O holy father, touch me in my sleep, kill me as I weep, eat me, for I am your sheep.
I'm not a very good driver. She was blond, my best friend, and had green eyes that were the color of pollution, the color of the tops of trees, the color of the relish on the hotdogs we ate at her little brother's little league game--the game where I kissed her and she pulled back, looked me in the eyes, and asked me to kiss her again.
We had a cliche romance. It was disgusting how generic it was, but it was ours and it was healthy. When we first had sex, we lit candles--We were that generic. Her name was Rachel.
"Rac--" Her lips were on mine, then my ear hit the steering wheel, and, I think, I watched her cheek bone shatter on the dash. I don't know, maybe I dreamt her injuries. Sometimes all she feels like is a dream. Sometimes I hope a dream is all she ever was.
I looked at her, as blood trickled out of her face and whispered to her, "Hey. Hey you. I love you, okay? Rachel. Rachel, I love you. I love you and I'm sorry. I didn't see the car. I'm so, so fucking sorry. Please wake up. Please. Please wake up. I love you, okay? I love you and I'm sorry...I'm so sorry."
I woke up in the hospital. I was concussed and had a few broken bones, but nothing serious. I went to Rachel's funeral a few days later. It was horrible. Her face looked shifted and her father collapsed. Her brother blamed me. Her mother hugged me. I would have kissed her, one last time, but my kiss was what killed her in the first place. Jesus fuck, I'm a shitty writer. I haven't done any of what happened any justice.
I dropped out of college. I had to take a break from all of my friends and from people, I guess. I started sleeping during the day, I lost my libido, nothing seemed appealing. I felt like I was drowning and watching everyone swim and smile and eat cheeseburgers and fuck and murder and take Christmas photos for Christmas cards during Thanksgiving. One card said "Put the Christ back in Christmas".
After a while of not doing anything and living off of scholarship money, I decided to get a job at a supermarket that rhymes with Mal-Wart. I wanted to work nothing but the graveyard shift, so that's what I did. But relax, this isn't a story about the graveyard shift, or about the weird people that cycle in and out of it. Nah, I wouldn't get that lucky, unfortunately.
It was actually pretty nice. I didn't do much except work the register and bullshit with the other assholes I worked with. A couple times, I even laughed at the jokes Chris would tell. He would tell the funniest jokes about how his father beat him, came in him, and killed his mother. Rachel.
Going home was gloomy. My life felt like one that was lived in the empty carpool lane of darkness, where I'd drive in and out of the empty freeway like a fly out of a wide-open window, only to go outside and realize every other fly is inside, dying, but dying comfortably and with awareness.
In a blur, I'm chewing on a breakfast burrito and it's six o' clock in the morning. I'm dead fucking tired, like always. It's like this every single day. I'm not even sure if these are considered days anymore, the twenty-four hour slots in the monotony that is my life. I'd prefer to call my days "stitches" because it feels like it'll take a couple more "stitches" before this grey paper skin gash is closed, but, even closed, there are still clods of dirt sleeping in my wound. I'll always feel it.
A few weeks pass and I gain some weight, my hair gets greasy, my sleep is either way nonexistent or way too long, then it occurs to me: it wasn't my fault. I'm contacted by a myriad or sources telling me that my car was defective. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault.
Before long, I start to get my shit together. I get a hair cut. I enroll to go back to college in the fall, and decide to give myself the summer so I can enjoy myself.
Rachel's family starts talking to me again and, suddenly, I'm not so alone. Rachel's mom hugs me and makes me hot tea. Her little brother tells me that he's the best pitcher on the baseball team. Rachel's dad doesn't talk much, but we go on walks through the trails. No one talks, but it's peaceful. When he does says something, he says that she can feel her in the forest.
I go home each evening and everything is okay. I'm okay. I watch Parks and Rec, I read more often, and I am starting to exercise. I like Andy Dwyer because he's kind and innocent. I'd like to think of myself as kind and innocent, one day.
It was a Friday and I hadn't received mail all week. There was this letter. It was long and a yolky yellow. My name and address was on it, but nothing indicating who it was from. I opened it up and read it.
Joshua Haines,
According to our record keeping, there was an administrative error that occurred February 2, 2015, at 4:34 pm, Palo Alto, California.
Rachel Kai Alexander died incorrectly. It was instructed that you, in fact, were to die due to internal bleeding, in place of her. Again, an administrative error occurred and I apologize for this mistake.
Ms. Alexander has been placed in Purgatory and will be there for the next thirty days. It is suggested that you commit suicide within these thirty days so that our quota for Hell is met, or she will be placed there instead of Heaven, where she was intended by Him.
We sincerely apologize for this inconvenience.
-Jesus Christ
At first I thought it was a cruel joke. I threw it away and sat on the couch, triggered, but got over the deep depression by the next day. But, the next day, the letter was on my refrigerator.
I threw it away again, but, the next day, it was on my refrigerator, again. I tried calling the police, to tell them that someone has been breaking and entering into my home to harass me, but no one ever picked up.
I went outside, but nothing moved except me. My neighbors stood still, in their homes, on their yards, in their cars. Exhaust hung suspended in the air and birds were frozen in the sky. The sun was focused on one yard, and, after a few days, the grass was gone.
A second letter came. It was the same as the first--it only differed in letting me know that, yes, this was real. I was to kill myself or Rachel would be going to Hell. My Rachel.
I sat on my porch and watched Mr. O'Leary sweat in the sun, like a statue. After a while, I noticed something: He voided his bowels. Shit ran down his legs, and his shorts were soaked with piss. He didn't make a noise, but, as I walked up to him, I looked into his eyes and could see that he was gone. He was dead.
People were dying. Everyone was frozen, but their bodies continued to require nutrition, water, and everything else a body would need. Everyone was going to be like this until the end of the thirty days, but I was sure that everyone would be dead by then. I'm not even sure how many people this affected. Was this only happening to my town, or was this happening to everyone on the planet?
I sat in my room, looking out the window. That's when I started to write this. I'm not sure if any of you out there will read this. For some reason, the internet is still going, so I don't think the planet is affected by this. Maybe this is happening in some other dimension and I'm being pressured into killing myself by thinking what I am in is reality. I just want someone out there to know what is happening because it scares me. It scares me because I don't want everyone to die. I don't want Rachel to go to Hell. I love her. I love people. For everyone that has died, I am sorry. If anyone can read this, I am sorry for what happened to your loved ones. I guess it's just hard to be selfless and kill myself for someone I love or for everyone, in general.
My goal is to make sure everyone is okay. I can't do this again, where I think everyone will die because of me. I can't kill Rachel again, you know? I'd rather burn in Hell than be responsible for so many deaths, especially hers.
Tomorrow I'm going to walk into the middle of town, slit my wrists, bleed out, and watch the people while hoping that they start moving as I die.
Goodbye, all.
Submitted March 04, 2015 at 12:15PM by JoshuaHaines http://ift.tt/1FUDcF0 nosleep
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