I heard them before I saw them.
They stumbled onto the red sand of the volleyball courts in front of the school chapel. I don't think they intended to enter the open space like that. Something must have gone wrong.
I had heard them rustling around behind the chapel; they had spooked me enough to make me lose an entire night's sleep. I knew they were not monsters from the amount of noise they made. Monsters were noisy too, but they didn't tend to sit around in one place talking and fighting at length.
I only saw them the next day. There were three in total: two men and a woman. One of the men fell out of the shrubs first. He looked like he was close to crying or killing, and he could not decide which.
[[The volleyball courts->VBCourts]]
"Yes," I replied slowly, deciding that honesty was the best approach for this part. "I live here and have been for a while. You're the first group of visitors I've encountered in as long as I can remember."
She nodded, though her grip on whatever she was concealing behind her back remained tight. As the short man began to speak, she broke our eye contact to scan the surroundings and the windows of the other classrooms, ensuring we were alone.
The man continued, possibly introducing his companions, but my attention was focused on the woman. Her eyes and movements were calculated and precise—too precise, making it clear she was not a regular civilian. I would have to keep an eye on her, especially if they decided to extend their brief visit into something more.
His voice escalated, breaking into a near shout that snapped my focus back to him.
[[This one was loud. What was he saying again?->441]]
He was not exactly tall, nor particularly strong. Everything about him was stuck in a state of indecision. His eyes darted between his companions in apprehension, suggesting his stumble onto the courts yesterday might have been more of a push than a fall.
He had yet to make eye contact with me; only the bag of food captured his attention.
Taking a step forward, I noticed he flinched but kept his eyes on the bag. Was his hunger that severe? I set the bag down on the ground and stepped back. "If you need any medicines, let me know. The school infirmary has some bandages," I mentioned, observing his scratched-up palms still coated with red dirt.
For the first time, he looked at me, his expression a complex mix of annoyance and gratitude. Had I interpreted that correctly? Why was he annoyed with me when I was merely trying to help?
[["Thanks, but I'll be fine", he mumbled. ->144]]
He looks at me with interest, seemingly pleased that I ignored the woman to focus on him. Strange.
"Are you alone?" His tone becomes sugary sweet, reminiscent of how one might speak to pets or children. "Do you need help? We appreciate your offer of food, but we couldn't possibly accept it. There are three of us and only one of you. It would be easier for us to find supplies than for you." At this, the man beside him mutters in disapproval, but is quickly silenced by a sharp look from the speaker.
The woman appears disinterested in our conversation, clearly eager to leave the stage.
"That's Three," the short man gestures towards the woman, "he's Two," pointing at his companion, "and I'm One," he concludes.
[[Two opens his mouth to say something, but Three cuts him off and asks, "And you are?" ->414]]
The questions feel unending:
Who am I? How did I get here? What was I doing before? Was I alone? Have I always been alone?
I fail to see how any of that information would be useful to them now.
It's rather ironic, coming from people who refer to themselves by numbers. Three explained that she had established this rule when their group first formed. Apparently, Two and Three had met and traveled together for a while before running into One. Until then, there was no need for names, but with the addition of a third person, a way to reference each other became necessary. Three didn't want to know anything about the others' pasts, asserting she wouldn't share hers and didn't want to hear theirs—not even their names.
One chose his number first.
I'm tired of it all—the incessant questions, the scorching day, the sleepless nights, and the anxiety gnawing at my stomach. These people can't hurt me; they lack the resolve. Perhaps Three might have it in her, but her curiosity about me is palpable. I'm betting on that curiosity to keep me safe tonight. It's time to sleep.
[[The next day ->Chapel]]At dawn, I saw them running towards the stage that was below the window of my classroom. Smart move. They chose a place where I couldn't see them all the time, but they could see me coming. It didn’t bother me too much; there was no place in the school where they would have an advantage over me, but the stage was a good spot to draw me out. Someone in this group was clever.
