Harper Rock Journal [Grey]

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

June 9

I was training in the Flats today. Then, before I knew it, I had a bullet wound in my shoulder. I was already exhausted, but now I was losing more blood. Covered in Zombie innards was not a way I wanted to meet another member of Andras even. Darnell shot me. He tripped over the fake Persian rug, he said.

Jesse was upset. At least Darnell apologized, helped to heal me, and gave me money for the really ruined shirt.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

July 5, 2015


It has been a while since I wrote in this journal.

I forgot I had it, really. Life has begun and ended here in this city. Jesse has provided a family for me.

He thinks I've rejected him, I think.

He tells me that another of his progeny has kissed him. It happened a couple days ago.


I hit him.


Clover knew better. Maybe. I don't know any more.

I hate them both right now.


Nothing makes sense.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

July 12

I am going to take her paintball gun and stuff it where the sun doesn't shine.

She's lucky she is alive.

She's lucky she belongs to Jesse.

He can ******* have her.


I can't even stand the thought of her close to him, let alone the fact that we are all blood related.

It makes me want to slit her wrists and bleed her dry.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

Pages were ripped out of the journal. The edges were ragged and curled, slit and destroyed. A large chunk of time ... gone.


October 25, 2015

I do not know who I am any more.

I am completely numb inside. I feel like I am behind a glass door looking out on the world around me. People look at me, but they look through me. It is as if they open their mouth and talk, but no words that I can comprehend come out of their mouth. I cannot put enough distance between the real world and myself to function in public.

This has become a huge problem.

The people around me speak a foreign language. They smile and laugh. They narrow their eyes and bite out remarks that I can only gather as frustration. Each thing they say to me is not a word at all, but an emotion. They speak in colors. They breathe in energy. They drip happiness or disdain and I feel as if I am drowning inside a sea of people that have no life jackets for me.

Since I slaughtered my mother in cold blood, something has changed inside of me. A pressure has been released and instead of relief, I only feel anger. I am constantly surrounded by this live wire sensation, threatening to explode even more when I am around my lover. Jesse is dealing with so much right now, that I do not know how to help him any longer. He is wound so tight that just standing next to him makes me want to scream and cry at the same time. He lost a family member. I lost a man I never even really met. I apologized, and that only brought on another round of frustrated remarks with each other.


I think we are through...

Over text messages, at that.


He doesn't have to say it, but I can feel it. He is starting to resent me. A little part of him hates me for what I've become and for who I now am. I am part of a family who I barely have been able to see on an individual basis let alone as a whole. I balk at the thought of meeting so many in the same room together. Tension coils up and down my spine, shoving that claustrophobic sensation around my windpipe and squeezing on a part of my anatomy that doesn't even require movement in order to survive the world of the sun-lovers.


I am taking my iPhone and my box of belongings with me that I came to this city with and heading into the sewers.

I need to be alone.

I will not force him to make a decision. His family is the most important entity in his life.


We were supposed to get married this fall. I found a dress. I had picked out a beautiful area, a local marina but with this generous alcove of beach. The trees along the shore were just starting to change colors. Against the evening sky, the lights would have been gorgeous. I only had to find a Minister and gather personal invitations to the family. I had thought about asking Jesse's cousin to officiate...

But, that is no longer in the plans.


I suppose I should take some savings and invest in my own apartment.

Maybe I'll just sleep on the cot in the back room of Auto Docs for a while.


Better yet, maybe I'll just disappear for a while. He already thinks I work too much. He can already tell the extra shifts that I pick up or the 'Rush' orders on vehicles Brock sends my way. On second thought, **** it. I'm going to the sewers. There's no judgement in dank, dark corridors.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

November 8, 2015

I finally know what it feels like to be dead ... On the inside.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

January 13, 2016

The holidays are gone.

Thanksgiving... Christmas... New Years...

It should have been a time to celebrate with family. Instead, I lost mine.

No.

I walked away from them. I deserted them. I didn't know how to be a part of them or take care of them in the first place. I am sure that they won't hold my decision to leave against me. Half of them will no doubt chalk it up to being no loss at all. The other half will no doubt think, "Grey? Oh... I think I remember her."

I wish them luck.

I wish them happiness.

I hope that they find what they are looking for in this God forsaken existence.


