The Twenty-Third Post

My cut and paste from Word...

Oh my God. I think the last post got their attention. I'm hiding at the moment typing this out in Word to cut and paste in the blog when I can get some access, which might be the last time I get it. They're everywhere. I'm actually going to end up back dating this post because it's the 4th when I'm typing it, but I don't know when I can get some Wi-fi access. The last couple places I hit had mysterious outages of their wi-fi service.

Now that you know everything, I don't have much else to say. After all, this was supposed to be me confessing my wrongs to the world who might listen to me, and I've done that. I killed a man named Mack Mulligan because he killed my girl. I don't feel any better. Since he was my father, I committed patricide. I learned that I committed incest. Yeah, that doesn't help. I didn't help my sister when she needed it and let her kill herself. Neither of these last two were done consciously, and I would never have done either of them had I known anything of what I know now. But ignorance is merely an excuse for wrongdoing, not an excusable reason.


What can I do to right any of these wrongs? I feel unpardonable and unforgivable since my crime of murder, while ultimately impassioned, was pre-meditated and based on revenge. It's easy to see it all clearly through the lens of hindsight.


I can still see his face staring blankly at the ceiling. He didn't look peaceful like Tara did. He looked surprised. Maybe he didn't expect his son to be the death of him. I sat next to him for some time taking it in. I half expected The Mist to spring from the shadows and apprehend me right there. I didn't care. For me, it was over. Or so I thought.


I glanced at his desk after I could move again. I noticed the Rubik's Cube charm sat on his desktop next to a cube I'd never seen in real life: a 7x7. I picked up the charm and looked at it briefly before pocketing it. It belonged to her, so I wanted to keep it to remember her should I decide to live much longer after that night.


I picked up the oversized cube and looked at it. It was almost completely worked except for two blocks on two of the top corners that were swapped. He had all the other side worked except for those two blocks. Imagine getting finished with the hardest of cubes except for two of them. Who knows how long he spent trying to get those last pieces in place, but as I said before, the cube reflects life, and it seems that he had most of his cubes in place, but lacked a couple.

As I set the cube back down, I considered that I should have asked a few more questions. There was a lot I didn't know, and even now, I can't help but wonder about these answers. Where is Cynthia Mulligan? I asked about Mack, but forgot about my mother. Is she still around? The reason I was givenup is that they both were in The Mist, but I never saw her...or rather, no attention was brought to her. Mack never said she had died when he talked about family, so now I've widowed my mother.

The way my life has gone recently, I'd better take a vow of celibacy before I end up like Oedipus Rex. I've murdered my father, and if my mother looks young for her age, I could end up putting my eyes out before I know it. Kind of scary.

That's the whole thing, though. I went to a hotel after that, and waited four days before writing about this whole experience. I do feel better about it, though the guilt is still weighing down on me. But where do I go from here? I can't exactly move on with my life; the Mist wants my head on a platter for killing one of their top guys (or I assume he's a top guy; he's been there long enough).

Do I let them take me in? I'm not sure what purpose that would serve, though I doubt I'll have a choice. I think I know what to do, but I don't want to tell it yet. You'll know is due time, but I need to be ready for the inevitable.