I took some food and supplies as a peace offering and walked onto the courts. Maybe they had a gun, but then there wasn’t much I could do in that case. However, it was unlikely that they were armed. If they were, they would have attacked me long before.
As I walked onto the field, facing the stage, they stood up, tense and stiff, waiting for me to come closer. Then one of the men, a short, stocky man with dark, cropped hair, called out, "Hey! We're just passing through. We don’t want any trouble."
I held up my bag of food and supplies and replied, "You can have these if you like; they're all sealed."
This made them even more suspicious. The other man, the one who first fell out of the bushes, whined and backed up against the wall. Perhaps they thought it was a trap. The woman spoke up, "How do you have extra supplies? Are you living here? Are you by yourself?"
[[I looked at her for a second too long before answering. ->423,432]]
[[Something compelled me to address the whimpering man at the back. ->243, 342]]
[[I didn't want to admit that I was alone, so I turned to face the short man instead.->234, 324]]I creep up to the classroom door and crouch next to the old exercise books I use for fire starters.
The three are rummaging through my makeshift bed, now overturned in their search. They find nothing, their frustration evident. Were they looking for more journals, or souvenirs from the one who wrote about me?
The stocky man turns to the others. "We won't find anything this way and can't waste more time. Let's take her with us and use the journals to jog her memory."
"But she'll forget everything if she falls asleep or isn't constantly with us," the woman reminds him.
"That's okay. We'll take turns being her companion, starting with me," he volunteers.
"A convenient way to dodge your duties, huh, Number One?" the woman sneers.
Before he can respond, the thin man speaks up, "I don't think we should take her with us."
The woman turns to him, feigning surprise, "Wow, you can have good ideas too?"
"Shut up!" he snaps. "Let's pretend to be monsters and scare her into running away. Then we can take what we want and leave. I don't want her to think we stole from her. If she runs away on her own, she'll likely not return, at least not for a while, and by then she would have forgotten everything about us."
The others stare at him before the short man whistles. "Just how messed up are you? And here I thought Three was the psychopath for suggesting we use that poor woman as cannon fodder."
"Interpret it as you will," she shrugs. "All I meant was that if we're taking her with us, she better carry her weight. And if she doesn't, I'm not risking my neck for her if we're attacked."
[[Decisions, decisions. ->Triggers]]As the man got up, preparing to run back behind the chapel wall, the other two stepped out, blocking his escape.
They scanned the playground before their gazes shifted to the classrooms and landed on me, standing at the window of class 9C. That must have terrified them, as they immediately ran back to the chapel.
However, I didn't hear them leave the school grounds. The heavy iron gates behind the chapel, which creaked last night, remained silent, and I had a clear view of the high walls they'd need to scale to escape.
Were they waiting to see if I was a monster or an enemy, or did they simply have nowhere else to go?
I braced myself for another sleepless night, constantly watching the three hiding across the courts.
[[Time to meet them ->Meeting]]"No need to shout," she said before jumping down from the stage and walking towards me.
"I'm Three, the one yelling is One, and the guy who is about to cry in the back is Two. I know our names are weird, but that's how it is. Who are you?"
The others joined us by then. I nodded towards them before turning back to the woman. "Are there only three of you? How long are you planning on staying here?"
"We're just passing through. We might stay a day or two if that's alright with you. And again, who are you, and how did you end up here?"
I couldn't stall those questions any longer, and it was useless to lie—I might forget what I said. "I'm not sure how I got here. All I remember is that I went to this school as a child and somehow woke up in my old classroom," I pointed to the window where they had seen me earlier.
"I'm also not entirely sure who I am, but I'm good with my tools." I raised my calloused hands for their inspection. "Maybe I was a gardener or a carpenter before all of this started."
[[I thought they would be satisfied with this. I was wrong. ->Memory]]
"I am X," I say with a smile. If they won't tell me their real names, why should I?
