Fallout: Part III of The Journal Series

Chapter Nine: Happy Anniversary

June, 1997.

It had been a long few months on my own. All my possessions were in my house at last, scattered around me, still stacked in boxes, or just shoved in corners of empty spare rooms. The only things I truly got into were my clothes, guitars, and my massive collection of monster and dinosaur action figures. 

Back at home...I mean, at Duff's, I'd had what was essentially a massive battleground set up of Monsters Vs. Dinos, and in the pursuit of something to take my mind from the gloom that constantly needed to unsuccessfully be kept at bay I took time to set it up again, arranging the ranks, establishing new leaders, and the like. First Lieutenant Frankenstein's Monster now led the charge against Admiral Ankylosaur, so things were heating up, I'd say.

It still didn't do much to ease my pain, nonetheless entertain me. It was just something to force myself to do between fitful sleep, hardly eating, and pretending everything was okay at in my personal life while I was at rehearsals.

That's not to say Duff and I hadn't communicated since I left. No, we'd talked. We'd seen each other. In fact, back in early April I made good on my promise to go get the rest of my stuff, moving truck and grunts to lug the pinball machines, dinosaur statues, and other heavy crap at the ready.

I'd gotten there early, figuring I'd have to pack everything up the rest of the way. When I pulled up the drive and garage was empty, so I figured Duff was either at the gym or probably had something to do with the Hosebeast's baby, but when I walked in the house, after being mauled by the fur brigade, that is, everything was stacked in the living room.

The couch, tables, and armchair had been shoved to the wall, and everything was all gathered, labelled, and ready to go. Pinball machines were neatly lined up, as Duff had gotten one for me about every two years or so or when I found one I was in love with, all six of them, lights off and powerless, silent. My few damn near life size raptor statues were ready to go, too, right alongside them, hats, necklaces, and even one with a bikini top still in place.

My eyes dropped to the boxes, though. A dim, grey bleakness settled in my chest upon seeing that familiar left-handed scrawl. Jewelry. Books. Knick-knacks. Tapes. Records. Misc. Imp..

The flaps of the boxes were folded in on themselves, and I knelt before them with a grim curiosity, a single label holding my attention more than the others. I pulled one towards me, the one labelled Misc. Imp.

I frowned at the black Sharpie that marked the box, and cautiously opened it.

Miscellaneous Important, I translated, feeling the corners of my mouth tug downwards with the tears that filled my eyes upon seeing what rested upon the top.

I picked up the book, tattered, worn, fucking ancient by our standards. I cradled it in one hand, running the fingers of the other over the leather cover, worn smooth and shiny from years of handling, quickly dabbing away the single tear that splattered upon it. I shook my head, gnawing my lip, threatening to burst into heartbroken sobs.

It had been easy when I was alone. Sure, I cried, but I could also numb myself because I was surrounded by nothing in a place I had never truly called home. But now that this was in my hands, this piece of history, this...this account while I was in a place where so much of it occurred, I... It felt too real. Too painful.