Some nights, I wish I died. I wish that my turning would have gone terribly wrong and allowed me to step into the arms of a father that I miss so terribly much.

I wouldn't have to know heartbreak. I wouldn't have to know what love is. I wouldn't have to know what failure is or pain. I wouldn't have to know betrayal or what lies feel like.


What do I do now?


These words are futile. These words are cold and harsh and hateful.

I hate him.

I hate her.

I hate them both.


What... Have I become? Who am I?

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

January 18, 2015


They died. I found out by the posts from the family on the Crow.

Most of them died, and I didn't feel a single thing.

There was no change in the hurt or the hatred I felt. Ice didn't chip or crack.

Inside, I'm still frozen.


He did this. He changed me.

I won't blame him for the fact he could not accept what he made in the end.


It was supposed to work out this way in the end, right?


Time is full of ****.

The lesson I learned is to never let anyone in.

Never.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

March 19, 2016

One thing I miss is mail.

It is stupid, really. To sit outside, behind the farmhouse that Micah has oh so kindly lectured me to stay close to, and realize that above all, I can very well be a figment of most's imaginations.

A grey cloud. A blurred presence. A woman who doesn't even really have much of a voice anymore. I never cared to have one. To protect who I thought was right and true was to flounder within an abyss that allowed lava to sear hatred into my bones.

Time passes slowly. In truth, another three months have almost wound themselves down the drain and the only thing that I have to show for it are the fact that I keep dumping my paychecks on blood packs, Brock's increased work load and customer base, and a journal that glares at me to be written in.


I don't ******* want to write.

I don't want to speak.

I don't even want to look at people.

I want to scream at them. I want to yell at them. I want to cry as I rip out their tongues.


I have come to learn that lust can be a dangerous entity. Love is a ridiculous notion. The only thing that one can be sure about are sunlight and taxes. After all, I now know of the Shadow Realm.

There are some days that I wonder if dying and not coming back wouldn't ever really be that bad.


I hate it that I'm a survivor.

I keep clinging on... Barely, with bloody ripped nails and calloused hands.

I don't know why.


I wish I could just let go...


But, I miss my mail. I like being part of something, even if I don't really know how to participate. That was my problem all along, I think. I don't ever feel any pressure from Micah, even if I can sense Velveteen's distain like the ugly colors of the bruises on my flesh that I hide from kicking bigger asses in the sewers.

I haven't heard much from anyone in Fforde... Parts of me are thankful for that and the parts of me are just relieved.


I just miss getting my mail sometimes.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

May 25, 2016


I sit in the dark, looking out at the blackness of the room. I don't concentrate too hard. If I do, the red spots return.

Sometimes, I can make them dance in the darkness. I blink my eyes and the whiteness forms beautiful halos around the blood that drips down the walls.

The mail piles up.

Micah swears at me.

He talks around me. About me. To who, I'm not really sure.

Sometimes others come and go. I can feel their presence around me. A chain inside breaks.

The threads unravel. I can feel the whiplash cold inside of me cement itself inside my chest where my heart used to be.

It is alright though. I tell myself that I can get through this. I can move on. I have been moving on. Cutting contact with him... With it... With them has been the way it needed to be all along.

I was a fool.

I don't know why I gave into the first man that showed me attention.

I won't make that mistake again.

Barbed wire and attitude. Harsh words and cold stares. He didn't break me. He only reminded me what the warning signs of a liar was.

Thank you for that.

Thank you.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

June 1, 2016

Every time I wake up, I see the journal in front of me. If I fall asleep on the bed inside the farm, I see it next to my pillow. If I fall asleep outside on the steps, I wake up inside on the bed and find the journal next to me. If I fall asleep watching the television, I wake up with the journal in my lap.

I'm starting to get the hint that someone thinks this is some form of cathartic therapy for me.

I really am starting to feel hatred towards this journal.

It is as if someone is telling me to 'write, you'll feel better.'

Writing doesn't make me feel better. Killing makes me feel better. Shedding someone else's blood makes me feel better. It makes me not hate so much. It makes me able to breathe... Spilling someone else's blood.

It makes me not grip the tools so tightly or break parks on the cars I work on.

Brock's threatened to doc my paychecks if I start having to pull more car parts from the shelves to replace what I take out my anger on.


I had it all. But, it wasn't for me.

It wasn't my end.


Now, this is my new beginning.


Full fledged...

Andras.