User:BATTEUR/journal
You were searching through the rubble of an old safehouse. With a nostalgic half-smile on your face, you pick out old knick-knacks and junk that you had to leave behind when you left in a hurry that fateful night. Suddenly, you feel a sharp pain in your hand. Wincing and removing the appendage from the offending pile of rubbish, you peer down in shock at the perpetrator to your newly-found papercut. Digging out an old leather book from underneath the remains of a chair, you curiously flip open to the first page. In almost unreadable chickenscratch, you make out a hastily scrawled note on the inside front cover of the leather-bound journal...
A NOTE
Journal property of Zacharie Batteur. If found, I am most likely dead. No need to worry about going out of your way to find me. Stay safe, whoever you are, dear reader.
<3,
Zacharie
DAY ONE
When Hugo gave me this journal for my birthday last August, I was certain that I would probably only use the thing once, just to make him happy (if at all). Well, here I am now, barricaded in my house with nothing to do but write by the dim, flickering light of a candle I dug up from our basement.
I also suppose that writing this may also serve as my security blanket. What with all the shot I've been through so far, and what I am most certain is to come, I feel it necessary to have some sort of a normal human habit by which to maintain my sanity and humanity.
I suppose I have avoided it long enough by now. It's time to talk about what happened today.
Per a normal Thursday afternoon, I was out and about in the city. Phillip was at work, Hugo daycare, and me enjoying the nice fall day from up on top of an old, crumbling, abandoned library.
You see, as a (relatively) new, jobless dad, I had gotten myself into a bit of a 'Shit! Life as I knew it is over! I have to do fatherly, responsible stuff now-to no more parkour or urban exploration or back-alley deals on counterfeit/stolen goods! (Okay, so maybe I didn't miss that last bit quite that much.)
So, naturally, I often found myself in places a younger me would have frequented, such as rooftops and decaying homes and tunnels. What else was I supposed to do while my family was out?
As I took another thoughtful bite of a tuna salad sandwich I had brought along for the journey, I spied some odd sort of commotion happening way down on the pavement. Cautiously inching forward, I peered over the rooftop to get a better view of what was the matter.
Interrupting the violent flow of traffic down below the Library was an unfamiliar womanman. Of course, from 4 storeys up, I couldn't make out her face too well, but it was clear to me that something was really quite wrong. The strange woman swayed slowly, back and forth from her stationary position in the middle of the road. A busy, city road at that!
I remember thinking something along the lines of "Is she sick? What the hell is wrong with her?!" before suddenly her demeanor shifted from vacant to absolutely barbaric, as she quickly threw her well dressed body on top of a honking taxi and began concluding on the windshield with her bare arms.
TO BE CONTINUED!
