I don't know why the fuck I'm writing this. I'm twenty years old I think. Twenty years young. I always hated it when people said that. It's one of those eye rolling, sigh worthy things people say. Maybe I'm just a dick though. It's a safer bet I reckon. Anyway, my point is, I'm young. I didn't live much of a life before this so I don't have much shit to write about. Still... In the new world I could die any day. Anyone could. I guess that makes this worth it. I still feel like an arrogant douche bag writing this though.
Before I take you back I should probably say where I am now. Well, I'm somewhere. I'm not doing so well at the moment. I have some food and a bit of water left, but I'm not even talking about that. I'm talking equipment wise. I have a handgun. It's a USP I think. I remember it from one of the shooters I played when I was a kid. I have twenty something rounds left for it. Not too many. I have my blade too though. I'm much better with that and it doesn't stress me out like guns have a habit of doing. Ammo is such a pain in the ass. I do like my knives though. Clothing wise I'm good. I've got some relatively comfortable jeans on, a decent jumper with a hood, a black t-shirt, and of course a pair of hiking boots. The boots are a little big for me, but fuck it, they are far better than nothing.
Time to stop stalling I guess... Fine, my childhood. I don't remember too much. I do remember my dad being an asshole though. He'd come in really late and get into arguments with my mom. They weren't the quiet type either. The arguments always ended with my dad smashing the living room and kitchen up. I used to have panic attacks when that happened. I didn't know what they were then, I just thought I'd been crying so hard I was finding it hard to breathe. Occasionally my dad wouldn't smash shit up though. He'd pack some bags and then go to me and my siblings and tell us that he was leaving and we'd never see him again. Fucked me up that did. I think it's why I could never handle sleeping anywhere else despite the horrible home life. Abandonment issues I guess. Made sleepovers really shitty. The prick never did leave though...
He'd take me and my sister to the bars he favoured all the time. Sometimes he'd meet old friends of his and take us home with them. He'd then stay there so late that me and my sister would fall asleep and he'd fuck off home without us. That drove my mom crazy that did. She grew up knowing one or two pedo's... She hated my dad for leaving us with people she didn't know. I was eight when they finally broke up. It ended violently, which was inevitable. Cops once again dragged dear old dad out of the house. For the last time luckily. I loved my dad though. I was heartbroken. Couldn't understand why he couldn't see us without some strange woman being present.
So yeah, my childhood was a bit weird. Despite my dads slight psychopathy he actually calmed with age. As a result of that my elder brothers were a little bit more messed up by everything than me. At twelve my one brother was stealing cars and doing street robberies and my other brother... I rarely even saw him. I was ten when I saw my first street robbery. I was stood on the corner of our street when suddenly my brother comes up to me. “Pass me your penknife.” He says. I pass it to him and he walks on over to these two kids opposite us, both of them on bikes. I don't know what he said or did, but one of them gets off his bike and hands it over. My brother rides back over to me and hands me the knife back. Tells me to hide it at home for a while. I was so fucking scared I threw the thing in the lake. I don't know how me as a person came out of all that shit. I'm not a bad kid really. I never was. I was always the politest out of all my friends. I always showed the most respect. Then again, my brother was like that too and he made a living out of hurting people in one way or another. Fuck knows how that polite shit happens in a family like ours. Such a thing is beyond me.
Anyway, it's fair to say my life was destined for failure. I was never too great with people. Not nervous or awkward. At least, I'm not aware that I was either of those things. Just... Not really interested I guess. I don't really seem to get lonely like other people seem to when they spend too much time by themselves. Maybe I spent too much time inside my own head or inside a book for that. I was always kind of smart, but I never tried. I don't remember doing a single piece of homework in all my years in school. I've never had any interest in my future if I'm honest. If you ever watched Breaking Bad, imagine how Jesse was in school. That was probably me, just with a little depression thrown in towards the latter years. I don't know who I'd be if the shit had never hit the fan. I'd probably be a drunk. Still living with my mom. Maybe not actually, I never liked drink or drugs, which is ironic since my dad was a drug dealer for a time. Actually, maybe that explains my distaste for them. I don't fucking know.
You're probably asking yourself why a kid like me is out here right? By out here I mean not in one of the havens... If you find this I'm dead, and if I'm dead I'm most likely outside. Make sense? Well, I'm outside because it's the only place I can function. Remember my childhood? That didn't leave me with much in the way of ambition, determination or work ethic. If I was safe I'd be inevitably lazy to a very serious fault. With the way the havens work you can't be lazy. Thus me and havens do not compute. I'm out here because being out here removes my choices. I keep going or I die. I might be crazy. I know I'm damaged, but to me this just makes sense. I scavenge around, survive and try not to think more than I need to about tomorrow. I move around a lot, scavenging what I can and trading for what I can't find out here in the havens. I tend to avoid people. Too much of a risk out here.
How has a nice, polite young man such as myself survived I hear you ask... I'm smart, I'm quiet and I know how to shoot despite my ever growing frustration with guns. Mostly though, I'm a fucking tank emotionally and mentally. Seriously. In my early teens I was worried I might be a psychopath. I'm not, or at least I don't think I am, but I have a fair few of their traits. I can be ruthless. Or at the very least I'm pretty damn cold emotionally. Also, since my early teens violence has never really bothered me. Don't get me wrong, I don't enjoy it in any way, but I don't have much of a reaction to it. When I have to commit acts of violence it's like the part of me that makes... I don't know. I guess it's like the part of me that's writing this shuts off. I think I might just be very desensitized to violence, but who's to say, my mom never sent any of us to shrinks.
Oh, and if you happen to be the one who killed me. Fuck you. I hope you get fucked by a Titan.
Oh... again. My name was
Dimple. Yeah, you killed a 5'8, 175lb kid called Dimple. Hope you feel good about yourself. Dick... Joking. My name was Scott.
