Chapter Text
JOURNAL ENTRY
(9/11/97)
MONTHS.
MONTHS AND MONTHS OF THIS SHIT.
I CANT
I CANT I CANT I CANT.
IVE EATEN, IVE KILLED, IVE STOLEN. THIS WORLD WILL NEVER GET BETTER.
NEVER.
postal dude cowards, cowards like a bitch in the corner of his ran-down “house”. a man with a blown out face, a man missing his arm, a woman drenched in blood, her arms bare from the meat he’s stolen, all here. infront of him. silent. still.
he begs for them to leave, tears and dry, heavy sobs claw free from him. he can’t believe he’s gotten this bad. they get closer, looming over his curled frame. his arms dripping and stinging from his earlier act of repentance.
but it isn’t enough.
he, in a final act of desperation, grabs his gun. his favorite, his savage 67h. he cocks it and shoves it in his mouth.
with one final sob, he pulls the trigger.
and he’s gone.
the voices are gone.
the people are gone.
all that’s left is his body. his head blown out, blood exploded on the wall behind him. jaw hanging low, burnt and barely hanging on. just like the guy he murdered.
silence stretches for a long time, until a whine. and a scratch at the door. eventually the door creeks open, and nails on the wood floe drag. champ. dude’s solace in this god-awful world. he sniffs him, licking his chest and around his charred skin. he whines, pawing at him until it seems it finally sinks in.
champ curls on his lap, nose nudging dude’s palm in a meek attempt to be pet one last time.