The Mysterious Stranger, Wanderer [Done]

The Mysterious Stranger, Wanderer [Done] Jun 12, 2015 23:52:32 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jun 12, 2015 23:52:32 GMT -5

The Mysterious Stranger

"Can you breathe until there's no air left in you?"

Age: Twenty-Something

Classification: Chaotic Neutral

I don't recall ever having crossed paths, but it's possible.

I always get compliments on the blond hair. Thankfully I’m not as skinny as I was way back when. But then you might not have been able to see it underneath the coat. I get so cold so easily, I feel like I just wear this all the time now. You’d understand too—going over the mountains, I’m always f—king cold.

They say that I look an awful lot like my brother, but—I think I’ve got the bigger nose, and he got the bigger body.

You can’t quite put your finger on it, can you?

It’s all right. I get that all the time.

What’s my name?

Hmm.

It’s a nice night isn’t it? Cigarette?

It’s hard enough to get these, or the paper, and the tobacco. Have to make sure you have a pouch of it and not smoke so much all the time but, I’ve never been able to do that. Guess I picked up the habit a few years ago, when things were a little harder. Was better than the shit I was taking to numb myself, anyway. You should have seen the sorry state that I was in before — decided to save me. He saved me all right. You know, love has a way of bringing you around to knowing what even the hardest heads are supposed to know.

S—t.

Rain’s gonna come soon.

There’s all these clouds coming in from the south, and then we’ll be soaked, through and through. You ought to get north—not safe to wander out in the woods when things get real dark. There’s folks like me that might slit your throat and take everything you’ve got. Heh.

Oh I’ve been traveling for near on… s—t. Nine years? Ten? To be honest I don’t f—king keep track of time anymore. The days sort of become meaningless when you aren’t traveling anywhere. Just sort of mark what’s important in your head and think about it later on, ‘cause it’s better not to know how long. It’ll creep up on you, too—thinking about the good and the bad. The good usually comes when the sun is shining, and your nose gets that familiar tickle. You think back to when you used to play with army men, little plastic green things on top of your bed. And your brother would keep them in long lines, because he liked lines, and you’d start talking about guerilla formations—

It’s amazing what makes you think of s—t like that.

The bad days? You know, the older you get, the more you’re able to feel better about them. They don’t seem quite so bad when you wake up in the morning. It’s like you’ve got them tuck away in your pocket, and sometimes you pull them out, because you have to have a look now and then. ‘Cause you’ve got to have the good with the bad, no matter what f—king people say. You get the highs and the lows that way. Those dark days, too—they might make your skin crawl but, there’s a part of you that likes getting sad now and again. You cry tears because there’s something about having them drip down your cheeks that makes you f—king human. And it’s not this, this dichotomy, you know? It’s not like you get just the bad and the good hand in hand. People forget that, like the whole world is shit because you feel the pain one minute and not enough of the happy the next.

You just… you get older, and you learn how to manage your expectations. You sure you don’t want a cigarette? You’ll see, I promise. Everyone gets there, they get to the point that all the s—t that’s rolled down hill isn’t gonna drown you. Trust me. You got all these people running around crying like s—t hasn’t been rolling downhill since the beginning of time. Oh my god, you know? I try to be a caring person but sometimes you just want them to shut the f—k up. Get it together, get your s—t together and don’t feel so d—n sorry for yourself. You’ve got, what? I don’t even know how many f—king years, you know? Like, the stars are dead light, million and millions of years old, and you want to cry about how someone who might have been around for a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of the universe’s existence is dead?

We all got stories.

It’s what I actually like about people. Everyone’s got some sort of story, if you listen to them hard enough. Oh I—that’s right, you’ve been listening this whole time and I haven’t even told you what I’m doing here.

Well, it’s kind of a funny story, that.

I’m not doing much of anything. Really. I finally came to the conclusion that I’m just going to live, full stop. Until someone puts a knife through my heart or I die of dystentary, or maybe wind up in chains somewhere. That would be a f—king ending, after all this time, winding up locked away forever.

You think I should find somewhere else to live?

I tried the whole rebel thing. The ones that wear those jumpsuits and talk about taking things back from the a—holes in the capitol. Oh man, they were the worst. You know they want you to keep a schedule, and then—it’s like they f—king think living like that is better than just wandering. Now I know I could get my throat ripped out tomorrow by fuzzy mcf—kface or something, but I’d rather take my chances with that than pledging myself to one side or another.

Because, what’s the point?

Someone’s always got to be in charge. And you know what? If I’m out here, I don’t have to be accountable to anyone but myself.

Are you sure you don't want a cigarette? It'll be a long night for you, and I won't be here tomorrow. Never like to spend two nights in the same place. something about luck or fate or all that, has me keep to that. Better not to get attached to people. It's why I never give out my name. Don't need anyone to know that I exist, and it's always been better that way.

[odair]