Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
The Last Notebook
Notebook Part 2
By Phenyx
-
I'm in a morbid mood.
I couldn't get back to sleep so I just grabbed my things and started walking. I walked through the darkened city until I found a good place to watch the sunrise. There will be so few sunrises.
Once daylight had come, I continued wandering aimlessly. I had no goal in mind. I just strolled down the sidewalks and watched the people go by.
They are such idiots.
I saw a woman burst into tears when some poor fellow in a hard hat bumped into her. He spilled coffee across her blouse and ruined the fabric. The silly nit was absolutely distraught. The man was kind enough, very apologetic. But she screamed at him like a banshee. She probably ruined his day. Idiots.
What would I give to have such normal, inconsequential problems in my life? I would gladly wear scalding hot coffee everyday of my life, if in return I could buy myself a little more time.
Just before noon, I came across a funeral procession. A long line of cars, headlights aglow, inched slowly down the road I was trying to cross. Little purple flags marked "Funeral" were hooked to each vehicle. Why do they do that? Are they hoping observers will say a small prayer? Show some sign of respect? Or are they a sign to remind the survivors how lucky they are?
I don't know why I did it, but I followed the solemn parade all the way to the cemetery.
I watched the memorial service and listened to a dozen people tell us all how much Mark will be missed. I have no clue who this Mark character was but he sure had a lot of friends. There was a pretty brunette woman standing at the graveside bawling her eyes out. She had no wedding ring so I'm guessing that she was a girlfriend.
I've decided that I hate Mark.
It isn't fair that so many people have come to pay their respects to him. There are dozens of people here. Grown men have tears in their eyes. I envy him.
I will have no one to mourn me. Except Sydney perhaps. If I can find some way to notify him, Sydney will stand by my grave.
But then again, if Sydney comes, so will Raines. That ghoul won't let them bury me. He'll have me preserved, save my pieces and parts for his cloning project. Sydney won't be able to stop him.
Parker could stop Raines if she wanted to. It has always been in her power to do so. She just doesn't see that. I wonder if she would care enough to bother.
The service has ended. Small knots of people stand about, consoling each other. The weeping woman has been led away to a limousine parked nearby. I'm beginning to get strange looks. They are wondering about this stranger as I sit on a stone bench writing thoughtfully in my little book.
I shouldn't stay much longer.
--
Someone please help me.
It is nearly ten thirty. I'm sitting in a coffee shop somewhere along Main Street. I'm sweating and still shaking. My heart is pounding in my chest. My handwriting is barely legible. I think the waitress is afraid of me. They are few other customers this late at night. If I were her I'd be concerned too.
It seemed so innocuous at the time. Stroll through the cemetery and read a few epitaphs. Maybe decide what I want mine to say. I had decided that I don't want fresh flowers at my grave. They wilt. A handful of days later they droop abandoned and limp over the freshly turned soil. They seem forlorn, accentuating the fact that the world has gone on. It won't stop when I'm gone.
I noticed how many trees there are in most cemeteries. Many people want to be placed beneath some aged old oak. I lay in the grass and looked up at the green blanket of leaves above me. They blocked out the sky. I didn't like that. I love the crystalline blue expanse too much.
I fell asleep in the graveyard. Why would I have done something so stupid?
When I woke, it was dark. The silence around me was deafening. The shadowy tombs were terrifying. It was as though they beckoned to me. Silent yet ominous blackness seemed to crowd me so oppressively that I could barely breath. The ground beneath my feet as I stood felt soft and pliant, eager to take me in its embrace. I've never been so frightened of the dark as I was in those moments.
I ran. I ran until my lungs ached and my legs began to wobble beneath me. As if I could outrun fate, I pushed myself as far and as fast as I could. Running is what I do best after all.
It isn't fair.
Damn it, IT JUST ISNT FAIR!
Haven't I paid enough? Haven't I sacrificed enough of my life to sorrow? Fate hates me. If there is a God, I must have truly pissed him off in some prior lifetime.
It isn't fair.
I heard once that only the good die young. Lyle will probably live to be a hundred. I suppose there is a bright side to this, a silver lining so to speak. He won't catch me. In falling prey to the clutches of death, I will deprive Lyle of his prize. How furious will he be when he learns that I have eluded him for all eternity?
The thought almost makes me smile.
