Adventures With The SMG4 Crew

The Lit Wick of the Candles

Mario: I thought you guys said we SHOULDN'T be doing this. I mean, Jake's completely blindfolded and Beepie's going to be PISSED! Glitch, you TOLD us this was a bad idea, WHY ARE YOU GOING ALONG WITH IT??

SMG4: SHUT THE FUCK UP AND KEEP WALKING!!

Me: GUYS, I know you two have been going at each other's throats like cats and dogs, but can you PLEASE tell me what I'm doing? I'm gonna piss myself soon, I'm blindfolded, and it's fucking MIDNIGHT!!

Mario: Okay, left of you is I, and out there is a campground, Bays End, I think. When we get out here far enough, we're going to leave you with a candle and a book of matches, as well as your bag. Your goal is simple, survive until 6 AM in the Spoooooky woods.

SMG4: Alright, here we are. Bays End gate, good luck my friend. See you at 6 AM... IF YOU SURVIVE!

With a chuckle and a pat on the back, off went the two, their frantic footsteps quickly fading into the distance. I pulled the blindfold right off my face and stared into the complete blackness of the woods, a candle and matches laying right at my feet. Lighting the candle and tucking the box of matches in my pocket, I steadied my breath and headed to the point of no return.

Me: Keep the candle lit, maybe explore the camp, drink a beer by the fire, have a bit of a fun. Some fucking friends I have, heh, I don't know what's out there, and I don't want to know.

Trekking into the camp area and blocking the candle wick with my actual hand, I kept my head on a swivel as the ambient noises around me stayed as cool as an ice chest. It was soothing, but stressful, as I headed into one of the few cabins around the small lake and searched for nothing in particular. And nothing in particular was what I found; seriously, the cabin was completely empty, save for bedding and a bookshelf... and fireplace.

Searching in another cabin, I set the candle on one of the smaller tables and picked up a diary of sorts off the wooden floor. Leather cover and completely worn, I didn't really WANT to read it, but curiosity killed the cat, you know? I could only read one thing on the cover: "Cole Whitstore," a name basically nobody I knew would know, but somebody I felt was important to the camp. I took the book over to the table and, lighting the candle again, flipped open to the first page, dated 6/23/80, and the whole diary seemed to span the whole stay of a summer camp-like state.

Me: "The day of camp has finally arrived, and why am I not excited? One, summer camp fucking SUCKS, two, people are fucking ANNOYING, and three, it says it's a camp when really it's fucking SUMMER SCHOOL! It's not so difficult... unless you're me, the one that hides behind the crowd. Yeah, junior high, attending summer "camp," I passed at least, assholes. Welcome to Hell, Cole... welcome to the Hell of your life."

Flipping through the pages a bit, I could see a recurring theme within the entries: teenage hatred towards people, seems like he couldn't escape his angsty years. Every entry was targeting either the camp in general, the campers, the staff, or just regular hatred to everything. One of the entries stood out however, one dated 7/30/80.

Me: "She's too cute for me to talk to. I just can't, I get too fucking flustered around her, she's so... something else, something completely interstellar. God, quit kicking yourself in the balls, Whitstore, she's... I'll try talking to her underneath the cherry tree by the lake. If shit hits the fan... fuck, I'll deal with it then."

I relit my candle again (damn broken windows) and flipped to the absolute final page of the whole diary. The only page that was both ripped at the bottom and dribbled with blood drops, I felt somewhat bad for the guy, and I never knew him at all. Dated 8/23/80, last page in the diary, ending the summer.

Me: "Shit fuck fuck. Last day, fucking ruined it. Her and I had a thing going, we were so close. FUCK! Dammit, I... it's all too much. She broke my heart in two, I can't feel anything but pain in my chest. I have nothing else left... except for gramps' old pocket knife. I don't want to do this, but I feel I have no other choice... I'll NEVER find anyone who cares. I guess... fuck it, bloodshed time... hurts like SHIT! But... I feel better, not great, but better. I'm... just going to keep going this... for a little while."