I know guys aren’t supposed to share their feelings. It’s unnatural; not right. It’s some kind of unspoken rule or something. Maybe I’m not a dude. Maybe I’m just… different. Whatever the reason, I’m going to go out on a limb and share my feelings with you guys.
Weird, huh? Never thought I’d be doing this, to anyone, let alone the general public. I’m not really a share-feelings kind of guy. I’m secluded, I’m quiet, I’m… whatever you want to call me. I don’t do things like this. I just… don’t.
I only really talk to people I know. I don’t know any of you personally, but I feel like I know you as the blog. Or the community of the blog. The viewers. Whatever. Nevertheless, I’ve had this blog for over a year (crazy, huh?). I’ve had some of you for over a year. I feel like I know you guys. Not like I-know-your-address kind of knowing. More like, the you-seem-like-a-nice-person kind of knowing. I know your little icon patterns, the way you comment, whether or not you’re funny, etc. I think I’m opening up a new chapter by doing this. Or maybe just closing the old. I’m changing something and I… like it.
As you might have guessed, something’s happened. Something major, crazy, you name it. It’s not like me to just leave the blog for two months. I really try NOT to do that. But sometimes I can’t help it. Unfortunately, the internet needs wi-fi and a computer. I can’t just connect to it with my mind (no matter how cool that sounds). I’m posting this from an Apple Store in Chicago.
Wi-fi’s been scarce, just the same as food, sleep, and sanity. I’m tired. I’m confused. Not only that, but I can’t fight off this feeling of longing. Of wanting, of needing. “Of what?” you may ask. Well, it’s… complicated. I feel like I’m in the middle now–of this chapter of my life. And in order for any of this to make sense, I need to start at the beginning.
It started on the 27th of January. We–the Flock–were still in Massachusetts. I’d just completely and totally failed while attempting to watch a child (and my hair still had some glue in it). Dr. M took us to church. Yes, church. I don’t think we really have a religion, but we still went. Dr. M’s grandma had just died the day before (that Saturday), and she wanted us to come pray for her with her. I felt like I owed her something, so none of us really argued (I also think I owed her because of the toilet Reilly had stuffed with toilet paper–you know, that one–had overflowed and flooded the entire first floor of her sister’s house. Responsible me, right? Heh, no.).
So, service had just started, when suddenly there was a loud bang from above. A whole bunch of glass came raining down, and then there was screaming. Utter, complete panic. Everyone’s screaming and running around, and there are shards of glass everywhere, and my skin is burning like fire. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins along with this terrible, aching fear, and I’m so confused, and find that my voice is one of the many in the cacophony of screams. Everything gets really blurry, and I’m getting trampled, then suddenly the crowd parts and the blurry goes away. From the shattered window emerges a figure–two, actually. Erasers. Two of them. With these monstrous grins plastered across their faces and dirty wings. The screams get louder, and once again there is chaos. Nobody seems to know where anything is, and even the two Erasers are lost in the crowd. Fighting their way towards the group of us bird-kids.
The next few minutes were a blur. I don’t remember much, other than the two Erasers swooping towards us. Towards Max. They scooped her up, and were… gone. There was only one though in my mind: They took Max. I was angry. I felt like collapsing. I was sad. I was happy, too, happy that they hadn’t killed anyone, even though that might not make sense in the circumstances. My emotions were bubbling and boiling. Nothing was clear.
I found myself in a barren field, not quite sure how I had gotten there. The sun was setting, and I was tired. So very tired. I collapsed on the spot, bloodied and bruised.
When I woke up, it was light again. I felt as if I hadn’t eaten in days. My whole system seemed to have crashed into nothingness. I flew. I flew faster than I’ve ever flown before. I didn’t even know where I was going, where I was, and I hadn’t seemed to realize that I’d left the entire Flock behind. Somehow, I ended up back at the church. Everything was silent and still, like the whole world was frozen in time. The glass was still shattered, yet the panic had seemed to leak from the building.
There was someone among the shattered glass. I remember my moment of fear; was it Max? As I drew closer, I could better make out the bloodied figure. An Eraser, soaked in blood. It was terrible. Horrifying. Written in the blood, across the creature’s arm was one word: Chicago. I didn’t know who’d killed the thing, who’d wrote the message, but I knew one thing. It was for me. I could feel it inside my core, in the same place that all the sorrow was.
Finally I went home. I couldn’t force myself to blog, to eat, to sleep. It went on for a month. Some piece of me seemed to have crumbled. Maybe my heart. Maybe my sanity. Anyways, Dr. M was very worried. I didn’t care.
I couldn’t get Max out of my head for a month. There was no sign of her, no nothing. Dr. M had wanted me to let my cuts and bruises and broken arm heal, but eventually the anguish proved too much. So I left. And here I am.
I feel so… depressed. So out of it. Crazed, crumbling, shattered. Screwy in the head. I see Max in all my dreams. Next to me. Always.
The longing has only grown. For her, I guess. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s like some part of me died the day Max disappeared. And now I’m slowly rotting. My heart, my core, my soul; every part of me is infected with this overwhelming sadness.
I need Max. I can’t even find the words to describe how broken I am.
Maybe I’m crazy to try to find her. To fly all of the way to Chicago, without even knowing whether she is or isn’t six feet under.
Something inside of me made me come.
Something called… love. Because after all of this craziness in the last two months–in the last few years–I’ve come to the realization that I… I love her.
Fly on.
-Fang
Fang's Blog 