The blood was bright green.
I still think about those people I killed. I don’t regret it as much as I used to. I almost kind of relish the memories now. Does that mean there’s something wrong with me?
Am I losing my mind?
Then again, can anyone be sane in this world we’re in now? This strange, unrecognizable planet that exists after the green tsunami?
Aaron
August 17—2:04 a.m.
Aaron,
Things do indeed change around here. I’d been thinking recently about Davey and children’s stories we used to read to him. I remember reading the original Pinocchio to Davey and The Velveteen Rabbit. Davey asked me at the end of each why anything would want to be “real.”
“You wouldn’t want to be made of wood, now would you?” I asked Davey.
“I want to be made of something strong,” Davey said. “Skin is soft and bleeds too easy. It would be okay to be made of wood, or to be a robot would be even better. Nothing could hurt you and you could live forever.”
“But you wouldn’t be human,” I said.
Davey made a face. “Humans are weak,” he said.
“Weak isn’t always bad,” I told him. “It gives you compassion for other creatures.”
“That’s like a kind of love, isn’t it?” Davey asked.
“In a sense,” I said.
“Love is gross,” Davey said. “If love can turn one thing into another, can hate turn one thing into another, too?”
“I guess,” I said uneasily.
Davey’s face lit up. “Cool,” he said. “I’d like to turn into a robot one day or a really big rock that could crush people.”
“That can’t happen, Honey,” I said. “That’s make-believe.”
“No,” Davey said, “You and Father will help me so I won’t have to be human.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant and I didn’t want to know, so I turned off his light and told him to go to sleep. Now that we are in this world where everything changes, it seems like these stories are coming true. Inanimate objects are becoming real and humans are turning into things. I wonder if in some way Davey is happy now that he isn’t human anymore. Do you think we did this to him?
The walls here are soft like skin. They seem to bleed a sticky liquid when I touch them. I hear moans that I once thought were made by the other people in here, but now I think the walls are making that sound because I hear the moaning when I am alone here in this room. I hear sighing, too.
Remember I told you that Jose brings Cindy fresh fruit every morning and we couldn’t figure out where he got it from? It turns out the people on the floor above us have been changing into something not quite human. Some sort of plant/human hybrid. Bradley told me about them. He said the Balloon Heads told him. They said we could go upstairs and pick some fresh fruit and vegetables off these creatures.
I went upstairs with Bradley and Jose. Cindy was too scared to go upstairs. They have light. It hurt my eyes. There were no Balloon Heads upstairs. I saw this guy who had a cantaloupe for a head and acorn squash for arms. His neck was made of watermelon and his stomach was full of grapes. His legs were still human legs and a pair of eyes peered out of his melon head. He had a mouth and teeth and a tongue. None of these people wore clothes.
Jose had a knife and he cut the melon head off the watermelon neck. The guy screamed as the knife went through him. He screamed for a few minutes and then went silent. Jose told me that their heads and other parts grow back every day, so it should be an inexhaustible food source.
Bradley and Jose had this big bucket with them to collect the fruit and vegetables and they went around lopping bits off the hybrids. The screams didn’t bother them. It made me sick. When I threw up, Bradley and Jose laughed.
Bradley shook his head and said, “Women.”
Cindy and I refused to eat the fruit and vegetables. Cindy asked me if the fruit she ate every morning made her a cannibal. I told her no because it wasn’t human flesh anymore.
I kept thinking about Pinocchio for some reason. He’s real; he’s not made of wood. The second floor people are not real people. They’re made of pulp and seeds and stuff like that. At least that’s what I tell myself. I still can’t bring myself to eat them, now that I know the truth, but the fruit and veggies smell so good. Fresh and sweet. And I wonder how much longer I’ll hold out before I start eating them again. Bradley and Jose say they’re not human beings anymore. I wonder if they’re talking about the hybrids or about themselves.
MELONcholily Yours,
Joy
August 17—8:11 p.m.
Joy,
I guess I’ve become Davey’s accomplice. I closed all the doors, except for the gymnasium, and I chased two of those crab children down the hall. Then I stayed by the door and watched what happened next.
At first it looked like he was sleeping, over at the other end of the gym. His bulbous, misshapen body looked like it was segmented. Before, he had looked like some kind of doughy caterpillar, but now, he looks much more insect-like. Like he’s transforming into some kind of centipede.
When the children wandered close enough to him—I swear those things are almost completely blind—a large segment of his body lashed out like a whip and large suction cups grabbed onto them. Their claws clattered on the hardwood floor as the suction cups opened into mouths and swallowed them whole. The entire time Davey continued sleeping.
I watched it all, fascinated by the process. I realized that Davey is no longer our son. He is some kind of monster now. I watched him like I would a nature special where a python swallows a goat.
As he digested his meal, Davey lifted his head and stared at me with glassy eyes. I don’t know if he really saw me at all, or even realized that it was me who brought this food to him. Certainly, at this point, he can’t hunt prey by himself. He’s pretty much helpless. He’d probably have to start devouring his own body if I hadn’t brought the kids to him.
