The following logs
have been sitting for a short while – they are undated, and I haven’t been able
to figure out their chronological order. Finally, I gave up and decided to just
put everything up on here.
-
Jack drew me this
when I was in the hospital and gave it to me.
-
We
suspected a Camper, yesterday. Turned out to be a jogger. I felt a little bad
for nearly killing the poor guy, but seriously, who goes on a full-scale jog
downtown?!
-
I
honestly don’t know why we stop in at any dining establishments, anymore. Nothing
they serve sates my hunger, Jack only picks at things at most, and depending on
what we ordered there are times that Razzie turns his nose up. When a dog
doesn’t want your scraps, you know something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.
The
only thing we really get out of it are the public settings. All of last night,
Jack stayed awake just…screaming. I’m talking blood-curdling, piercing shrieks.
He saw something out there. I wish I knew what the hell it was, so I
could kill it.
I’ve
got a sinking feeling about it. If it’s him, then I just flat-out don’t know
what I’ll do.
-
THE
UNNAMED CHILD BEDTIME STORY
Let
me love and care for you
And
hold you when you cry
Let
me give you happiness
And
all money can buy
Let
me listen to you
Although
you never speak
Let
me give you all my strength
So
you are never weak
Let
me forfeit everything
I’ll
even lose my name
I’ll
look for you forever
Child,
I am yours to claim
And
if you ever tire of me
Please
show me what to do
For
I would gladly slit my throat
All
for the love of you
-
He
brought me the front page again, like he’s playing a one-sided game of fetch.
It’s starting to annoy me. It’s always the same paper, always the same basic
story – so-and-so found in alley, or dumpster, or in the trunk of someone’s
car. I don’t know if he’s trying to pull some sort of Scooby Doo detective dog
shit, but the way he looks at me when he drops newspapers in my lap is just getting
to me. I want to say it’s human-like, but…in a Hannibal Lector kind of way.
So,
not so much human.
-
THE
BLACK DOG BEDTIME STORY
How
much is that doggy in the window?
The
one who won’t leave me alone?
How
much is that doggy in the window?
He
really wants me to atone.
How
much is that doggy in the window?
The
one who discovered my woes?
How
much is that doggy in the window?
Some
part of me thinks he knows
How
much is that doggy in the window?
He
scratched teardrops into my cheeks
How
much is that doggy in the window?
He’s
shred me to pieces for weeks
-
Sometimes
I wonder if it’s not natural. What use is a child to me? Unless he isn’t a
child. Not really.
-
I
found the perfect Scarlet-marked.
I
waited for hours in the ER beside her – I know I was only making it worse, but
I just couldn’t tear myself away. There was no much blood everywhere, like I’d
slashed up her little body or cut an artery in her nose.
She
had been panhandling on the street, convincingly passed off as a scrawny
teenage boy. Dirty, boyish haircut, baggy jeans, glasses, but I bet she could
be pretty if she cleaned herself up a bit. She had on a college sweater for
[REDACTED], probably scraping by on whatever she made on the streets. Living
alone. Maybe taking home a girl once every few weeks. Notably, she had on a red
scarf – it didn’t fit with her outfit, and it was a mild day. It was overt,
marking herself with red. When she’d started gushing blood, it was like…this
out-of-body experience, where I could see snippets of her life. I’d never felt
so connected to one of them before. I’m still not sure what it means.
I
decided, though. I approached her, and when I did, the blood started pouring
faster. It was broad daylight, and Jack was getting edgy. All I could do was
pretend to be normal, even though we both knew otherwise. She couldn’t speak
without the blood spilling down her face and into her mouth, choking on it as
it slid down the back of her throat, too. She was coughing, spitting blood out
all over the street – I yelled for someone to call an ambulance, took her hand
and waited with her until it arrived, then trailed behind in the car.
We
were stuck waiting in the hospital waiting room for god-knows-how-long – time
dragged, and we were nearly kicked out twice by nurses who clearly haven’t been
getting laid. Finally they at least got Jack some paper and pencil crayons to
amuse himself with.
Once
they let me in, her nose started bleeding again. Just a trickle, this time, and
she was hooked up to an IV. They’d cauterised the inside of her nose, but I
guess even the best ENT specialist can’t stand up against a bond that deep.
I
gave her all the logs I’d written for the past while – bits on napkins, papers
torn out of the notebook, everything. She told me where she lives, and I told
her that she could be my First.
Always
nice to have a link to the online world and
a back-up.
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