The 79th Year

Chapter 3: Kiss him Farewell.

Great Aunt's Journal

January 8th, 2013.

It's cold, and it's snowing outside. I currently hate the snow, and the crap whether we've been having. I wish it was summer, so I could swim in the lakes, and dance in the rain. Instead, we're wearing heavy jackets, and shoveling sidewalks, and finding new ways to keep warm.

I babysat Carla today. She is a handful. She'd scream at me, and yell out things like, "STOP SCREAMING AT ME! YOU'RE HURTING ME!" When I was halfway across the room, only looking at her. I wonder what the hell is going on with her.

She sometimes scared me. Like, she's tell me how much she was told to die. I never understand her when she says stuff like that. There must be something happening in her brain.

Or she talks to people named 'Stan', and according to her, Stan tells her to hurt other people.

No wonder why she hits, and punches me sometimes. Once, she bit my leg. I was left with a bruise that spread across my thigh. It was weird. I felt dizzy after the bite, then all I remember was falling down and being sent to the hospital. I was cured, but I'll always have her bit mark on my leg.

February 20th, 2092.

I slammed the journal shut. I couldn't read it anymore. I was tired. It was almost 10pm. I sighed, and climbed out of my covers to grab a glass of water. I made my way to the hose, our only source of clean-ish water. I gulpped down the water, and lazilly walked back to the chair to lay down. I began to think.

How can I survive? I can't take the cure. Or, whatever the hell it is.

I looked at my poor mother. She was sound asleep, and her position hasn't moved since last night. I couldn't help but wonder if she was still alive. I knew she was, though, I could see her breathing. I watched as her chest went up slowly and shakilly, as if it was hard to breath, and then easilly fall back down.

I turned to the door, where there were 3 knocks.

Shit.

I stood up, cautious of what could be waiting for me on the outside. I rested my hand on the handle, and slowly twisted it open. I held my breath, imagining what could be there.

Standing in the rain, stood a crying Peyton.

"Peyton, what the hell? Get inside!" I said, pulling her arm, which I then realized she was holding a knife. A knife covered in fresh blood. I looked at her with a worried, and scared expression on my face. I pulled a towel off the hanger and wiped her tears, but she was still crying. She looked at me with a blank face. I still wondered what happened.

"What happened?" I asked softly, hugging her.

"Mayson...Ma-Mayson.." She muttered, before crashing to the ground and began sobbing into her hands. She dropped the dager onto the floor, spattering blood all over. My eyes began to tear up in anger, in sadness...in frustration.

"What. Happened." I ask again, but this time, I almost growled. She looked at me again.

"I-I killed....I killed Mayson."

What.

"Hun, C'mon, this isn't funny. You can't kid around with me." I laughed. "Good try though."

"I killed him, though...I forgot about the cure...I'm so fucking stupid." She muttered to me. She sniffled.

"Peyton, seriously, I'm not buying it." I say, crossing my arms.

Peyton looked up, and starred into my eyes.

"I KILLED MAYSON." She screamed. "We were running back home, and a fucking DEMON got to him, and BIT HIM! HE TOLD ME TO KILL HIM, BEFORE HE TRANSFORMED. AND SO I DID, BEFORE REMINDING MYSELF ABOUT THE CURE. I KILLED HIM, CARTER. I KILLED MAYSON."

Reality struck. This wasn't a prank. It wasn't a joke. Mayson was actually dead.

I sunk down onto my knee's, and pulled my best friend into my arms. I held her close, as she cried on my shoulder, and I processed the death...of one of my closest friends.

Rest in Paradise, Mayson. We never forget.

~

February 22nd, 2092

Today, we buried Mayson's body. We wrapped him in a white cloth, and dug a hole under a lonely, giant tree in the shelters backyard. I didn't see Peyton there. I haven't seen her since she left my house the other night.

I knew she was going through a rough time, but I was counting on her to be there. I, and Mayson, needed her there. It was important for the both of us.

I wish she could have showed up.

There wasn't many people who showed up. It was me, Lucy, a couple of his friends from the shelter, my mom (Even if I carried her for the most part), and a priest that nobody has ever heard of. It was sad to see that only 15 people showed up, and it lasted a half hour. There were people who were upset, but nobody really...cried. It was strange.

It was like nobody deeply cared, other then me.

I guess everyone was so used to the idea of death. Everyone has lost people they loved. Now by the time it was the death of Mayson...nobody was shocked, or surprised.

It was truly...sad.