Days passed, and life was normal. We would wake up around 9:00 a.m., eat breakfast, then sit and have some fun despite the Conditions. We were happy I began training, sometimes trying to leash that power, but I still haven't done it, and then, around 11 a.m., we would go back to sleep. But one thing worried me: the amount of food was starting to run out. We had to look for a source; what we have now may be enough for a week, or five days, maybe less. I'm figuring it out.
I started watching TV every day like a retired old man; all the news says the same. This is happening all over the world. It's a global threat, but it starts here first, so we are the focal points. Wait, all the countries sent their armies, but where is ours? I don't know, but I don't care. I really want to save Stella and the girl, but Stella is one of them. She will find her way, and, for the girl, I hope she runs; I really do. Now I am a family man, despite not being married to Suzy in real life, but in my imagination, she is my wife, 100 %.
I met a new friend named Patrick on Twitter after he posted that he had found a way to kill those monsters. I commented, asking him how. After a couple of hours, he answered, telling me that he uses his blood and goes for the heart. After a long discussion, I asked why he risked his life. He said those monsters killed his girlfriend; now he is looking for vengeance. I tried to convince him not to risk his life; he is only looking for death, but he sees only darkness, no light to guide him to the right path. Like me, life is unfair. The man was clearly deeply in love; now he is alone. It's been three days since he last posted or messaged me. I don't know what is happening, but I started hearing voices in my head, voices of pain, suffering, and anger. I don't know what these voices are, but I tried to contact them and talk, yet they don't reply.
Perhaps some will wonder who I am, but more deeply. You know my name is Adam. I live in the city of Astrellwyn in America. My father died, or rather, abandoned us, when I was seven. My mother sacrificed everything so we could become what we are, she and my grandmother. Even though I'm rich, I was always bullied in middle and high school because of my antisocial nature. I'm not antisocial; I'm just not a hypocrite. I don't laugh at others to please them, pretending I'm someone who likes silly jokes. I'm not like that. I'm a person who doesn't enjoy dumb humor; I watch black‑comedy movies and dislike ordinary comedy. I don't want to be like everyone else, because new is always attractive. I don't waste my life on silly things like studying some bullshit math theory no. I like history more because you learn about great people who ruled half the world, changing the history of this planet; it always feels good. It doesn't matter how people remember you as a good or bad person, he important thing is not to be forgotten. Maybe I contradict myself, but I don't want attention from normal people; I want attention from the different ones. I care about people, but only the ones I love. I love being good and giving everyone a second chance, but sometimes that doesn't work; you need to be evil to get what you want. Maybe you'll call me schizophrenic or crazy, a pchyco but I don't give a fuck about your opinion.
Let's get back to my boring routine. Life is quiet, except that food is almost out, so I decided to go with Steve to get some supplies from a mall about forty‑five minutes away by car. I grabbed my dagger and gave Steve a pistol as a precaution. I told Mom to take care of everything, then grabbed some boxes to fill with food. I took the car that David lent me. We set off. The vibe was good, quiet, nothing unusual. But the most mind‑blowing thing happened when we passed a church in the center of the city. We came back to the car beside the house. I looked at Steve; he exchanged glances with me, he knew what happened, but Mom, Suzy, and Grandma all looked like nothing happened. We acted like nothing happened, then got in the car and started driving again.
Steve broke the silence and said, "Is this a dream or what?" while driving.
I looked out the window at the dark city and replied, "I wish it were a dream, but it's reality. Maybe it's just stress, or we're hulusanating." We continued until we reached the church, but this time I heard a voice in my head telling me to enter. I ignored it, and we continued, but we were pulled back to the same moment. I nearly lost my mind. Steve sounded angry, and the weird thing was that the others didn't remember it. We tried again for the last time, and again I heard that voice. I spoke to it, but it only said, "Enter the church." I told Steve to stop and come with me to see if someone was inside, or maybe we could find some food; no one in my family knew about the voices.
We headed in and opened the door. It was dark, but someone was sitting on one of the chairs, back turned. We searched for the breaker, then flipped it. The person vanished. We checked every corner until I felt someone behind me. I turned i see Stella. I couldn't believe it; I touched her to be sure that it was real. Steve stood beside me, clueless.
"I thought you were dead or back with your people. Are you okay?" I asked, confused.
"It's a long story," she said. "I will tell you later if you invite me to your house for dinner ."
"What happened to your eye?" she continued, holding my hand. "And your hand is it a Deroloc?"
"Yes, of course. But we need food first. And yes, it's a Deroloc, a long story also; I'll tell you later." We found nothing in the church, so we got in the car and drove to the mall. The loop didn't restart; we passed normally.
While we drove, I told her about the man who cut my finger and took my eye. We couldn't wait till night, and I asked what happened to her and if she knew anything about the girl; clearly, she didn't. she was in prisoner for derolocs but she escaped, Steve kept giving us side‑eye, muttering, "What the fuck? Are you serious, bro?" After a short drive, we arrived; the mall was empty, but the lights were on as if someone had just been there. We didn't care. We went in and filled the boxes. Suddenly, we met three people also shopping: an old woman and two teenage girls. It was a strange moment because rare for people to get out in this condition. We took what we needed and left.
Midway home, the car stopped: fuel gauge dead. Steve checked; the tank was bone‑dry. We would have to walk thirty minutes. Arms full of boxes, we joked about random things to keep calm.
Almost home, footsteps echoed behind us, then nothing. We knew it was a Deroloc. We sprinted, boxes rattling, and didn't slow until we reached the house.
We burst inside, gasping like dogs except Stella, who barely breathed hard. Family bombarded her with questions; I answered them all. After a delicious dinner and a fun time, I went to my room. Suzy was sleeping. I sat quietly on the edge of the bed, but she stirred, turning to me.
"Who is she?" Jealous sparkle.
"Just a girl I know, nothing more," I said, checking my phone.
She smiled. "I love you, and I trust you; you know that."
I tossed my phone aside, slid behind her, and hugged her, using her as a pillow warmer and fluffier than any down, then I slept comfortably like I was not the hero of my story.