A Monika to Remember: Part Four

I rode along the tiny road on a black horse. I didn't realize I'd be such a natural. Either this horse is really cooperative or the mind and body can do amazing things when under pressure.

I think this horse used to belong to the bald man back in that town, he was riding him when he found me on this road from what I recall. I don't really feel bad about taking him for myself though, I mean if I can take his life, why not his horse too?

..I really did that, didn't I?

I shot him in the leg just to disable him, stop him from slicing me open. Then again, he caught on fire and I didn't help him. I saw the blood start to drip from his thigh, I never knew blood could escape the body that fast..

Jesus, where's my fucking humanity? No. You know what? It's fine. That lunatic was just going to use me for his greedy schemes for power. He was even willing to threaten and hurt me to reach so I'd cooperate, why should I value his life as anything less than human? He was a villain. There's no point in feeling guilty about putting someone down who would only cause harm.

I needed that gun if I was going to face whatever will face me up ahead. He was standing in the way of me finding out the truth about that vixen. He wasn't going to let me go, no matter what I said. I needed to use force. It was a necessary confrontation. The means to the end. A simple conflict of interest. And I resolved it with this gun. This pistol I held in my hand. 6 bullets left. This gun.

This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.This gun.

I scream frustration through my mouth and through my hands, fire a round of fury at the ground. My horse neighs, stops galloping and raises his front two hooves. I hold on for dear life, and try to get him to calm down. He settles down and forgetting about the past danger, begins looking for something to eat. I let him graze, resting my head on his neck. I try to settle down too but the pressure inside my lungs just keeps building up. What is this anxiety for? Why is it building up?

He really is a beautiful horse. I think I'll call him Edward.

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I managed to get that biography on my way out too. Reading through it, I discerned the location of Monika's grave: Central Park of New York City. As I rode, building remains and streets began to appear sporadically between the grassy landscape and I figured I was headed in the right direction.

Edward needed rest, and so did I. It was growing darker so we rode until we found a nice tree to lay under. I look around for branches to light a fire, but I didn't even know how to light a fire without a match in the first place. Cursing my lack of survival skills, I huddle in close with Edward and drift to sleep.

I dream of three ghosts, three old friends who scold me for my selfish desires. They mock me for the fate my creator has decided to grant me. Pleading for forgiveness, I know they would understand if they knew what I'd been through. If they knew what I knew. They would have desired the same exact thing. But we weren't even speaking the same language. We were from two different worlds.

I wake up groggy. I get up and put my body back together, noting it's early morning. I topple back on top Edward and continue to make our way to the grave, munching on some bread I managed to pack before I ditched town.

I could tell I was getting closer to ground zero by the ratio of nature to urban. These certainly are ruins. Nothing managed to stay standing, it was a plain of rubble. I spot an impossible find - a shovel, and pick it up. Would the grave even manage to be standing if it had to endure a nuclear bomb? I pray it did, I need some answers.

One thing to note is that I have not yet seen one of those flesh-eating mutants that the bald man was so fearful of. Was it just a fabrication? But why? I should have expected more shadiness coming from him, but if he was lying about this, what else was he lying about? I stare at the cover of the biography, a very accurate image of my person. I take in another deep breath, this oxygen filling me with uncertainty. I take in all of the crimes I've committed to get this far, and the people I've had to eliminate, and I couldn't stop some of the tears. My dejected face begins to hang from it's neck.

If I could just meet Anon, he could give me the answers. He could tell me that we can rejoice, because we're finally in the same reality. We could just live in peace and spend the rest of our days exploring this strange universe together. If I could just meet him, I could break down in his arms and he could reassure me with an embrace. But all I have to hold now are the reins of this horse, and explore a decaying city containing a possibly fake trail.

I want to give up. But as I look up, I spot hope. Grassy fields, trees, it looks really close to a park. I tell Edward to gallop and we dash through the the impossibly huge sanctuary, looking for anything that could be considered a statue, or grave, or anything that isn't destroyed. We find it.

The only thing left standing from the statue are the boots. They're cute. The inscription of the gravestone reads "MONIKA August 30th, 2040 - September 22nd, 2108". I get to digging. My body's pleas for rest can not stop me now. But the handle of my shovel knocks the stone, and some rubble crumbles out of the way. I look back at the noise, and I notice that it was covering part of the inscription. I get all of the rubble out of the way, and I drop to my knees. The inscription continued saying:































"NAMED AFTER AN ETERNAL LOVE, TO CARRY ON HER SPIRIT"