I had the Civil War sword with me for protection, in case he tried to advance upon me, but he didn’t. It is strange how little he looks like the Davey you would remember. He’s a totally different creature at this point. Even his face has changed since the last time I saw it.
He does not appear to be aware of his surroundings, or what he has become. And he made no attempt to communicate with me.
There are about four more of the kids. And I know that I’ll be feeding them to Davey soon.
It reminds me when I was a kid and I had a pet king snake and I used to feed it mice. Eventually, my mother made me get rid of it, but while I had it, I could watch that thing eat for hours.
It was fascinating stuff.
And, really, what else do I have to do?
Aaron
August 18—3:01 a.m.
Aaron,
It is hot here, again. That scares the shit out of me. I didn’t like the cold and the damp, but I have to wonder—why the heat?
Cindy said earlier today, “It’s a hothouse in here.”
“Don’t say that,” I told her.
She asked why. I didn’t answer. All I could think was: growth, metamorphosis, plants, seed, flowers, FRUIT. Those people on the floor above were just like us until the day they weren’t. When, why, how did they change?
I asked Bradley why it was hot. He said he didn’t know.
“But you talk to them every day,” I said.
“They don’t talk, Joy. You know that.”
But I don’t believe him. Batshit doesn’t like the heat either.
“Hot weather brings bugs,” Batshit said. “There’s good and there’s evil. The tall men shouldn’t be with the short women.”
“What should we do?” I asked.
“This,” Batshit said, and he started licking the walls.
That’s when the moaning started. It sounded like two people having sex. I put my hand on Batshit’s throat and felt the vibration. I touched the wall. It was purring like a cat. I closed my eyes, the feeling drawin
g me in. One hand on Batshit’s throat, the other on the wall. The heat was like a volcano. I started sweating. Then tingling.
I opened my eyes. The Balloon Head, Woody, was watching me.
“STOP!” Bradley shouted.
He ran over and pulled me away from the wall. Batshit was still licking and moaning. His face melting like a wax candle. I wanted to go over and help him, but Bradley held me back.
“We need you,” Bradley whispered in my ear.
We stood and watched Batshit drip. Little by little, he became less and less until there was nothing but a puddle on the floor. Jose came with a mop and wrung what was left of Batshit into a big, black bucket and wheeled him away.
A little while later, Bradley came into the room carrying a red milk crate full of baby bottles. We all knew what we had to do. We each took a bottle and fed a Balloon Head. I stuck the nipple into Woody’s mouth. It reminded me of when Davey was a baby. Remember how the suckling noises made me want to vomit?
Cindy asked me, “That was Batshit, wasn’t it?”
I didn’t answer.
Somebody shouted, “Put on the A/C. I’m dying here.”
I touched my face. I didn’t feel any change. I’m touching it still as I’m writing this. I’m the same. I haven’t changed, Aaron. It’s just sweat.
Volcanically Yours,
Joy
August 18—1:35 p.m.
Joy,
I almost killed Davey today.
I’d sent the last of the crab kids his way, through the maze of the hallway, the only open door leading to the gymnasium. And, as always, Davey drew them to him and closed up on them and devoured them whole with his body.
I stood there in the doorway, with that rusty Civil War sword I’d found, and I pictured in my mind bringing that sword down on him over and over again, slicing him open, slicing him apart. He isn’t really Davey anymore. I know that. He’s something else. And the way he feeds on everyone around him nauseates me.
So, why not put him out of his misery?
He finally noticed me there. Like I told you, I think his eyesight is failing. Something to do the metamorphosis he’s going through, no doubt. But he stared at me as he digested those human crabs.
“Daddy,” he said.
And I thought about all the problems he’d given us. All the headaches, the bad behavior. And I know he’s always been a bad seed. He’s always had a great potential for evil. And I really don’t want to believe that you and I created such a person.
But he’s still our son. And he sounded so helpless. So much like a child.
“That’s the last of them,” I told him. “The school is empty now. Just you and I.”
He just stared, looking sad, as those suction cups and mouths on his elongated body did their work.
“What do we do now?” I asked him.
“I don’t know,” Davey said. “I don’t want to be like this anymore.”
And for the first time, he showed real regret. In the past, when he would apologize for something, it never seemed sincere. He always seemed to be playacting. But this time, I could tell he was telling the truth. He didn’t like being an overgrown monster who devoured his peers.
So I walked closer to him. I gripped the hilt of the sword hard, ready to use it at a moment’s notice. But he didn’t make a move to grab me.
I knew it was only a matter of time, though. Once he digested his last victims, and started to get hungry again. I would look more and more appetizing to him.
“What do we do now?” I asked him again.
“I don’t know, Daddy,” he said. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. I don’t like it here.”
I was thinking of moving on myself. Not so much because of him, but because the building was starting to become more and more alive, and in the process had become more and more unstable. Some rooms simply collapsed on themselves, the floors and ceilings merging into new appendages I’d never seen before.
The principal’s office, where I’d been staying, was making stranger and stranger noises, and I started to feel this psychic pull. That’s the only way I can describe it. Beckoning me to come closer to the walls with all the eyes. To become one with whatever the school was changing into.
