I sleep in my bedroom closet when I get depressed. I don’t know why I just always have. That’s how Jo found me.
-
- * -
Jo slides open the closet door to find Mason sleeping fitfully inside, he nudges him awake. Mason jolts slightly as he wakes, Jo shushes him, “It’s ok It’s ok. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing”
“You’re sleeping in the closet…”
“I couldn’t breathe.”
“C’mon let’s go downstairs and get you some water ok?”
Downstairs in the kitchen they sat quietly across from each other.
“How often have you slept in the closet while we’ve been here?” Jo asked.
“A few times a week.”
“Why didn’t you-“
“There’s nothing to say.” Mason cut in.
“Don’t be afraid to tell me shit that’s getting to you.”
“I’m not.”
- * -
-
I want to talk to Jo I really do but the words get stuck in my throat and die. I’d probably be better off trying to put into a song. Oh man I got problems.
I’m pretty sure we’re immortal. I mean I’ve been shot in the chest three times by silver bullets (and yes it hurts like fuck - my lungs where did they go?) but drinking a jar ‘o blood put me right as rain. That’s a lot of shit to lay on a twenty something who’s supposed to feel immortal not know that they are. I used to lay in bed and get hit with that fear of death and wonder what the next step wold be. Now it’s living forever and what’s that going to be like? Watching the world continue on and on while I don’t. Can I take all that in and just be ok?
There’s no “easy” way out as far as we know:
- We don’t burn in the sun.
- Silver does shit.
- I drank holy water like it was tap.
I’m not saying I’m looking at that right now exactly but what about 200 years from now?