Three laughs, hops off the stage, and walks towards me. She reaches down to take the bags and whispers, "Just because he is called One, it doesn't mean he speaks for all of us. Thanks for the food." She walks off in the direction of the Chapel.
By then, One has hurried down and glares at Three's back as she walkes away. "Three insists that we stay in the Chapel. Since we camped quite close to it last night, I think she has grown attached to it."
I suspect her choice was motivated by the desire to maintain a healthy distance between the classroom where I slept and their camp, but I don't voice this thought. This man either doesn't know or doesn't care. He watches me with unconcealed interest before Two joins us.
"Do you perhaps have any bandages?" He holds up his scratched-up palms as a plea for my sympathy.
"He'll live," One dismisses Two with a wave. "We need to talk. I have so many questions for you."
[[The interrogation begins.->Memory]]"He'll live," retorts the other man.
"I asked you a question," the woman interjects before I can say anything. "How can you afford to give us anything? Are you here with a group?"
"Is it your habit to be rude to someone who is offering help?" I address no one in particular.
"It is my habit to be cautious in certain circumstances," she snaps, "but you seem pretty harmless... if not annoying." With that, she lets go of whatever she was holding behind her back and walks off the stage and into the wings to explore. The short man hesitates for a moment before running after her.
The other man continues to stand there, staring at the ground. I go up to the stage, place the food on it, and turn to leave. Maybe it's best to leave them alone. They seem strange. But as I start walking, he speaks up, "We had a fight yesterday. That's why we are all on edge." I stop and look at him. "I would like some bandages. I scraped my hands when One pushed me out of the shrubs."
"One?"
"The man who left just now. The woman is called Three, and I am Two," he clarifies.
[[He finally looks at me, ready with a million questions.->Memory]]
I wake up to the sound of voices outside, and for a moment, fear wipes my mind clean. But as I remember that I managed to sleep, I relax slightly, reasoning that there couldn't have been any immediate danger, or I wouldn't have slept at all.
Still, I approach the window cautiously and spot two people by the chapel, repurposing the chairs into firewood. A woman, wielding a battered axe, works efficiently, while a thin man with bandaged hands sits on the grass, trying to talk to her. His voice keeps getting shriller as she continues without paying him any attention. Then, a stocky figure emerges from the chapel, gesturing for them to come inside. As they disappear within, I quietly head down the stairs and into the old school building, which has a clear view of the chapel from its corner windows.
It's better to figure out who they are and why they're here before I decide to greet them.
As I near the classroom window, the voices from the chapel echo off its walls, carrying fragments of their conversation into the quiet morning air...
[["....I don't care about those damn journals!"->6--]]
[["I was the one who found them, and now you ..."->-6-]]
[["Neither of you understand their importance. Can't you see..."->--6]]
(set: $chosenPath to "Three")
The woman was clearly livid. Her voice rang out, high and clear, to where I stood listening.
"I don't care about her broken brain, I don't care about her past, and I sure as hell don't care what happens to her now!" she shouted.
"We are already struggling as it is. Neither of you has the skills to survive, and now you want us to take this woman with us?! She can't remember anything that happened 30 minutes ago, and you want us to take her out of the life she has built here and drag her around, for what?" she continued.
"But the journals we found were clearly talking about her! We know who she is, even if she doesn't. I think it's our obligation now to take care of her. Don't you want to know how she got here and what happened to the author?" said a thin male voice.
"What the hell is wrong with you? The world ended a while ago, and you're still talking about obligations and histories. Who cares if she doesn't know who she is—she doesn't! She's living better than any of us, unburdened by the past like we are. Your grand plan is to remind her of the life she lost?" the woman's voice retorted.
The other male voice stepped in and said, "Before we do anything, we must confirm that she is indeed the woman mentioned in the journals. Then we can..."
The rest was drowned out by the blood rushing to my ears. They knew who I was?
[[Curiosity kills the cat, and I want to live; so, I ran.->Hiding]]
(set: $chosenPath to "Two")
"...act like you somehow know her better than us," whines the thin voice of the man with bandages.
