In Bloom

Hello, World: Prelude

There's that old saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. It seems true enough. What happens when your friends become your enemies? What course of action is taken after that? A question, that I've discovered, is still wholly unanswered. A question that might force the drawing of blood in pursuit of a solution. A question that has unexpectedly lit those nasty faces navigating the dark. Logic declares that you have two choices in this situation. The first option, continue on to a possible resolution. The other, and more often chosen, is to hide and pray they don't find you. Pray that their hunger for carnage and melancholy misses you as it rushes by. Never has there been a force so unnatural and cold. Well, at least not one that you've experienced. Now you're suddenly aware of everything bad in this world. All the sadness and regret kept by each and every human being. You remember that is what friends are for. We look for ourselves in others. Always hoping for relation to banish the fear that we are alone in the struggles. Until the previously mentioned incident occurs. It will turn that desire for bond into brutal reflection of our darkest traits.

Now I see why my father was so protective. I used to hate him for that. Though, it wasn't actual hate. It was more like the half serious adolescent kind. You feel like you know better for yourself than someone who truly does. The care of falling is almost non existent. Almost feeling like some kind of primitive drug. One only accessible in that narrow transition between childhood and maturity. I guess some exist there forever. Drifting through the void of expired milestones. Attempting to recapture the original sensations. Unfortunately, it's a waste of precious time more often than not.

However, I could be wrong. Everything I just said could very well be a result of extreme mental anguish. In simpler terms, utter batshit nonsense. I would appreciate some sympathy. If you only knew what I've seen in the last two weeks. If you only knew the pure, unfiltered fucking horror that I've crawled through. It came in terrible red waves. I was so criminally defenseless and unaware. Who would or even could predict something so unnerving? Certainly not Vance Thomas. That painfully anxious young man. That "fucking punk" as they called him. He just wanted to breathe easy. Now look at me, bloody and overwhelmed. I might die in these woods. I might die alone like I always feared. My name is Vance Jasper Thomas and I have nobody.