Half Life
Tuesday 9th June 2009
I went to see Galvin.
Why am I not dead yet? I'm waiting for him to wake up, writing this in bed. If all goes to plan, this will be my last entry. I wonder what Galvin would do with such a journal. Would he file it away in the stacks, safe for Luke and his descendants to read? Would he destroy it, burn it in the fire? Would he read it?
I had already seen what would transpire between us by the time I knocked on the door of Room 106. The vision had ended with me here, writing this journal, as I am now.
What we did, he did, was not our of love or affection, or even lust really. It wasn't making love, it was fucking, in it's most filthy, primal sense. It wasn't romance, it was a display of power. I finally stood down, my last act being one of complete submission. A rape of the soul, perhaps. He was burning my temple, my last safe haven, and he knew it.
The irony of the crucifix hanging over the bed was not lost on either of us. We committed the most vile act of sin in the sight of the son of God. I used to believe in the man hanging up there, like a common criminal, but then... Then I became this monster.
I have this strange feeling, however, that all will not go to plan. Perhaps it was seeing Luke yesterday in The Stacks. He looked so upset when he discovered me taking the bullets... I fear he may try to stop Galvin from killing me.
Galvin's getting up, I can feel his weight leaving the mattress. He's getting dressed, putting on his suit and tie, his shoes and combing his hair. I don't understand why he's doing that. He knows what I want him to do. It would make it easier, somehow, if it was him behind the trigger.
I can't see him, but I know that he's looking over at me with a questioning glance as I write in this book. He brushes his teeth. He shaves. He turns for the door...
"Kill me." I say.
He turns to look at me, leans against the wall and throws me his pistol.
"No. You do it."
Then he takes a cigar out of his pocket, puts it in his mouth and lights it.
Why am I not dead yet? I'm waiting for him to wake up, writing this in bed. If all goes to plan, this will be my last entry. I wonder what Galvin would do with such a journal. Would he file it away in the stacks, safe for Luke and his descendants to read? Would he destroy it, burn it in the fire? Would he read it?
I had already seen what would transpire between us by the time I knocked on the door of Room 106. The vision had ended with me here, writing this journal, as I am now.
What we did, he did, was not our of love or affection, or even lust really. It wasn't making love, it was fucking, in it's most filthy, primal sense. It wasn't romance, it was a display of power. I finally stood down, my last act being one of complete submission. A rape of the soul, perhaps. He was burning my temple, my last safe haven, and he knew it.
The irony of the crucifix hanging over the bed was not lost on either of us. We committed the most vile act of sin in the sight of the son of God. I used to believe in the man hanging up there, like a common criminal, but then... Then I became this monster.
I have this strange feeling, however, that all will not go to plan. Perhaps it was seeing Luke yesterday in The Stacks. He looked so upset when he discovered me taking the bullets... I fear he may try to stop Galvin from killing me.
Galvin's getting up, I can feel his weight leaving the mattress. He's getting dressed, putting on his suit and tie, his shoes and combing his hair. I don't understand why he's doing that. He knows what I want him to do. It would make it easier, somehow, if it was him behind the trigger.
I can't see him, but I know that he's looking over at me with a questioning glance as I write in this book. He brushes his teeth. He shaves. He turns for the door...
"Kill me." I say.
He turns to look at me, leans against the wall and throws me his pistol.
"No. You do it."
Then he takes a cigar out of his pocket, puts it in his mouth and lights it.