| Episode 073 | |
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“Sex is unclean, not because of the pleasure, but because of the suffering it brings.” Theodore Roeszak
I push my way out through the hole in the wall. I decided I didn’t want to bother with the door. I step out in the hot air of the desert, feeling the baking sky coming down on me. I look up, but I don’t see any signs of a sun or anything. I just see sky. Kind of bland, normal sky. I feel bad about rejecting Slate, but I mean, come on. This really isn’t the time for a roll in the hay. Granted, I’m not sure why it isn’t a good time, but I just can’t. She’s, she’s Slate. I just can’t think of her that way. It’d just be weird. I say all of this to myself as I stand just in front of the hole, fighting the urge to go back inside. It may be weird and it may be freaky and it may be at the worst possible time, but I am still a guy. And she’s still a woman. A really hot woman. A really hot, willing woman, which is the rarest of all. I adjust my pants and step out into the world. Jesus, I don’t know what time it is, but I can already tell that this is going to be one of the longest days of my life. The area around the small, nondescript squat building that I’m standing in front of is kind of how I imagine World War II-Warsaw looked. There are bodies everywhere. There’s even still a fire here and there. Walls are knocked down, broken glass is everywhere. There are gun shells and guns and so on. I come across a body that looks vaguely familiar. I kick him over to realize that it’s a vampire. He’s got a large black mark on his chest, but his shirt is fine. But his eyes are rolled back in his head, a glazed expression on his face. He doesn’t look too good. In fact, he looks dead. I have a sudden desire to find Morcean. But even as I think about it, I think about the parched taste in my mouth. I’m thirsty.
The handle squeaks as it turns, but nothing comes out. I stand in front of the sink in the barracks, staring at the empty faucet, trying to think. Bodies are in here as well, but there’s still no sign of life; only death. I turn around in the barracks and consider. For whatever reason, the large, one-room bunkhouse is a lot cooler than the outside air. It’s so cool in fact, that I’m not even sweating. I leave the head and hop up onto one of the beds and just think. As I let my mind start to wonder, I look at the man’s trunk at the food of the bed. I move around to the trunk and open it up. It creaks open, groaning with an ancient smell. Inside, I find a variety of knickknacks and little trinkets. But nothing grabs my attention. Until I see the book. It’s a red, hardbound volume, about the size of the textbooks I had in elementary school. It’s thick with heavy pages, but there’s no writing on the front or the sides. No title. My guess is that the soldier took the cover itself off. I open the book. Blank I turn the page Blank And then it hits me. It’s a diary. I flip to the front of the book. Blank I realize that I’m holding the book upside down. I turn it over and open to the first page. Blank I close the book. I guess he didn’t get started. I guess I should feel bad. But something in the back of my mind bothers me. I look down into the trunk and see another book. I reach for it, pulling up a cardboard-colored book that’s small, but thick. I look at the cover and it says it’s the basic field manual. I flip it open. Blank For the first time, I turn around and look at the barracks. The double-beds are layered up tall, with their mattresses made and fresh. The bullet holes and the broken glass seems pretty incidental to the otherwise spotless sleeping quarters. I look back at the book. Blank I flip through the pages, stopping just randomly. Blank I close my eyes, then check again. Blank Something’s going on. |
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