I need to make some decisions. This aimlessness brings me only depression and despair. I am wallowing in self pity and fear. I need to find focus. I can't continue to wander. My condition prevents it. The blinding migraine I had on the bus warns me that I can no longer drive. I could endanger others if I should have another attack while behind the wheel of a car.
I don't want to stay here, but I must choose someplace soon. I think I'll head to the airport and decide where to spend the rest of my life when I buy my ticket.
This journal was a good idea. The writing is soothing and helps to calm my nerves. It helps.
--
I've decided.
It's funny really. The final ironic twist of my life but it seems so obvious to me now. It was the cab driver who helped me to choose.
His name was Chuck and he was enjoyably talkative during the forty-five minute drive to the airport. It was after midnight by the time he picked me up outside the café and I was the first fare he'd had in over an hour. He chatted me up really well, working hard for his tip.
He asked me where I was from. I answered him automatically, without thought, the same as I have to others I have met during my travels.
Delaware.
I'm from Delaware. Regardless of where I was born or the circumstances of my life that took me to that rocky coast, deep down inside I am from Delaware. I have horrifying memories of my childhood there. But some of my remembrances are so very sweet. A certain kiss comes immediately to my mind.
Aside from a few happenstances of the past couple of years, every truthfully happy moment in my life has occurred in Delaware. Those are moments in my life that I hold precious. There are people there who are dear to me.
Chuck dropped me off at the terminal and I obliged him with a hefty tip. The next flight to Dover isn't for several hours. It will be the red eye flight with layovers in Chicago and Boston.
After buying my ticket, I have settled in to wait. To pass the time, I used my laptop to scout out locations. I need a safe place to stay. I quickly found a beachfront condo for rent. As though destiny meant for me to find this place, the house had only gone on the market this afternoon. Sydney lives less that thirty minutes away, close enough for me to pop by in a taxi if I so choose. Parker's is even closer.
The proximity to The Centre won't bother me. I seriously doubt they'll find me in my quaint little beach side community. I'll hide right under their noses. And if, at the end, I find myself unable to do this alone, Sydney won't have far to come when I call.
There is a huge weight lifted from my shoulders. I know where I'm going. I know what I'll do when I get there. I have a plan, focus for the time I have left. It's time to wrap up loose ends and put my affairs in order as they say.
It's time to go home.
Notebook Part 2
By Phenyx
-
I'm in a morbid mood.
I couldn't get back to sleep so I just grabbed my things and started walking. I walked through the darkened city until I found a good place to watch the sunrise. There will be so few sunrises.
Once daylight had come, I continued wandering aimlessly. I had no goal in mind. I just strolled down the sidewalks and watched the people go by.
They are such idiots.
I saw a woman burst into tears when some poor fellow in a hard hat bumped into her. He spilled coffee across her blouse and ruined the fabric. The silly nit was absolutely distraught. The man was kind enough, very apologetic. But she screamed at him like a banshee. She probably ruined his day. Idiots.
What would I give to have such normal, inconsequential problems in my life? I would gladly wear scalding hot coffee everyday of my life, if in return I could buy myself a little more time.
Just before noon, I came across a funeral procession. A long line of cars, headlights aglow, inched slowly down the road I was trying to cross. Little purple flags marked "Funeral" were hooked to each vehicle. Why do they do that? Are they hoping observers will say a small prayer? Show some sign of respect? Or are they a sign to remind the survivors how lucky they are?
I don't know why I did it, but I followed the solemn parade all the way to the cemetery.
I watched the memorial service and listened to a dozen people tell us all how much Mark will be missed. I have no clue who this Mark character was but he sure had a lot of friends. There was a pretty brunette woman standing at the graveside bawling her eyes out. She had no wedding ring so I'm guessing that she was a girlfriend.
I've decided that I hate Mark.
It isn't fair that so many people have come to pay their respects to him. There are dozens of people here. Grown men have tears in their eyes. I envy him.
I will have no one to mourn me. Except Sydney perhaps. If I can find some way to notify him, Sydney will stand by my grave.
But then again, if Sydney comes, so will Raines. That ghoul won't let them bury me. He'll have me preserved, save my pieces and parts for his cloning project. Sydney won't be able to stop him.
Parker could stop Raines if she wanted to. It has always been in her power to do so. She just doesn't see that. I wonder if she would care enough to bother.
The service has ended. Small knots of people stand about, consoling each other. The weeping woman has been led away to a limousine parked nearby. I'm beginning to get strange looks. They are wondering about this stranger as I sit on a stone bench writing thoughtfully in my little book.