A sharp laugh slices the tension as the other man retorts, "And? What's your point? This isn't about who knows her best. It's about leveraging this situation to our advantage, something I'm certain neither of you understands."
"She's not a commodity," the woman interjects firmly.
"Ah, is it love already, little Three?" teases the first man. His voice is shrill and grating, making me eager to never hear it again. Yet, in that moment, I strained to hear her response.
Unfazed, she fires back, "You're just bitter because she can't stand you. Despite surviving an apocalypse, battling monsters, and losing her memory, she can't bear to talk to you for more than three minutes. That's how much you are worth to her."
There's a loud crash as a chair is overturned in the heat of the argument. The chapel doors jerk open, and a thin man runs out into the school building, his hurried steps echoing down the empty corridors.
[[I wait for a beat, then get up and follow their fading sound. ->Steps]]
(set: $chosenPath to "One")
"...that we need to find the author of these journals?" says a loud male voice.
"Why? Why are you so hung up on meeting her? For all we know, she must have abandoned this woman here when her memory got worse," replied a woman.
"She would never have done that. I think something bad happened to the author, and the woman here must know about it. We should work to get her memories back somehow so that we can find the author," said the first voice.
"Why are you so fixated on this person? Do you see yourself in her? Do you think she will be grateful to you if you found her? I don't know how to break this to you, but I think the author and the woman we met were a thing. I don't think the author would like you even if you saved her," sneered another voice.
At that moment, a scuffle erupted, followed by a thud signaling someone hitting the ground. A woman's commanding voice broke through, "Get out and cool off before you come back!"
Instinctively, I ducked as the chapel doors swung open with force. Peering up cautiously, I caught sight of a stocky man retreating. However, he paused, turning to cast a glance back at the chapel. His eyes found mine in the corner window of the school building.
[[His gaze hardened before he broke into a run in my direction. ->Window]]
As I sat there listening to others make decisions for me, an odd sort of calm descended upon me. Ah yes, this was familiar. This had happened before. The other one, who insisted on writing all those things about me, also made decisions about me by herself. While it was inconvenient for the most part, my lack of mental permanency was perfect for her to mold me to her liking. If things didn’t go according to plan, no worries for her. She could just reshape me the next day, or even the next hour if she was clever enough.
When she discovered I had made some decisions on my own, she was less than pleased. She attempted to justify her actions right up to her final moments. Standing over her, I listened as she tearfully claimed that everything she did was for me.
I'm sure these kind folks will claim the same.
(if: $chosenPath is "Three")[[Thanks, but I don’t remember asking. ->ThreeEpi]]
(if: $chosenPath is "Two")[[Thanks, but I don’t remember asking.->TwoEpi]]
(if: $chosenPath is "One")[[Thanks, but I don’t remember asking.->OneEpi]]
I ran as quietly as I could, managing to catch my breath in the gardening shed before I heard a knock.
"I know you heard us; I saw you in the window when you turned to run. We need to talk," came the woman's voice from across the wooden door.
How did she find me so quickly? As if answering my thoughts, she said, "I looked around the school while you were asleep last night. I found some of your hiding spots, and since this was the furthest from the chapel, I figured you would have come here."
I opened the door and let her in, noting the axe in her hand as she eyed the shears in mine with a wry smile.
"I am glad you are not a fool, and for that, I feel I should help you out," she said as she sat down and threw a blue notebook between us.
She takes a deep breath and starts, "Listen, it's nothing personal, but I don't care if you lived or died. It's enough of a struggle to keep myself alive, especially with those two in tow. I'm still not sure why I don't just ditch them and go on my own, but that's not your concern. What does concern you is this—" she points to the book on the ground. "Someone wrote a very detailed but useless journal about their travels through here maybe a few months ago. The author didn't write about how they survived, but she did write a lot about the person she was traveling with."
