Blake and I were still walking along on a zigzagging leaf scattered dirt path after about fourty-five minutes. He was trying to make small talk while we walked, asking things like how my childhood was and stuff like that.
I wasn't responding and didn't plan on doing so either. I prefer leaving my past in the past when it comes to meeting new people. The less they know about me, the better.
"You seemed much more chatty earlier," Blake spoke again after walking in silence for a few minutes. "I guess you don't like me very much."
"I don't like new people," I replied with a hint of sourness still in my voice. "I like being alone with my thoughts. It calms me down in a time like this."
"I understand. I knew a lot of people just like you-bitter, shy, but a good person underneath their hard exterior. It just takes time to get on their good side and see them smile or hear them laugh every once in a while."
"That's true. We're all like this every now and again, some more often than others just from their personality."
The conversation abruptly ended after that statement. Blake continued to walk silently, looking down at his shoes every now and then.
We could both sense the awkwardness between us. He was outgoing yet mysterious at the same time in a unique way while I was pure bitterness and contempt from forces outside my control. In other words, our personalities clashed horribly. I could easily picture him eventually snapping and killing me in a variety of different, extremely painful ways.
If he did, I really wouldn't care. I wanted to die. I wouldn't be afraid. I'd accept it like a gift I actually wanted. This was a cruel world full of heartless people mindlessly committing brutal acts of hatred and vengeance. One where society dictates the norm and declares that if you don't follow the shallow fads, you were a sin against nature. It was no place for someone like me, who dared to say otherwise.
"Meg?" Great. Blake was trying to start another conversation with me. Why couldn't he just leave me alone?
Before I could answer, my foot hit something as hard as a block of cement which really hurt. I bent down to see what it was. It was just a burlap sack. Wow. I must be really weak if a burlap sack could cause me to be in pain.
There was a piece of lined, yellow paper attached to it on a small, barely noticeable pin. I pulled off the paper, unfolded it, and read the message it contained.
"This is only the start of the torture." I read from the note. Torture? What was this sadistic, insane person up to, and what was he doing to sweet, innocent Lois?
I knelt down to the ground to open the sack. Inside was a cinderblock-the thing my foot accidently hit, a blood covered, rusty saw, and Lois' long, golden blond hair, soaked with dried blood with parts of her scalp still attached.
