3. Munster

I used to blame myself for all of these terrible things that happened. Ever since I found the body of a friend in the pouring rain and a suicide note that blamed me. I used to blame myself for every single senseless death that occurred based upon the sole idea that because I was the only one alive, I was supposed to do something about it.

That was years ago, and I'm older now. I have a better understanding of the circumstances. And yet, I still struggle greatly with the blame. And They know that.

I met a kid named Blake. He was about 12 and homeless. I don't know at all what it was about me that he liked so much, but after seeing me steal a bit of food from a shitty grocery store, he asked to come with me. I promptly told him to fuck off, because anyone who's around me gets killed, but that didn't stop him. He followed me anyways.

We spent roughly five months together, and surprisingly this kid had his shit together. Knew how to pick locks, knew all this security shit that even I knew nothing about. My old strategy was just take food and book it. But now, we were able to get more food without being caught. I had no complaints. Five months and almost every night we had more food than we knew what to do with.

He gave me his life story, and I made up some bullshit lie about how I'd been kicked out of my apartment up in Maine and managed to make it down to wherever we were by hitchhiking and begging. He bought it. Things weren't too awful, and I started to look for any kind of legitimate work I could get. Living in shitty shacks under a bridge was getting pretty old.

But then something awful came in the night while both of us slept.

I don't know at all what happened. I woke up one night, my hands and arms were covered in blood. The skin on my hands were singed, which I only found out later. It was hard to make anything out with the dim light that our barrel fire was emitting. There was something on top of it that was slowly starting to catch fire.

When it did, I saw what They intended for me to find. Then I ran.

Blake was thrown onto the top of the barrel, his eyes and ears were missing. He was cut from the throat down to the groin, he was stuffed with something, maybe paper. When it caught fire, it lit up the wall and revealed a message written in blood. His eyes were hanging on both sides.















                                             LOOK   WAT
                                                    YOU           AGEN
                                                              DID 
                                                     M U N S T E R 














I didn't do that, you fuckers.