Days 1-3
6-7-1955
Day One:
I’ve obtained my new identity. Any older references to who I once was have been erased and censored completely from this journal. I’m hoping that my efforts aren’t for naught, seeing as I have gone to great lengths to ensure a future for myself. The men who are after me are still searching for my former self, but I’ve changed my hair color and acquired a mustache. I’m still on the run, and my limbs are still swollen from the heat that persists against me. Hopefully, I may find lodging soon or my new attempts will prove futile, seeing as how I will have been burnt to a crisp by dawn’s arrival. My dehydration is giving me hallucinations of ghosts I’d rather not remember, so I pray a samaritan will allow me sanctuary in their home tonight.
6-8-1955
Day Two:
I haven’t perished. This is good news. Yesterday, I encountered a strange fellow who was adamant about their religious beliefs. Hiding under the guise of an avid orthodox christian, I was allowed refuge in their house. As I recount the story to you, a feeling of uneasiness rises within the lower depths of my gut. There were, what appeared to be, cockroaches crawling beneath the wallpaper and flickering lights. They illuminated the dingy halls, to which the orthodox christian led me to a damp and smelly room. It made me claustrophobic even considering sleeping in that box all night, but the man had heard me praying to myself and insisted I remain out in the living space. It was an upgrade, but that isn’t saying much. On a lighter note, I was able to discard my tattered clothing as the man had allowed me to take some of his older, non-fitting garments. He also gave me the necessary nutrients and hydration so that I may be in better shape. We exchanged dialogue about the weather and what circumstances brought me upon his quaint housing, but we sat in silence as I refused to answer. Mistaking my silence for rudeness, he threatened to toss me from the house, yet I humbled myself and apologized profusely so that I may spend the night in the comfort of cushions and not the cold, hard cobblestone of the dark streets. I drank soup and fell into a slumber which leads me to current events.
After waking up, I politely told the man of my plans to depart, which was met with a gruff sigh. I am currently walking alongside the road and trying to hitch a ride with some of the ongoing vehicles. They’ll surely be faster than my worn out feet, which have tread along these winding streets for days now.
I’m inside a car now with a very friendly man. He says his name is James and he seems to be very excited at the prospect of having someone to talk to. It’s odd. Nevertheless I shall talk to him, if only to make him more willing to bring me closer to my destination. I tell him I’m looking to go to Sheridan and he says he can only bring me as close as Lincoln (seeing as that’s where he says he is going to visit family). I tell him I appreciate it regardless, seeing as how no one else was kind enough to offer me anything beforehand. We have small, idle talk and it’s bearable for the most part. We hit Lincoln rather quickly and in doing so I bid farewell to James. He was a nice companion to have, even if it be for a relatively short drive. It’s dusk now, and I sign off this Journal with the statement: I’m getting a drink.
6-9-1955
Day Three:
My head feels dull. There’s a heavy feeling behind my eyelids as I fight to keep them open. I wish not to travel today, but god knows how close those men are to finding me and I need to make it to the hide-out in order to ensure my absolute dive into full anonymity. So, I mush onward so that I may live to see another day. It is 1:01, so technically it’s a new day. I have had enough rest from the drunken slumber I fell into only a few hours ago.
I’m looking for another vehicle. Perhaps another person will be as kind as James once was and allow me passage alongside them. A man stops. Praise the lord.
He says his name is Peter. Peter looks about 25, maybe 30 years old. He has rather large upper arms and a firm jaw. I remember him distinctly for his hat which hung low over his eyebrows and made him appear menacing. A part of me worries that my body will be found in the next few days with my innards strung up in the trees because of this brooding fellow, but hopefully he is nicer than he seems. He asks where I’m headed and I state Sheridan, once again. He asked me what’s waiting for me there. Green fields and sunny weather hopefully, I say. There’s always sun before the clouds roll in, he says. We leave it at that and we sit in silence as he drives towards Deuel. I drift asleep as the hangover pulls me back under into it’s cold grasp. He stops at a gas station and excuses himself so he may relieve himself in the restroom and I can’t stop myself from nosily searching amongst his belongings.
Dog Tags, Photo of Wife, Empty cigarette boxes, maps, and a large hunting knife.
Peter joins me back in the vehicle and I feel myself begin to perspire. While it may be an irrational fear, it’s not unfounded. He is rather large. Peter is silent as we continue our drive to Deuel. Peter asks me if I believe in God. I figure he’s the same case as the orthodox christian man who let me sleep in his musty dungeon the other day, so I express that I do, indeed, believe in God.
“So you believe in evil, too, right? I mean, for every good thing there’s an equally shitty response.” He tells me. I express once more that I do believe that. He pulls the car over off the empty highway and turns to look me in the eye, lifting his beaten hat up above his brow so he could scrutinize me in the harsh light of the sun.
“Sheridan ain’t full of nothing but evil. You can believe that. And no amount of prayer is gonna save you from it.”
We continue on the road for a few more minutes before Peter announces that he can take me no further. I get out of the vehicle and wave him away. A piece of me being completely relieved that I was no longer in a situation out of my control.
I inquire amongst the local bars how long it might take one to reach my destination and someone responds that it should take mere hours, so my excitement is raised. I’ll finally be able to continue my life, unmarked by my previous errs, and reborn as a newer, better man. My future awaits. I ask where I can find a place to rest and an older woman offers her home. Of course it’s for a price, but I pay with what meager dollars I have and go to lie my head in peace. Tomorrow shall mark the start of my new life.
