July 29th

Well, that’s it. I’m outta here. I’m blowing this taco stand. I did something stupid, anyway. Fucked it all up. Said things, did things... it’s all over. She hates me. Not like she ever didn’t, but... fuck. This time I really fucked up. This is bad.

Not really sure where to go. Need to be away from people—far, far from people. From these people, at least. Far from her.

If I could undo everything I’ve ever done... To just unexist...

Aug. 9th

The highway stretches out forever down here. It’s little more than tracks in the sand. The air is dry. Sometimes it shimmers in the heat. Makes me wonder if what my mind sees is really just a mirage, a psychotic oasis in the desert.

I wonder if she misses me. It’s stupid, I know. She doesn’t. She never did.

She never will.

Aug. 27th

I fucking hate the Southwest.

Sep 4th

I’ve been having the nightmares again. I hate this—waking up sweating, panting. Remembering. Knowing.

I came out here to forget, to let the desert wash away everything I am, everything I’ve done. So why can’t I wash the inside of my head?

Sep 19th

A fire swept through Brixton last night, leaping from house to house like a horrible, blinding game of leapfrog. I couldn’t help watching, the tongues of fire licking terribly at the sky. Maybe it was trying to taste God. If there is a God. Maybe it just wanted a taste of heaven. At least we know that exists.

Maybe it’s time to leave town.

Oct 1st

There were fireworks last night at the carnival. I watched them, awestruck, feeling like a little kid watching the starflowers blossom and fade away. It almost made me want to go down into the town, go to the fair, ride the Ferris Wheel and breathe and smell and dance. I used to love to dance.

But there were people, and it wouldn’t be safe. I’m just not sure who it isn’t safe for anymore.

Oct 14th

One of my teachers once told me about the Allegory of the Cave, how we’re all just sitting in the dark watching shadows on the wall, thinking we’re in the real world. I guess he was right—all I can see or feel right now is echoes, carbon copies. It turns out memories aren’t photographs, aren’t perfect, aren’t clean. I can barely make out the important things at all anymore.

Am I losing my mind? More importantly, do I have a mind to lose?

Oct 31st

Last night the people celebrated Halloween, the gremlins and the ghouls inside us all parading down the street for God and the neighbors to see. Back when I was a kid I used to think that horror movies were the scariest things ever. I could barely sleep for fear of Freddie Kruger coming after me. I’ve learned since then that dreams really are things to be afraid of, but not for the same reasons at all.

I like this place. The rock is smooth and the water is cool and clear, probably from a spring somewhere deeper in the maze than I’ve gone yet. I like to think that things used to live here, long before me, that they will again, long after I’m gone.

Wasn’t there some ancient culture that built their whole civilization into the faces of cliffs or in caves or something? Was that the Mayans? Am I even on the right continent?

The moonlight is making shadows dance in the mouth of the cave. I think I figured out why I came here.

Nov 12th

For the first time in a long time I built a fire. It’s not for warmth or for light, to keep the darkness at bay. I’m one of the things in the dark that people should be afraid of. I wanted to stare into the flames, to see if I can see myself, my reflection, like staring into a mirror. She always said I had a fire inside of me, like I was something burning. She was the lion, her golden mane flowing down her shoulders, predatory and deadly. So ironic that I was the killer.

She always said I was the flame. I guess I never saw it till now.

Dec 14th

Today is my birthday. If it really is today. I’ve been counting—seven days in a week, four weeks two and a half days in a month, fifty-two weeks in a year. They said I never learned, but I know. I knew all along.

Even if it’s not my birthday it’s someone else’s. Eight billion people, only 365 days to be born in. We all have to share. Just the way of the world.

I stole a candle from my ‘neighbors’, lit it in the dark. I came here to run, to forget. In the desert they say you can’t remember your name. Where did I learn that? Who told me? But you can. You can remember all the things you shouldn’t, all the things that make you run, make you ashamed, that wake you up screaming in the night. I hear the echoes dying in the caves sometimes. I wonder where they go.

