One day later.
It's too much, too many emotions, too many images. The hole in the ground, the blood around the field, a body lying limp and cold. Too many sounds, the crack of bone echoes in the mind, blood dripping everywhere.
Anger manifesting in broken mirrors, holes in the dry wall, drinking, lots of drinking.
Sadness manifesting in empty bottles, constant sleep, no appetite. Sobs.
Guilt manifesting in self-punishment.
Bobby's house was the only place to stay. Its painful, the smell, the memories, the reminders. This isn't home. There is no home, there is no family, there are no friends. Dead. All of them. They're dead.
One month later.
Numbness, looking for anything that numbs the memories. Alcohol, bottles upon bottles. It keeps the edge off. Women, meaningless sex. Constant meaningless sex. What are their names? What do the look like? What do they smell like?
Nightmares every night. Flesh burning, flesh being carved, mutilation, skinned alive. The smell of rotting and burning skin, the taste of blood in the air, the metallic taste, every night, the taste doesn't go away. No amount of whiskey can remove the taste.
That's what he's experiencing. For eternity, never ending. Constant torture.
Should be me.
Six months later.
Grind. Newspapers, police reports, and online searches turn into gunpowder, salt, blood, cuts, fire, death. Distraction. Numbness with drinks, sex, work. That's what you wanted, more of the same. Oops, I forgot what I was losing my mind about.
Nightmares. Every night. No escape. Just continue to numb, repress.
My fault. It's all my fault.
Worthless. The will is gone. There will be no reunion.
Numb. Repress.
One year later.
Woke up on the wrong side of reality. Every night. What is this reality? Everything is covered with a film of fog. Nothing feels real. There is no color. This wasn't supposed to happen.
Failed. Failed everyone. Failed at protecting. Didn't save him. Didn't save them.
Recklessness. Menace.
Sex. Work. Drink. Sex Work. Drink.
Every step is heavy; every morning is shrouded in darkness. Food has no taste. Everything is painful. What matters right now?
Meaningless.
What's the point?
Excruciating pain, every day.
No more. Done.
It's exhausting.
Recklessness.
Lone hunts, always alone. Survived up until now, up until the foe outnumbered the "hero." Pain. Blood. More blood. Cold floor. Getting colder.
Darkness.
Nothing.