Marty’s still not doing too great.
He’s not nearly as bad as he was yesterday. But he’s still shaky, withdrawn, and he won’t talk to anyone. He looks like a wild animal, and he won’t let anyone get near him. I’ve stayed in his room, making sure that he’s not alone. All of my attempts at conversation are met with silence, though. He hasn’t said a word.
He keeps motioning towards the journal, so I’m going to give it to him. Maybe he’ll be able to write better than he did yesterday.
Goodbye, for hopefully the last time,
-Bill
I’m home again. I’m safe. Home. Safe. I need to remember that.
There is so much blur. I remember some of what happened, but the rest… I can’t find it.
I remember arriving at the grocery store, seeing what was there. New York had become a place of blood. Even from outside, we could see it, splattered all over the store. On windows, fruits, cereal boxes. And among all of the red were the bones of the Special Forces.
The bones… so many bones… so much blood… what happened? Who did this? What was that feeling? I had felt it before… but where… why?
Stay away from me!
-mAr Ty
Ashton Rose 