hour two:

We're as good as gone. Roaming now. Not without aim though, just without insight as to who will reach our destination first. I don't know who I hope reaches it first.

hour four:

I wish I could say I wasn't still scared. Clutched hands and sarcastic jokes only go so far. Life only goes so far.

hour six:

Deafening silence. Deafening because the silence amplifies the restlessness of our minds.

hour ten:

We're not going home. We'll never go back home.

hour eleven:

I'm with my home.

hour fifteen:

We play hide and seek in the rain. It soaks away the blood on our cheeks. If only we could say the same for the bites.

hour seventeen:

It's almost the end of day one. We haven't gone back. We aren't going to. I wonder if there's a breach for my absence. Probably not. It happens more often than you would think.

hour nineteen:

I bring up the easy way out again. She still denies it. I almost did it. Almost.

hour twenty two:

She's showing signs. Oh God.

day 2:

I'm not showing signs. She is. It's all very sudden now.

hour six:

It's getting hard to breathe. She's asleep. I can't close my eyes. My chest is restricting with each breath. I don't know if it's panic or…

hour eight:

She hasn't woken up. She's making noises and her arm keeps twitching. She's gonna be first. Fuck.

hour nine:

Oh God, oh God, please. I can't do it. I can't not now, not now, not ever.

hour ten:

I don't have a home.

hour eleven:

The pain is unimaginable and I don't want to bear it anymore. She told me we'd go together. This isn't together.

hour thirteen:

I don't know what to do with myself. I keep waiting and waiting and nothing happens. Sleep won't come and the pain has barely faded into a numbness I've never experienced before. The signs aren't showing and I want them to more than ever now.

hour fifteen:

I wait. I wait so long in silence. The wind blows against me and the smell of blood still lingers. I try to think of how I feel and go over the events in my mind so that maybe I'll feel better, but what people don't tell you is that it's almost as if you can't. It's all a blur and you can't feel anymore, because you've already felt everything at once and it's like a rush floods you until it's all been washed out. You've already felt everything you could.

hour twenty:

I'm lost. I've never been so lost in my entire life and I don't know where to go from here. It's becoming harder to stay awake and I'm starting to give up on my resistance.

hour twenty one:

This is probably goodbye. Sleep is fighting me and I'm not resisting. I wish things weren't the way they were. Believe me.

day three, hour five:

The ground is cold and my eyes burn and my limbs are stiff, but I am no different. The bite is still painful and the blood is still surrounding it, but nothing else has changed.

hour six:

That was a lie. Everything's changed. I have changed and I don't feel myself. I'm not turning and I don't know why, but things have changed and they're going to stay changed. It's inevitable and I hate it so fucking much.

hour eight:

I don't know when I'm going to turn and why I haven't already. I've decided to head back. I'm going to the last person that will listen to me.

hour ten:

I am back, but I am not home.

week three:

I have no home.

year one:

I've found a home.