Once home I realized something rather peculiar, while my bag was completely drenched from the rain, well, the papers on the other hand don't look to even have a drop of water on them. They're for lack of better phrasing, bone dry. Even though bones tend to be rather well, wet. Anywho, to the topic at hand, if the paper seemingly can't get wet, how would the ink have smudged? Did someone simply blot certain parts out with ink, or was it a stylistic choice to increase the 'mystery' of the document?
Maybe I'm not such a bad archivist after all! I'm the gosh-darn best in this whole nuclear blasted world!
Grrrumble
I want some chicken parm for dinner, but I don't know how to cook... My mother would kill me, not only can't I cook, I got a horrid office job like she didn't want me to. Heh... I remember telling her that I would never work an office job and I'd instead go live out her dreams of being an author. She'd always recite this quote from Anne of Green Gables, oh what was it...? Right!
"My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes and dreams."
You know, I didn't know why she liked that quote so much, but now I understand. Some dreams just aren't worth going through with. I always wanted to be an author like she wanted me to, but ever since she passed it hurt to even try and write. Every last word would remind me of her, every letter I would type bringing me closer to her, but she wouldn't be there. A void left in her place, she was the only family I ever had. My dad, god knows if he even survived the bombings, even if he did, well, he's not here. He's never been there... HE WALKED OUT ON MY MOTHER WHEN HE FOUND OUT SHE WAS PREGNANT. He deserves no part in my life. I don't care for him and never will.
Why am I crying...? I hate him! I HATE HIM. I would never care for that jerk. And yet tears still stream down my face...
Heh, I really am going insane, aren't I? I- I can't even make dinner without having a breakdown. I'm pathetic.
"You see mom, I really am a disappointment. You'd hate everything I stand for now." I said through a stream of tears.
Well, I suppose the PB & J won't make itself.
Bzzrt! "You have one new notification, would you like me to read it for you?" My phone chirped.
"Yes."
"From— Bestie <3 <3!— Heya! Wanna go to McMicks today? I know you can't cook and PB & J's are not the only part of a balanced diet, maybe we could talk too. — Would you like to respond?"
"Yes."
"What would you like to say?"
"I'd love to, it'll be nice to catch up with you. How does 10 sound?"
"Your message "I'd love to, it'll be nice to catch up with you. How does 10 sound?" has been sent!"
Mmm, now what? I've got some time. Time, what is time? A concept we all accept but truly don't have any understanding of. Days can feel like seconds as you get older, or so I am told. So what does it mean in the end? If time continues to move yet we can't comprehend it, does it even mean anything?
Bzzrt! "One new notification, would you like me to read it?"
"Yes!"
"From— bestie <3 <3 !—I know you mean in 10 minutes and not at 10pm loser, so sure, let's'a go!"
Right, let's head off to McMicks. It's about a four minute walk, I'll need my umbrella if I don't want to get wet. Although, it looks like lightning might strike.
YOU ARE READING
The book without a name.
Mystery / ThrillerTheo is caught up in a world turned upside down. With the recent end of a nuclear war, his home country of Provenance Town is one of the few areas left where there is grass, albeit yellow. The sky is now red, yet people go about their day to day as...
