Stitches ~ Scömìche

But I Know That I'll Make it Out Alive

Five more I'm Alives were added to the wall since the death of Mitch's fake family. They were smeared in thick paint as if they had been gone over many times. Black paint dripped down the walls from a half dried letter Mitch was writing on the walls.
Scott,
It started, a few sentences were rubbed away, leaving smears of paint behind.
I dreamed of a future that will never exist today.
Black lines from the first word dripped into this sentence and lines from this one dripped into the next.
To me it seemed so real, but perhaps it was just me wishing whatever the dream thought of was real. Maybe that dream was my escape of here, my mind wishing for a life I cannot possibly achieve.
The next part seemed to be wetter than the part above, as if it were added much later than the first.
If they every find me, I worry I'll be nothing more than a body. All that is left of me is writings on the wall, possibly already painted over by Him, but, as I once read, even if you paint over something, doesn't mean it's not there. So by painting these walls with the words of my pain, I am making my mark on this horrible place. I was here! I was here! And I hope someone finds me before someone else is thrown down here with nothing but black paint from a stranger.
Mitch had filled the wall at this point and instead of going to the next wall, he just continued the letter on the floor, not particularly caring if the rest was washed away.
I feel so lonely here. Empty even, hopeless. I hope no one will ever suffer the same fate as me. Slowly driving yourself crazy with dreams of fake realities isn't the way I would of liked to gone.
Foot prints cut through a section of that part, not to the point where it was unreadable, but to the point where they were so obviously there.
I wonder how you're doing Scott. How long it's been since I've seen you. I wonder, I wonder if you've moved on from me. I wonder if you have a family. I'd like you to have a family. Possibly a child. Maybe you named it after me. That'd be cute.
Tiny dots pepper the writing, as if tiny sections of it were washed away.
I wouldn't mind you moving on from me. All I want is you to be happy Scott. I just want you to be happy, even if your perfect future doesn't have a place for me. I hope you aren't still looking for me, admit it, you've lost that battle, settle down with someone, for all you know I'm dead.
A whole section was wiped away and rewritten.
When I make it out of this place I want to find you Scott. I want to meet your family and be introduced as an uncle or something, then I'll leave you alone, possibly come back for occasional visits. But after meeting your family and getting proof that you're happy, I'll happily move on and make myself a life, for your happiness is the only thing I'll ever care about.
Some parts of the words as slightly
smeared, looking as if a small amount of water was pushed onto them.
I cannot force you into happiness. But I can wish for yours. If there is a God, I'll pray to him and I won't pray for my rescue for I could care less for myself, I'll pray for you. I'll pray for you to get that family you wished for, that family that in your mind was perfect. I wish the best for you Scott. Love,
Your most faithful friend
Mitch Grassi
Mitch, finding the situation appropriate, dotted all the i's in his signature with tiny hearts that he carefully crafted.
Mitch was asleep on the bed, the paint drying slowly, permanently staining concert with wishes.
Mitch jolted awake, surveying his woke, a small proud smile covered his sharp features.
Yes, he was happy with his work. The door creaked open before slamming again and Mitch's frail heart dropped in his chest, knowing what was going to happen.
His last wish before his mind left his body, ready to think of anything else besides what was happening, was for no blood to stain the letter he worked so hard on.
Boots dragged across the end of it, smudging his signature. Mitch bit his lip and started thinking of Scott, anything about him at this point.
"Let me just get through this," He whispered and braced himself for the first blow, his mind relaxed on images of Scott.