(no subject)
I've been here on the island for over a year now.
Mostly, it's been good.
Better than good. Mostly, it's been...more than I ever expected my life to be. Somehow, I got ridiculously lucky. And, you know, if I believed in God, I might think that I'm, like, being rewarded for...for surviving Zombieland. For everything that we went through. Maybe that's right. Maybe Wichita and me deserve a quiet life together and somewhere, there's...a higher power that recognises that?
But I don't believe in God.
So maybe I think that I get this because I followed the rules. Because I did what I had to do and I tried to stay safe.
Maybe that counts for something.
But I don't think I need the rules anymore. I don't think they're going to get me anywhere anymore. Wichita's never said anything about the notebook, the one that I put into my pocket every morning, no matter waht I'm doing. She's never said anything but I can never shake the feeling that, maybe, she thinks I'm pathetic, because I can't let them go. So there it is. Maybe it's time.
It was never a rule, not really, but it's...totally relevant now.
Time to nut up or shut up.
There's a fire roaring in the rec-room and I crouch down in front of it, notebook in hand. I can feel my stomach lurching, my heart pounding, kind of like running a long way, and I have to do it, I have to do it, it's time to move on and acept that this is my life and, more than that, it's a good one.
So I do it. I let it go.
The pages curl before they start to burn.
Jesus.
ooc: if your pup knows Columbus, they'll have seen the notebook before. While he's visibly agitated, it's not a bad time to meet him.
Mostly, it's been good.
Better than good. Mostly, it's been...more than I ever expected my life to be. Somehow, I got ridiculously lucky. And, you know, if I believed in God, I might think that I'm, like, being rewarded for...for surviving Zombieland. For everything that we went through. Maybe that's right. Maybe Wichita and me deserve a quiet life together and somewhere, there's...a higher power that recognises that?
But I don't believe in God.
So maybe I think that I get this because I followed the rules. Because I did what I had to do and I tried to stay safe.
Maybe that counts for something.
But I don't think I need the rules anymore. I don't think they're going to get me anywhere anymore. Wichita's never said anything about the notebook, the one that I put into my pocket every morning, no matter waht I'm doing. She's never said anything but I can never shake the feeling that, maybe, she thinks I'm pathetic, because I can't let them go. So there it is. Maybe it's time.
It was never a rule, not really, but it's...totally relevant now.
Time to nut up or shut up.
There's a fire roaring in the rec-room and I crouch down in front of it, notebook in hand. I can feel my stomach lurching, my heart pounding, kind of like running a long way, and I have to do it, I have to do it, it's time to move on and acept that this is my life and, more than that, it's a good one.
So I do it. I let it go.
The pages curl before they start to burn.
Jesus.
ooc: if your pup knows Columbus, they'll have seen the notebook before. While he's visibly agitated, it's not a bad time to meet him.