Saturday, July 5 2008:
Last night, I couldn't concentrate to read "Tracer Bullet", so I tried to clear my head by watching the TV. It had quite a few channels, like PoP TV, GNN, CNC, Faux, even the Australian CNNNN. Still, so many channels seemingly from all over the world, and still nothing to see. It helped me regain my cynicism, and therefor I felt my own usual self again. I'll just go and take a shower, try and find a place for breakfast, or even buy some food for on the way, then I'll be off to Washington D.C. Okay, maybe Washington isn't the place to be for someone who may or may not be running from the law, but still if you're a run-away, would you go to Washington? I'm sure the authorities would have come to that deduction themselves, so they won't be expecting me there.
Some miles away from the motel, a school-bus stopped by, transporting some group of soccer kids. Not particularly my idea of good transport, for so many reasons, but it's better than having to walk all the way to Washington. Unfortunately, they could only take me as far as Burkittsville, as they were headed in a different direction. But I thought if I could catch a ride like this, I'll probably do the same in Burkittsville.
So I'm on that bus, trying to bear all the noise these kids make, about how much fun they will or will not have at soccer-camp. I honestly never quite understood what's everybody's obsession is with soccer. What is it that makes it something to kill for? Litterally sometimes. I dared to say something like that to the driver, which one of the kids overheard, causing him to start ranting about how "cool" and "radical" and whatever other out-of-context word he could come up with, just to say how wrong I am to think there's nothing right about this sport. This kid was named Ben, which I felt to be funny as I happen to know a Ben myself back home, who's also the smartest person I've ever known, which is in contrast with this Ben kid here, who doesn't even know what he's saying or doing. In order to change the subject, I thought of complimenting him about that wrist-watch he wore. When I did, he panicked, covered it up with his sleeve and ran away. What is it about that watch that made him panic like that? Come to think of it, was it even a watch? I can't exactly remember reading the time on that thing, all I do remember is that it emitted some kind of green glow, but that's it.
In Burkittsville, I asked if there was any transport to Washington. Turns out there wasn't, and the nearest station of any type was in a neighbouring town. To get there, so they told me, I had to go through these woods, which I didn't mind taking. However, these people seemed to be against that idea, as they all seemed to think there's something in these woods. What, they couldn't agree upon, except that whoever dared to venture through these woods never returned. I didn't particularly take their word for it, though. My thoughts on this is as follows: I remember to have been told as a kid, that when you walk through the woods, never stray from the path. I never knew why, but hearing these people talk, I started to understand. Maybe these people they mentioned did stray from the path, so they got lost and died in the woods. In other words, if I just followed the concrete road, I won't get lost in the woods, and I'll come out alive. I'm pretty sure there's some stupid explanation about all these stories they tell me.
...Or so I thought. I've been walking through here for hours, but I haven't seen any car driving through. Also, it's summer, yet the leaves are falling from the trees. Now that I'm sitting down to write all this down, and thereby not hearing my own footsteps, I realize how quiet it is here. Not a bird singing, not an animal running through,... it's like there's something here that doesn't want there to be any life in these woods. If there's anything here, this goes beyond those men I met in West-Virginia. Well, whatever it is, back there those men had the advantage of hiding in the bushes, which is impossible here. There's no place for me to hide, but neither is there for... well, "it", if "it" is out there. Also, if I were to fall asleep here, I'd immediately be startled by a snapping twig, as there's nothing else that could cause it here. I'm pretty sure I can survive this.
Sunday, July 6 2008
Tonight was very weird. I'm not sure of how I should describe it, but I could swear that there was something that touched me. It felt like the many hands of kids. Yet, when I opened my eyes to take a look, there was nothing there, except for some tied together twigs, which seemed to form some kind of weird symbol. It got me to think that "it" must just be some kind of hermit prankster, scaring people, disorienting them,... well you know the rest. At least those mountain men had the guts to show themselves to me. If this prankster is reading this, let me tell you: You've gotta do better than that!
So right now, I've managed to find my way out of the woods, having arrived at the station that the town folks have mentioned and I'm on my way to Washington D.C.