There was a boy not too long ago who decided he wanted to travel across the country. Not too unusual, that desire to do something different, but this boy was unique. See he had no money, he had no car, and he had no plan. He figured that the whole thing wasn't so big, not really, he could just walk the place. Don't get me wrong though, this boy was extraordinary at walking, first in his class really. I'd seen him walk around the city twice just because he could. He loved moving around, even if it was for nothing, but his plan was nothing short of suicidal, and I told him as much. Didn't bother him though, didn't bother him when the entire world said he was wrong. Was just his way I suppose.
So this boy sets out, carrying a backpack with a bottle of water, a map, and a book and pens. He decided he would chronicle the whole thing. Of course I kept telling him not to go, even as he was leaving. Offered to drive him to wherever he wanted to go, to help him out with whatever he needed. Wasn't his way though I suppose, and he left all the same. I mourned for him for awhile, as long as seemed right. Figured I'd never see the boy again, and I suppose I never did. It was oh, just shy of a year later, maybe nine months when we heard anything about him.
Other side of the country someone had found his book, which had his name an address and had sent it back home. That was all there was though, no evidence of him, nor his bag. I went reading through the book, and it was longer than expected. Seemed there were nearly a thousand pages of notes, drawings, anecdotes and the lot. What does a reader do though when they're looking for answers, looking to find the truth of the whole thing? They turn to the end, so I decided to read the final entry. None of them were dated, so I just flipped to the back and found the nearest divide. It was long that ending, longer than anything else I reckoned.
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the world has changed now. I couldn't say when, there was a point where everything sort of mystified for me. I mean it all just went crazy right, the people didnt know what they really wanted and so they tried to get anything. I never understood that. Ive never wanted anything I suppose, so it makes sense that peoples needs mystify me. Maybe if I tried to be more human, to be less of me I would understand the materialism that seems to occupy everyone. They want me it seems, and I dont know why. Im not special, I figure im pretty much no one but thats not what they think. Maybe neither of us is really right, its all just a difference of opinion.
either way I dont think Ill becoming out of this one. There have been a few close shaves but I mean these people are so full of desire, their lust will destroy them and itll destroy me. If anyone finds this, and Im sure someone will just tell them that I loved them. I know it didnt seem that way, that at times I was brutish or cold, but it was just my way. Im sure they know that but still, I feel I need to say it now. Best way to make up for my sins would be to tell them all, tell the whole story. Some names will be changed to preserve the dignity of those involved, but all the events depicted below are true. Reading through them it seems Im a bit of a bad person, and I suppose I might be, its not my right to decide that.
I stole from a van on the first day of my travels. I had no food and they had lots, I figured they wouldnt mind. They probably didnt even notice, they were members of the good and plenty, a happy family apart from the rest of the suffering in the world. I lied to get my way onto a train. I acted vulnerable to cheat my way through the barriers, said I had to get to my mother and father. I hurt someone in a bar. He insulted me and I could not let it go. I hurt someone in the middle of nowhere just because I could. I hurt someone and Im sorry.
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It continued on like that for pages and pages. Flipping to the first couple of entries they were very brief and mentioned nothing like the so-called sins that the boy did. It lead to a question, did he really write that last entry or did he simply lie in all his earlier entries? I thought I knew the boy, but he was always a drifter, apart from his friends and family and me. There were a few locations in his book, if I could only find them I might be able to figure out what had really happened to him. Sometimes all we need is a little closure, even if we only find misery at the end, it is better than not knowing.
So this boy sets out, carrying a backpack with a bottle of water, a map, and a book and pens. He decided he would chronicle the whole thing. Of course I kept telling him not to go, even as he was leaving. Offered to drive him to wherever he wanted to go, to help him out with whatever he needed. Wasn't his way though I suppose, and he left all the same. I mourned for him for awhile, as long as seemed right. Figured I'd never see the boy again, and I suppose I never did. It was oh, just shy of a year later, maybe nine months when we heard anything about him.
Other side of the country someone had found his book, which had his name an address and had sent it back home. That was all there was though, no evidence of him, nor his bag. I went reading through the book, and it was longer than expected. Seemed there were nearly a thousand pages of notes, drawings, anecdotes and the lot. What does a reader do though when they're looking for answers, looking to find the truth of the whole thing? They turn to the end, so I decided to read the final entry. None of them were dated, so I just flipped to the back and found the nearest divide. It was long that ending, longer than anything else I reckoned.
-------
the world has changed now. I couldn't say when, there was a point where everything sort of mystified for me. I mean it all just went crazy right, the people didnt know what they really wanted and so they tried to get anything. I never understood that. Ive never wanted anything I suppose, so it makes sense that peoples needs mystify me. Maybe if I tried to be more human, to be less of me I would understand the materialism that seems to occupy everyone. They want me it seems, and I dont know why. Im not special, I figure im pretty much no one but thats not what they think. Maybe neither of us is really right, its all just a difference of opinion.
either way I dont think Ill becoming out of this one. There have been a few close shaves but I mean these people are so full of desire, their lust will destroy them and itll destroy me. If anyone finds this, and Im sure someone will just tell them that I loved them. I know it didnt seem that way, that at times I was brutish or cold, but it was just my way. Im sure they know that but still, I feel I need to say it now. Best way to make up for my sins would be to tell them all, tell the whole story. Some names will be changed to preserve the dignity of those involved, but all the events depicted below are true. Reading through them it seems Im a bit of a bad person, and I suppose I might be, its not my right to decide that.
I stole from a van on the first day of my travels. I had no food and they had lots, I figured they wouldnt mind. They probably didnt even notice, they were members of the good and plenty, a happy family apart from the rest of the suffering in the world. I lied to get my way onto a train. I acted vulnerable to cheat my way through the barriers, said I had to get to my mother and father. I hurt someone in a bar. He insulted me and I could not let it go. I hurt someone in the middle of nowhere just because I could. I hurt someone and Im sorry.
------
It continued on like that for pages and pages. Flipping to the first couple of entries they were very brief and mentioned nothing like the so-called sins that the boy did. It lead to a question, did he really write that last entry or did he simply lie in all his earlier entries? I thought I knew the boy, but he was always a drifter, apart from his friends and family and me. There were a few locations in his book, if I could only find them I might be able to figure out what had really happened to him. Sometimes all we need is a little closure, even if we only find misery at the end, it is better than not knowing.
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