I had always wondered. What would it be like to lose everybody? Mom gone. Dad gone. Brother, sister, grandma, grandpa, all just gone. Where would I go? What would I do? Who would I turn to for love, laughter? Comfort and trust?
Once in a while I would discuss these questions with those I called friends. They used to poke fun at my wondering mind, brushing off my questions into the wind. Worry free. They never once suspected that one day I would be forced to find my answer.
Nobody. That is who. I don’t want those things any more. They have become foreign to me. There is only one thing that I seek before I die, or kill myself. Whichever comes first. Only one thing had kept me going until then.
Revenge.
That one word that encompasses so much of who I have become still makes my hands shake. But not from fear. Not anymore. Fear meant nothing to me. Fear was weakness.
I was lethal, and I knew it. When one has only violence to live for, and nothing left to lose, they become another’s worst nightmare.
My one thing left to live for was plain and simple: to kill the sorry bastards who took my family from me. No matter how long it took, I vowed to myself that I would be victorious. No matter what. Easy as that.
I thought about my goal all the time, even now as I sat under an amazing evergreen. Bitter cold air nipped at the exposed skin of my legs and arms but I ignored it. My heart was still racing as I pulled my leather bound notebook out of my grey rucksack, along with some white bandages to redress my shoulder. Flipping through the filled up pages without thinking about it, I landed on The List.
The List was my life now. It gave me a sickening satisfaction to cross another name off of The List. I even enjoyed the finality of the sound of the pen on the old wrinkled pages.
After putting my notebook away again I carefully took off the bloodied bandages that were tied sloppily around the gash on my upper arm. It looked worse that it had when I first got it. Blood still seeped through small sections of the opened skin.
I quickly switched wrappings and pushed myself off the ground. The faster I got moving the faster I could get to a hospital. Since I was far away from any town I could not run for fear that I would lose too much blood. Walking would surely take too long and unless I could learn to fly my options were running very low. I would have to hitchhike.
My brain was a scary place to live in, and often times when I walked I had trouble escaping it. That is why I ran so often. That is why I never stopped. It forced me to think about painful memories buried deep when I slowed down. Memories that I could not deal with in the present. Not in my condition. Not in my position.
Walking was bad. Instead of dwelling on those things that I could not change, I decided to think about who I would be this time, for the people who asked questions; the person who would pick me up off the road and the hospital assistants.
It was always easier to lie to those who meant nothing to you. Months ago I decided that it might even be easier than being truthful with those who do matter. Lucky for me I had lost everyone who did three years ago, so my decision was made for me.
Suddenly a road appeared in front of me, seemingly out of nowhere. It stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions and was completely deserted. Most of the roads out here were. I kept walking, remembering as my mind registered how parched I was that I had not had anything to drink in nearly eight hours. My stomach growled.
I told my body to shut up and keep moving.
By the time I heard an old engine roaring in the distance darkness was already setting on the forest. I frowned, knowing that I would have to find a place to rest for a while after I went to get my arm stitched back up. Slowly, an ancient looking pickup truck chugged along the road from behind me. I wondered if it would have mattered to me what direction it had come from. Any town would do.
