Wellington Street

In which we take a stroll down a very strange stretch of road.


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Building 8 "A Break in the Gloom"

She looked at me, and I could see there was fear in her eyes. Not fear of being close, or of the thought of things changing. She was scared of me... was scared of what was happening to me. Frightened by the way I am reacting to things and the way I am falling. I get worse every day, and it is hard to forget that once reporting on this place was a mere curiosity. Now it has become an obsession, the dark things that stalk the streets not a threat to me for any obvious reason. They are a threat because they cause me to forget, if only for a little while, the shadows that lie in the lost areas of my memories.

It had started with a phone call. I had nervously called her, secretly hoping she wouldn't pick up the phone. Not because I wouldn't want the company, but more because I was unsure what to say. I hadn't spoken to her since new years after all. But she picked up, and I asked if she had any plans for Valentines Day. By the end of the conversation we had arranged to meet at my place and walk to a local restaurant. When the time came to meet, I was discouraged to note that she had not arrived. It was not until ten minutes had passed that she showed up at my door, and after that we began to walk.

It was cold, but not all that windy. It was one of those types of cold that clings to you jeans, brushing against your skin whenever you change your walk. We weren't really talking, but I didn't mind. She was wearing the same thing she wore on Christmas, and we laughed as she tried to speak only to have her hair get caught in her mouth. As we walked our hands frequently brushed. Every time it did my heart would skip a beat and I would shudder. After so much time of fatigue and nightmares, I had forgotten what it felt like to be scared of making a mistake.

When she finally spoke, it was awkward and clumsy. I enjoyed the attention all the same.

“How have you been?” I tried to come up with a easy response, but knew that she would see through it. I told her about my progress in my therapy, about the disturbing things that I had locked off for so long. She listened quietly as I told her about the tests I had taken, and my worries that I may be sick.

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