I shouldn't stay much longer.
--
Someone please help me.
It is nearly ten thirty. I'm sitting in a coffee shop somewhere along Main Street. I'm sweating and still shaking. My heart is pounding in my chest. My handwriting is barely legible. I think the waitress is afraid of me. They are few other customers this late at night. If I were her I'd be concerned too.
It seemed so innocuous at the time. Stroll through the cemetery and read a few epitaphs. Maybe decide what I want mine to say. I had decided that I don't want fresh flowers at my grave. They wilt. A handful of days later they droop abandoned and limp over the freshly turned soil. They seem forlorn, accentuating the fact that the world has gone on. It won't stop when I'm gone.
I noticed how many trees there are in most cemeteries. Many people want to be placed beneath some aged old oak. I lay in the grass and looked up at the green blanket of leaves above me. They blocked out the sky. I didn't like that. I love the crystalline blue expanse too much.
I fell asleep in the graveyard. Why would I have done something so stupid?
When I woke, it was dark. The silence around me was deafening. The shadowy tombs were terrifying. It was as though they beckoned to me. Silent yet ominous blackness seemed to crowd me so oppressively that I could barely breath. The ground beneath my feet as I stood felt soft and pliant, eager to take me in its embrace. I've never been so frightened of the dark as I was in those moments.
I ran. I ran until my lungs ached and my legs began to wobble beneath me. As if I could outrun fate, I pushed myself as far and as fast as I could. Running is what I do best after all.
It isn't fair.
Damn it, IT JUST ISNT FAIR!
Haven't I paid enough? Haven't I sacrificed enough of my life to sorrow? Fate hates me. If there is a God, I must have truly pissed him off in some prior lifetime.
It isn't fair.
I heard once that only the good die young. Lyle will probably live to be a hundred. I suppose there is a bright side to this, a silver lining so to speak. He won't catch me. In falling prey to the clutches of death, I will deprive Lyle of his prize. How furious will he be when he learns that I have eluded him for all eternity?
The thought almost makes me smile.
I need to make some decisions. This aimlessness brings me only depression and despair. I am wallowing in self pity and fear. I need to find focus. I can't continue to wander. My condition prevents it. The blinding migraine I had on the bus warns me that I can no longer drive. I could endanger others if I should have another attack while behind the wheel of a car.
I don't want to stay here, but I must choose someplace soon. I think I'll head to the airport and decide where to spend the rest of my life when I buy my ticket.
This journal was a good idea. The writing is soothing and helps to calm my nerves. It helps.
--
I've decided.
It's funny really. The final ironic twist of my life but it seems so obvious to me now. It was the cab driver who helped me to choose.
His name was Chuck and he was enjoyably talkative during the forty-five minute drive to the airport. It was after midnight by the time he picked me up outside the café and I was the first fare he'd had in over an hour. He chatted me up really well, working hard for his tip.
He asked me where I was from. I answered him automatically, without thought, the same as I have to others I have met during my travels.
Delaware.
I'm from Delaware. Regardless of where I was born or the circumstances of my life that took me to that rocky coast, deep down inside I am from Delaware. I have horrifying memories of my childhood there. But some of my remembrances are so very sweet. A certain kiss comes immediately to my mind.
Aside from a few happenstances of the past couple of years, every truthfully happy moment in my life has occurred in Delaware. Those are moments in my life that I hold precious. There are people there who are dear to me.
Chuck dropped me off at the terminal and I obliged him with a hefty tip. The next flight to Dover isn't for several hours. It will be the red eye flight with layovers in Chicago and Boston.
After buying my ticket, I have settled in to wait. To pass the time, I used my laptop to scout out locations. I need a safe place to stay. I quickly found a beachfront condo for rent. As though destiny meant for me to find this place, the house had only gone on the market this afternoon. Sydney lives less that thirty minutes away, close enough for me to pop by in a taxi if I so choose. Parker's is even closer.
The proximity to The Centre won't bother me. I seriously doubt they'll find me in my quaint little beach side community. I'll hide right under their noses. And if, at the end, I find myself unable to do this alone, Sydney won't have far to come when I call.
There is a huge weight lifted from my shoulders. I know where I'm going. I know what I'll do when I get there. I have a plan, focus for the time I have left. It's time to wrap up loose ends and put my affairs in order as they say.
It's time to go home.
