. He might be watching. He may just be waiting for me to slip up, to say that one detail that lets him swoop in again. Dammit. This had seemed like such a good idea. But the past catches up to us all.
The third person I was going to tell the story of was Vincent. He was the mousy kid, real quiet. I met him a few weeks after Allison got hauled away. Right off the bat, I knew who he was. Not in a 'I recognize you' kind of way. But in the way he was ragged, run down, haven't-slept-in-days tired. Sitting the back of the greyhound, turned away from the window. I recognized him like I recognize my reflection anymore; a shell that is fueled with fear and desperation.
He was sitting there, back of a bus on the way to some shithole in Texas. Thousand mile stare. And me, in my grand stupidity, reached out to him. Sat in the seat across from him and gave him a look, a nod. Whispered "Running from something?" Like I was being all secret and clever, like if he was just running from a bad home or something that he'd just spill his guts and I would be able to disengage. But he said nothing. He looked through me. These dead brown eyes just piercing me, cutting into the window behind me. Eyes that follow you no matter where you go.
He said yeah. Real quiet. This voice made of glass, cracked right down the middle. He was just... empty. Hopeless. And me, just getting over Allison, was feeling like I could save him. I didn't even know if he was actually running from Him and I knew that I was going to be trying to keep him safe.
It was only later on, when he was scribbling furiously away in some beat-up checkered composition book that I knew he was like me. And that was when I told him I knew. That I knew everything he was going through. And that together, we would be safe.
Call me R, the fucking liar.
