Feel Nothing, Lincoln

31

"We're finally free for the most part, PB. So now we can focus on what we originally talked about." PB is still in a depressing trance, but at least he's responsive. "What is that?" he asks. "Making me happy, remember? The job you were assigned for? You said it yourself the first time we met! You're gonna coach me the whole way to happiness! Isn't that right?" He looks away from me and up at the sky with a pensive countenance. "How can I make you feel happy when I feel so sad?" he says. We're in the park right now sitting on a bench, which continues to give me splinters every time I shuffle my body. I'm still licking my vanilla cone, yet PB hasn't touched his. Great, so my one hope at happiness has now fallen into a depressive, dejected state. "Listen, buddy. We're free men. now... sort of. We can explore the world, or like... go fishing? So cheer up so we can go have some fun." He mutters something that I cannot hear, and I ask him to repeat it louder. "I said, I want to go get Alli." I facepalmed. "Buddy, you know we can't do that. The less people that see my face, the better. We can't risk it. We've finally gotten our ticket to freedom, and going back to save a little girl is the least of our problems." He went quiet again. "You know what," I said. "I'm done with this whole thing. You can sit here and be catatonic for the rest of your life. I'm going out into the world to experience it while I can. Sure, I'll be depressed, but apparently not even a miracle pill or a tiny demon can fix that. Goodbye, Pill-Baby. I'm done."

I walk about a mile away, just to achieve some distance. At this time, I just want to leave everything and everyone behind. Im better off by myself. I'll follow my own pursuit of happiness. With PB gone, and Alli gone, and the cops mostly gone, I've relapsed back to the normalcy of what life was like before this whole chaotic disaster. Is it my fault that this all got out of hand? No, if anything, it's that damn salesman. If he never gave me that pill, I'd be sitting back at home like I always did. That salesman. That's when I felt it: Sadness and rage, delivering a swift and sharp punch to my gut. It was so palpable, I thought I would puke. That salesman is the reason for all of this. He's only brought me more suffering and trouble. The reason for my exacerbated pain. I'm going to kill that bastard. I'll drive a steak through his heart like the life-sucking vampire he is. I'll send his teeth down his throat with the swing of an iron bat. I'll rip his heart out through his rips, and have all his viscera spill out into the street. I may be in Indiana, but if I make the trip, I can get to the place where I know he will be:

Clyde's Diner.