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Chapter 2
Angel
March 23
I had been sitting on that darn desk on my oh-so-sore butt for multiple hours already. I was waiting for something-- but what? Escape? Death? Suffocation? Whatever it was gonna be, I wanted it to happen quickly and painless. I can stand anything else but, please, no torture.
It seemed like death had been lurking around me everywhere these days. I remembered I almost died there in Electric City. I had escaped that sea titan by perfect timing on Roger's part and the dealt hand of luck and nothing less. Death was angry that I had cheated him and was coming to get me once more. There was an old clock on the grey wall that had lost its operation a long time ago. I bitterly had stared at it for almost forever as if the chunk of metal was responsible for the time I had wasted here.
"Well? What are you planning to do? I'm not just gonna hang around here and wait so I can starve to death," I said to Roger who, unlike me, seemed oh-so-comfortable on his little spot on the couch. He showed no signs of impatience. He just sat there, staring through the window at the ruined buildings as if they were instead a homey hearth. Ugh. What was he doing?
"I bet we'll run out of oxygen before we starve," he mused.
See what I mean? I sighed. "Well, what kind of bet is that?"
"If you really are an Angel you shouldn't worry. You could always collect your money in heaven."
"You may think you're funny, Roger Smith, but I'm not laughing. You're gonna keep playing innocent until it kills you, aren't you?"
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Roger
March 20
The sun was setting at Pier 29. It was actually quite beautiful, the silhouettes of the mountains splashed against the vibrant sky. I found the solitude and silence relaxing. I passed by the empty boats along the dock, my footsteps hard against the wooden walkway. Resting on the shore were quiet warehouses and forlorn businesses with colorful names like 'Aliolio's.' It looked like postcard scenery. There were no noisy people milling about, no trash or bird poop littering the deck.
I found a pale-faced old man wearing a light brown beanie alone at the edge of the dock, mending by hand an old-fashioned net.
"Even though you don't head out to the fish, you still keep everything in good shape, huh? What do you mean by the wrath of the sea? What are they afraid of?" I asked him.
At first I was afraid that the old man wouldn't say anything, but then the dead end cleared up. It took me over an hour to get the story from the old fisherman.