Thursday, 9 August 2012

AUGUST 9, 2012

Log from August 9th:

I’ve had my first experience with hitchhiking. I thought that if I stuck by Scarlet-marked drivers, I would be safe. My naïveté cost me one of the most traumatizing experiences of my life.
By day, I mostly travel on foot. It’s easier to outmaneuver them that way, I think – I take trails and shortcuts, keep away from the road. I don’t know how to Run; I think that’s the problem. I always felt so safe. How stupid could I have been? As long as I stay away from civilization by day, though, I feel like that might be better. It’s false safety, but it’s there.
Once the sun starts to set – that’s not until something like eight-thirty at night – I make my way back to streets and get on the first mode of transportation I find. Usually busses, but tonight, a car pulled over on the side of the road and asked if I was who he thought I was. I looked him over; red cowboy boots. I found it funny, since the Mistress wears boots of a similar shade, if not the same style. I said yes, and he told me to get in.
We were driving for a while. He was willing to take me down the 401 and pay my toll into the United States, which was a relief. I looked up the route I needed to take, beforehand; 129 hours on foot, 15 hours by bus, or 8 hours by car. Anything to whittle down that trip seemed like a blessing, and with no one else on the road he was going sixty over the speed limit.
Then suddenly he was pulling over – the deceleration almost made me dizzy. He started going on about the Mistress, and being important to her, and then…he just…sprung at me.
By the end of it, I was just…soaked in blood. It’s not like I minded, it wasn’t the first time, but…I was shaking. Killing someone like that is different. It’s not like in tribute.
I just kept telling myself it was the same. I was protecting what belongs to the Mistress.
Unless, would she have wanted me to be-…?
I couldn’t stomach it. I’m feeling sick, right now.
In the end, I had to skin him. I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be recognized. I know I read something about flaying, before. There’s still blood everywhere, but this isn’t CSI; DNA doesn’t solve everything in sixty minutes.
I don’t know what I’ll do with the skin.
For extra measure, I spent hours taking off the license plates. It was grueling, and I was stuck using everything and anything the man had in his glove box. My hands are so badly scratched that I can barely type…I’ll need to have them bandaged.
Now, I’m just…bundled up in a ditch off the side of the road, maybe a mile away, with a bag of stinking flesh, license plates, and my laptop. It’s the only source of heat, and I wanted to write down what happened. The details already feel a hundred miles away.
God, the nausea is too much.

1 comment:

  1. i am sorry that had to happen to you little robin. merely being marked means you are weak. susceptible to these things. but you understand, dont you? the kind of jealousy the two of you incite?