Demonica

New Orleans, Present Day

You’ll have to bear with me for a bit. I just lost my best friend recently, and I still don’t quite believe that she’s gone. We’ve been friends for so long that I’m not quite sure what I’ll do without her.

For now, I’m doing my best to keep her alive in my memories. I can still hear her smart-ass remarks, always coming just when I thought we were dead for sure. Somehow, we’d always come out of it on top, and I find myself wondering if it wasn’t her sense of humor that kept us alive half the time.

I’ve been cleaning today, boxing up some of her stuff to give to Goodwill, setting aside the things that I can’t bear to give away. Setting aside the things that she treasured the most, the things that still seem to resonate with some of her energy.

I started with the attic, figuring that if I could get through that rattletrap collection of memories without losing it, then I could handle anything.

And then I found these.

She’s been writing everything down, everything that ever happened to the two of us. I didn’t even know it, but they’re all here, every single adventure that we had together. I’ve flipped through the pages for a bit, her familiar handwriting covering hundreds of lined notebook pages. I don’t know if she was going to publish these notes or what, but I can’t just let them sit. If she took the time to write all this down, then I need to try and get them out there. So I’ve been using her notes, and I’m going to try my best to tell it the way she would have told it, if she were here. I might be a poor substitute, but since she’s not here, I’ll try my best. This is for you, babe.