I didn’t want to stay there anymore, either.
So what was I to do? Finish Davey off completely? Leave him there to starve to death? Or did I have another option? A way for us to go our separate ways?
I realized then I couldn’t kill him. Not willingly. Not unless he attacked me somehow. I’d gone into that room so intent on finishing him off. Of bringing all of this to a close, and then, when I had to face him, my plans just disintegrated.
“I’m leaving,” I said. “You should leave, too. There’s no more food for you here.”
And instantly I thought of what his “food” would entail. Outside these walls, he’d still seek out living, moving prey. Whatever he could get a hold of. If I let him out of this place, he would become a dangerous predator out there. Could I release such a thing on the unsuspecting world?
Then again, it was all so strange now. It wasn’t my world anymore.
As long as he didn’t try to eat me, I didn’t see much reason why I shouldn’t let him go.
“Daddy,” he said. “How do I get out?”
At the other end of the big room, there were two double doors. I walked down to them and opened them. I kicked down the rubber stoppers that would keep them open. Together, the two doorways made a good-sized exit for a victorious basketball team, or a monster like Davey.
“Can you fit through there?” I asked him.
“I don’t know,” he said.
I was going to offer to help him. But the truth is, I couldn’t bring myself to touch him. I didn’t want to even go near him any closer than I had to.
“Try,” I said. “Can you move on your own?”
“Yes, I think so. But I haven’t moved much in a long time, except to eat.”
He tried to move toward the doors. I didn’t see any feet, but there must have been some kind of appendages beneath him. His big, bulky body crawled slowly toward the way out.
The way he moved bothered me. I started to feel sick. So I left the gym.
I went back to the principal’s office, and gathered my things. What little I still carry around with me. A backpack and a bag with the laptop.
I went to the kitchen and looked for food I could take with me, but most of it was those big, industrial-sized cans. That’s why I hadn’t plundered the kitchen the last time I was there. Giant cans of green beans. Corn. Chili with meat.
There wasn’t a lot I could carry without weighing myself down. But there were candy bars. Granola bars. Things like that were loose, or in boxes. I gathered up as many I could fit into my backpack. And some bottles of water.
The backpack was heavy, but I’d be able to handle it.
And I held onto the sword.
When I was all packed and ready to go, I went back to the gymnasium, to see what Davey’s progress was. But he was already gone.
Some weird chunks of flesh hung to the exit doors, still moving and alive. I guess he’d had a hard time fitting through, but he figured it out.
He was free.
So I left in the opposite direction.
Aaron
August 19—3:01 a.m.
Aaron,
I’m not sure why, but I’m glad you let Davey out. After reading your email, I daydreamed that Davey used his massive body to break into this place. He ate all the Balloon Heads and set everyone free. I jumped on Davey’s back and lay on my stomach, hugging his sticky, bloated body. He smelled like rotted potatoes.
This little boy I never felt comfortable around—whom, deep down in the darkest part of my heart, I wished would go away—I’m now having heroic fantasies about. It should be the parent rescuing the child, not vice versa. Yet thinking about his monstrousness and how it might benefit me in this bizarre new world gave me a perverse feeling of pleasure.
I finally gave up (or is it gave in?) and ate a piece of second floor fruit. It’s so hot and the watermelon was so juicy and cool, I had to put my mouth on it and then once my mouth was on it and I tasted its sweetness, I had to take it inside me and swallow it. I guess I am the same as Davey swallowing those little children. I also ate a plum and a banana. Cindy still wouldn’t take a bite even though she ate the fruit when she didn’t know where it came from. The way she looked at me when she saw me eating the watermelon hurt my feelings.
Why are there always people who think they’re better than everyone else? I never liked Cindy’s moralistic shit. But these past couple of weeks, I felt like we bonded, and now I’m feeling like she hacked off a part of me.
I don’t know that there’s anyone left now besides Cindy, who’s not eating the fruit. It’s funny about the walls, isn’t it? I didn’t know you felt the pull too. People here sometimes rub themselves against the walls in a sexual way. There’s a musky odor that I didn’t smell before. Woody perks right up when he sees people at the wall. Normally, the Balloon Heads are droopy and lethargic. But I don’t think there’s anything droopy going on inside their heads.
I’d like to melt away like Batshit. The wall is tempting me. Bradley seems to sense when I feel the pull because he’ll usually call to me to come talk to him or do something for one of the Balloon Heads. I like pushing them around in their wheelchairs; I like bathing and feeding them. It gives me a purpose.
We give the Balloon Heads a bottle almost every morning. I don’t notice if there’s any people missing. They all seem to blend into this single entity: the faceless crowd. I don’t feel like a person anymore. Maybe that’s how I am able to eat the fruit.
But I’m still breathing and if there’s breath, there’s hope. I don’t know if I made that up or if it’s one of those ‘truisms.’ Truisms are funny because they’re not always true.
Good luck with wherever your journey leads. Do you think we’ll ever find each other? Or Davey?
GREEN TSUNAMI Page 6