After a pause, where she gives me a long look, she continues, "This companion had very good outdoor survival skills, and that's what kept them alive, but apparently, after a while, she started losing some of her memories. This kept getting worse until at some point, the companion could not remember anything that happened 30 minutes before. This was particularly troublesome when she fell asleep as she would wake up with a blank slate and would function solely on muscle memory."
I could feel my hands twitching as she spoke; the shears were getting unbearably heavy.
"You don't remember meeting us yesterday." This wasn't a question.
"I see that you might need a minute to process this. I'll leave that here," she says, toeing the book closer to me before she leaves the shed.
[[The shears fall to the ground with a clatter as I bend down to pick up the book. ->Contemplation]]I find him slumped on the steps, head in his hands, hands that are wrapped in my bandages. Ah, so I've met him before?
He looks up when he hears me and starts. Perhaps he expected someone from his group to follow him out. Panic seizes him, words tumbling out in a rush. "What are you—"
"Do you know who I am?" I cut him off.
"Did you hear us back there?" He looks like he wants to run away. Well, he chose a bad place then. He is boxed in between me and the locked door to the rooftops.
"How do you know who I am? What are these journals that you found?" I continue.
"Maybe we should talk about it with everyone..."
When I don't move, he gives up and tells me how he came across a blue notebook that caught his attention. He had seen more of them on their way, but it took the 3rd book for him to notice and pick it up.
[[The Blue Notebooks ->Journals-7-]]
(if: $chosenPath is "Three")[I don't know how long I stared at it before I could bring myself to open it.]
(else:)[I need some time and quiet to think. I ignore the protests as I leave with the journal, but at least I am not stopped. Smart, as I am not feeling very kind.]
What was this feeling again? It felt eerily familiar. The words from the journal jump out at me, and I can almost see them being written in front of me. I think she did write them in front of me. I think she stopped caring that I would find out what she wrote and get angry. I remember feeling less than, I remember being made to feel less than. I hear all that again when I read how "lucky" I was to forget all of this. She, on the other hand, had to bear this burden forever. She could not "check out" like I did. I can hear her scratching these words onto the pages, hours into the night instead of building shelter or finding water. How could I expect her to work as efficiently as I did when I "chose" to forget the trauma, and she wasn't even afforded such a choice.
Ahh! It is happening again. The noise is getting too loud, and I have just found peace. I don't want to leave. This place has been good for me; it was quiet until recently. Now, I'm starting to hear it all again—a deep, dull drumming behind my eyes. But what's that?
I had mindlessly wandered through the school when I heard people moving around on the floor above me—in my classroom. The drumming in my head reaches its peak. Surely they weren't foolish enough to invade my space the same day I overheard them talking about the journals and their missing author?
[[Classroom 9c ->BreakIn]]He hands me a thin blue book as he speaks. The first page bears "TWO" in bold print. He explains that he wrote his name to ensure that the others knew it belonged to him. I wonder how long he waited before claiming ownership of something that wasn’t his.
They found five journals in total, with the last discovered close to our current location. The narrative in the journals apparently trails off, leaving the fate of the author and her companion—who steadily lost her mind as they traveled—unknown. Was I this companion? Do I remember what happened? Anything at all?
As I pore over the familiar handwriting, Two unloads all his grievances. He’s comfortable now, knowing I will forget everything he shares. So there was no harm.
Initially, he had traveled with a different group, lead by idiots. They camped near a river, against his advice. The monsters couldn’t swim, but their position was too exposed. On the night of his watch, they were attacked.
He couldn't shout out his warnings; how would that have helped? It was far too late anyway.
The camp was overrun in minutes, and all Two could do was wait in the tree where he set up his watch.
He waited for hours before coming back down, nearly falling from the tree, frozen with cold and fright. That was when he saw a woman, Three, approaching what remained of the camp. Unwilling to explain what had happened, he claimed he had stumbled onto the campsite as well. Together, they quickly salvaged whatever they could and moved on.
