Tagged: sleep

Alive

Dear Planet Earth,

Yay! I’m alive! I don’t want to go into exactly who killed what mole man at which slave labor camp now, but be assured, I’m alive and I’m a total badass. I’ve been running on fumes for days, but my badassery remains intact.

Guess where we’re at right now.

Seattle. We’re in Seattle, Washington.

I’m going to pass out for the next eighteen hours.

Rumblings

Dear Planet Earth,

The rumblings are coming less often now. But they’re still there, keeping us up at night, reminding us of our impending destiny.

I shouldn’t be a pessimist, though. I shouldn’t believe that after everything I’ve been through, I’m finally going to die curled up into a ball in the back room of a brightly lit RadioShack. It was just a few hours ago I told Rachel that we’re going to be okay.

“We’re going to be okay.”

“How do you know?” she asked. She had those eyes, those ten year old eyes that you’d think are so easy to lie to until you actually do it.

“I . . . I just know. Trust me. When you get to be my age–”

“You’re only sixteen.”

“I know,” I said. I took a moment to catch my breath, to not scream “Shut it!” on the top of my lungs. “When you get to be sixteen, you get these . . . gut feelings. And right now, I have one of those. I have a gut feeling that we’re going to get out of this.”

She stared at the ground, said “OK,” and walked away.

I’m not a pessimist. I’m not an optimist, either. I’m just a sixteen-year-old with terrible indigestion.

In Insomnia

Dear Planet Earth,

I haven’t slept in over 24 hours. Despite everything you’ve heard, it is not easy to fall asleep in a roomful of snoring, smelly soldiers, children, and grandmas. It sounds like a circus here now at Gary Goldberg’s Discount Cars with everyone moving large crates from one place to another or complaining how the large crate they need isn’t right in front of them.

I was able to finally catch up with Dr. Eimer last night. He seemed to be avoiding me ever since the mole men emerged from the drill and I wasn’t shy about telling him.

“Long time no see, doc.”

I found him leaning against the dealership building, staring at the infinite stars above. If I smoked, this would be the cinematic moment when I coolly pulled out a cigarette, and right before lighting it, offered one to my old friend.

“Yeah. Scott. Long time.” He gave me a quick glance, then just as quickly resumed investigating the night sky. We stayed like that for several minutes.

“So. . .” Like many of our past conversations, I assumed this one would soon devolve into him recounting a traumatic memory and end with us both drinking his whiskey in a tent somewhere.

“You’re a smart boy, Scott.” I’m glad someone’s noticed. “I think I was a smart boy, too, when I was your age. Now . . . I’m just a foolish old man with some pieces of paper to show everyone how smart he is.”

This is when he would take a long drag on the cigarette I gave him.

“I said things to you that day — when they attacked — things no old man should ever admit. I still feel, I’m still afraid of dying. I’m sorry, Scott.”

I patted his shoulder. We didn’t drink any whiskey.

Teeth

Dear Planet Earth,

With Dr. Eimer and I the only civilians on base, security is pretty lax for our prisoner. At least that’s the excuse I’ve been hearing all day from our nation’s last line of defense.

“Martha” escaped. She ripped out the throat of one of the guards with her teeth — her fucking teeth — took his pistol, and went on to kill three more soldiers. I knew one of them. Mendoza. He’s the one who first questioned me when I drove up here, bloody and suicidal. I spoke with him a couple times after that and decided he’s a pretty decent guy. He was a pretty decent guy.

The whole base is on high alert, complete with round the clock sirens and floodlights. Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep last night, though I’ll never know if it was because of the noise or the incessant thoughts of my throat being torn out by a crazed homeless woman.

Lieutenant Christiansen and the rest of the Beetle Baileys won’t tell me why they’re so intent on catching her, or what she knows, or if she’s still even within the perimeter. Insomnia, here I come.

Between a Pail and a Penny

Dear Planet Earth,

These army boys sure know how to keep a girl waiting. And then totally freak with her mind. A sleepless eighteen hours after our first encounter, General Talpa returned to my cell with another nerdy-looking guy who couldn’t be much older than me.

“Good morning, Mr. Panus.” I haven’t been able to tell morning from night since I got here. He could have already lied to me. “I have good news.”

I watched the younger soldier carefully flip through a stack of papers he brought with him. Talpa took my silence as a sign of acknowledgement.

“I believe you. I believe you actually are just an impulsive kid with bad luck.”

This was a relief, I guess. I still wasn’t sure what I was being accused of, and I was too tired to fire back at his “impulsive” comment.

“Okay,” I said.

“With that said, I have another question for you that might really help us.” He took the stack of papers from the other soldier and dropped it in my lap. “We started to pick up a radio signal two weeks ago. It was a faint message, and spoken in something that took us days to get even a rough idea of what was being broadcast.”

I looked at the top paper in front of me. Ofertt, Marcus. Ortega, Lindsey.

“They were names. Each one buried in a complex code beyond anything geeks like Brandon here could ever understand.” He smiled.

O’Toole, Patrick. O’Toole, Catherine. There were pages and pages of random names.

“My question, Mr. Panus, is if you have any idea what this means.” He put his thick index finger above the next name I read.

Panus, Scott.

Pass the Ambien

Dear Planet Earth,

It’s Turkey Day, and I feel like a chicken. Some army guy just gave me my netbook back and said I could blog away. He smiled and said I should tell my “legions of fans” (his voice was practically oiled in sarcasm) to stay as far away from the “drills” as possible. If that wasn’t ominous enough, he also said I’d be receiving a visit from a General Talpa soon.

I was in too terrified a state to ask him about anything, but at least I’m starting to feel things again. I haven’t had a wink of sleep since they imprisoned me. The constant noises outside are a mixture of shouting, beeping tower cranes, and what has to be dynamite. For the few moments my subconscious does take over and I enter dreamland, I see vivid glimpses of Diana’s red corpse and I instantly wake up to harsh, conclusive reality.

This may be my last post for a while since these canvas tent cells don’t come included with power outlets. Gobble, gobble.