Maybe burning the candle means I can burn away, vanish in the smoke. Who would know? Who would remember?

Maybe I never really existed at all.

Feb 3rd

I used my voice today for the first time since I said it. I needed some supplies, a blanket, from the village. The cave gets cold in the winter, even when the snow doesn’t come blistering in. The woman on the street said she thought I looked sick, that I was skin and bones. No meat. I’ve lost my meat. I killed an elk two weeks ago, shot her through the heart with a bow. I knelt over her and cried. Have I eaten? Have I slept?

It came out hoarse and dry and cracked. Broken. It felt like twigs snapping in the underbrush back east. I told her I was fine. But I caught a glimpse of a girl in the window-glass, a stranger, hollow and empty and lost. I hate her. I hate her for her aloneness, her loneliness, her soulless eyes. She’s a monster. I hate her for being one. I hate her for wanting to be anything more. Dirty girl. Filthy, unclean, unkempt. She lies, she cheats, she steals. I’m better than her. She deserves to hide, growing pale and sickly, cough in her lungs, tear in her eyes. Worthless. Useless. Alone.

The woman wanted to take me to the doctor. But I don’t need fixed.

I’m not broken.

The girl in the glass is.

[Undated]

I can feel her. It woke me from my sleep, this feeling, this presence growing larger in my head, like an aching, a screaming. She’s faint, distant, but she’s getting closer by the minute. Is she flying? Can she fly? I wouldn’t put it past her, the air picking her up, carrying her. She’s already been to heaven and back, already been through hell.

She’s coming for me, for me. She’s coming to kill me, to end me, to put down the monster inside of me. I want her to. I need her to. I barely remeber people, much less what it’s like to pretend to be one. I’m aching and tired and cold. I can barely move. It will be easy. If I had the strength I’d do it for her, but I was never strong. Always weak. Weakweakweak, crying in the dark, hiding from the things around me. From myself. I think I’m dying.

I can barely stay awake. My hand is so tired. Cramped. But I’ll wait for her. It won’t be long. Just a little longer.

I wonder if you’ll feel anything when you do it.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

Epilogue

Green eyes, staring down at me. They’re the first thing I see when the world comes into focus, when the harsh whiteness dissolves into shapes. There’s meaning here.

Try to sit up. Can’t. Weak. There’s a beeping, rhythmic, slow. And tubes. In my hand, in my nose. Is this heaven? It feels more like hell. That’s okay. I deserve it.

“Hey.” Her eyes smile a little bit with her mouth. She looks so tired. Why is she here? She’s alive again. I want to speak, but I can’t. Nothing to say. I said it all. I regret it all.

A hand, approaching my face. Slowly, like touching a rabid dog. I close my eyes, accept it. Wait for the pressure on my neck. It’s okay. I won’t struggle. I won’t make this hard for you.

I feel her fingers on my cheek. Why now? Why does it have to be now? Just do it. I don’t want to be here anymore.

“Faith. It’s okay.” The fingers are gone, and I’m cold. My left hand is cold, my whole body is cold. I shiver. My cheeks are wet. Something is touching my hair, and she’s shushing me, but the shaking doesn’t stop.

“I’m cold, B.” I don’t mean it to come out, and it sounds distant, faint, like the voice of the dead. I close my eyes again. I can’t stand to be here; I don’t have the will or the strength to leave.

She climbs into bed next to me, quietly, wraps her arms around me. She’s so warm—hot against my skin, even through the rough clothing. Eventually the shaking stops. I’m so tired.

“Get some rest, Faith.” I look at her again, those green eyes piercing, but warm, like a bath. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

I nod and turn away. She won’t, but I want her to. Still, I fight the darkness a little longer, soaking in the feel of her head on my cheek. Eventually this will end. I’m so tired. She smells good. I inhale, and take the plunge into darkness.