His voice drones on as I continue to read.
[[Why won't he shut up? ->Contemplation]](text-style:"underline")[Epilogue]
She attacked when I was out hunting. After a long day of fights and discussions about how to proceed and what to do with her, I felt cooped up within the high walls of the school. I went out at dusk to explore the area and find some food.
The chapel doors were open when I returned. One was lying face down in the shrubs where we had staked out on the first night. Two was nowhere to be found. Gripping my axe tighter, I stepped into the chapel.
She was sitting with her back to me in one of the pews, her freshly washed hair dripping water onto the pages of the journal she was reading. "You can put the axe down, I won't hurt you," she called out.
"How are you so sure that I won't kill you?"
"I'm not. I just don't care. Besides, killing someone isn't easy if you've never done it before," she said, her attention still fixed on the book.
The smell of her aggressively floral shampoo clashed with the scent of red clay and blood, making me feel nauseous. "Where is Two?"
She turned around, smiling. "Oh, he ran away by himself."(text-style:"underline")[Epilogue]
She was waiting for us that night.
One and Two were down before I had a chance to reach for my axe.
In the next moment, she had me pinned against the wall. "Listen, it's nothing personal, but I don't care if you stay or run away. However, I won't kill you. I don't see the point. You've been upfront about your intentions, and I understand your motivations. All you care about is survival, which I can respect. You also told me about the journals. Those were not memories I wished to relive, but that's not your concern. What does concern you is the choice you have now." She leans back and lets me go.
"If you help me clean this up, I'll sleep tonight, and we can start over tomorrow. Otherwise, you have 10 minutes."
It was not a difficult choice.I felt no urge to flee. He was alone, angry, and in my territory. Pulling up a chair, I waited as he tried to locate the room where he had seen me. Barely suppressing a smile, I listened to him forcefully open classroom doors in his search until he finally stumbled into mine.
The sight of me—smug and patient—clearly pushed him to the brink. He stormed over and screamed, "What did you do to her?" in my face.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied calmly.
"Don't play dumb! I know you heard us just now. Where is the woman who wrote these journals?" With that, he slammed a thin blue notebook onto the desk before me.
As I thumbed through the pages, the man ranted on. "Did you drive her away? Do you realize how hard it must have been for her, stuck with a hollow creature like you? What, you forget everything every 30 minutes—that's rich! She must have felt so lonely with you. It would have been better for her with me, but now all I have are her words in these decaying books. So, I ask you one last time—WHERE IS SHE?"
His shouting alerted the others, and I can hear them making their way up into the school building.
[[I don't have the energy for this. ->Contemplation]]
(text-style:"underline")[Epilogue]
One went looking for the woman right after we broke into her room. He didn't have to look very far. She slit his throat right as he was about to leave the classroom.
"I don't think I will be going anywhere with you," she said softly from the doorway.
Shit! Why hadn't I brought my axe up here? She saw me instinctively reach for my weapon that wasn't there and smiled. "Don't worry, I don't think I want to kill you just yet. Your decision had the least amount of malice. You don't want to be tied down by deadweight. I can understand that. Speaking of which—" she raised her highly sharpened pen knife towards Two. "Shall I take care of him for you?"
Two, who had been whimpering until this point, desperately trying to fuse into the wall behind him, openly started sobbing.
I suddenly realized that I was unbelievably tired of him. "I don't see why not."
↶↷I heard them before I saw them.
They stumbled onto the red sand of the volleyball courts in front of the school chapel. I don't think they intended to enter the open space like that. Something must have gone wrong.
I had heard them rustling around behind the chapel; they had spooked me enough to make me lose an entire night's sleep. I knew they were not monsters from the amount of noise they made. Monsters were noisy too, but they didn't tend to sit around in one place talking and fighting at length.
I only saw them the next day. There were three in total: two men and a woman. One of the men fell out of the shrubs first. He looked like he was close to crying or killing, and he could not decide which.
The volleyball courts