Tying up loose ends.

Elliott again.

So, we're spending some time in Canada. No big deal. We really don't have anything better to do with our time- other than, you know, living which we kind of have to do anyway, as being six feet under or in little pieces tends to impede ones driving ability and yeah I'm a little tipsy, drinkign age is 19 here what of it - we really don't have anything better to do with our time and hey, I've got shit to do, Canada it is.

Stayed in my hometown for a couple days. I forgot how much of an utter shithole my family's old apartment was and why I moved out as soon as possible. Place didn't even belong to her anymore. Some old hag with some stupid fucking well-groomed rat she was trying to pass off as a dog - you know the type. The ones with the tiny legs and the massive heads and they shake and shake and yip and shake like windup toys and fuck I'm getting sidetracked again, aren't I - anyway, the place didn't belong to my folks. Surprise surprise. After my bank account had been wiped off the face of the earth and all of my information on every social networking site ever (include myspace, fuck I haven't even thought of the word myspace since 2005) disappeared and all of my friends have stopped answering my calls and the ones who do answer say I'm dead or have no idea who I am, I've kind of stopped being surprise.

Still being bitter, though.

Got one good thing out of it, though. Or as good as it can get when apparently you don't exist - which is a fairly common phenomenon among runners, apparently? Fucked if I know. I'm just a college kid.

Managed to get enough information out of one of my former bandmates to figure out I was buried in some hole-in-the-wall cemetery on the outskirts of the cathedral area. Kinda fuckin' funny if you ask me, seeing as I'm pretty alive and typing and not in some little shit graveyard.

We went. Of course we went. Because I'm a fucking idiot who can't let go of his old life. Because I want closure.

Well I got it, alright. In the form of a one-meter tall slab of stone.

ELLIOTT WIMBLEDON BROODMOOR
1991-2011
Every man's life is a plan of God.

There were sunflowers on the grave.

Sunflowers, half-buried in the fucking snow. Most of them were dead or rotted but there was one, one little head hidden deep inside the others, that was a bright and as cheerful as the day it had been picked. A little ray of sunshine in a dark and dead and rotting world.

And I know who put them there, too.

...

I miss him.

Fuck I miss him.

How goddamn twisted is that? Kid killed for someone's sake. Then again, so did I - so did a lot of us. Something we said we'd never talk about but fuck, what does it matter now? What's done is done. Can't change what's happened.

Anyway.

We're meeting with Rich in a couple nights. Heading to the university and area to tie up the last of the loose ends - not going to be able to stop thinking about it until I do. Closure's a bitch to get sometimes.

Saw that red-haired bastard before we left the House. Writer. That one. Maybe Elaine will write about what happened there, god knows I'm too fucking depressed and too drunk to think about it right now. Words were exchanged, Writer threatened Em, we knew we couldn't stay. We were out less than half an hour later.

Don't die and shit. Updates to come.

This House is insane.

Fuck. Fuck. Been in this place maybe a week and my head won't stop screaming at me.

Konaa's dead. Lucas is dead. Joel's dead. And so many others. People I've only read in passing. People I've only talked to once or twice. Michael. Josh. Why always the holidays?

Rest in peace. All of you. Konaa - no, June. June, you brave son of a bitch. I was going to tell you before you left that if you died before I could repay you I was going to be pissed. Guess now it's too late. Joel, what little time I spent with you was great. So, thanks for that. Lucas... everything I've heard about you tells me you were a great person. I wish we could have talked more than the passing 'hey's that we did. Everybody else... you fought the good fight - but everybody's gotta go eventually. Guess you can consider this my last respects.

shutupshutupshutupshutup


This is getting ridiculous. It's one thing to stare at the wall of foliage from the safety of a guest room, advancing inch by inch as the days pass by. It's another thing to wake up with your window shattered and about five trees eagerly clawing at your doors, bedposts and closet.

It was a fun morning.

Talked to Fitz - afterall, he's already talked about it once. Apparently we can't escape that damn forest. Even when we're out, we're still not out. It's still a shadow in the back of our minds. A shadow that screams and pulls at nerve endings and calls to you in the dead of the night and no, Broodmoor, you're not listening to it because that's the stupidest fucking idea you've ever had but fuck, it's siren's song and there's only so many times you can get talked down from it before it just. Stops. Working.


Alex is looking better, at least. But the kid's quieter than ever - I don't blame him, though. This place is doing horrible things to me so I'd hate to see what's happening in his head. But with him in Rivers' care I know there isn't much I can do.

Going to talk to Elaine about leaving tomorrow. Don't know how much longer I can stay here.