Long days and restless nights

We arrived at Celeste’s house. I’m exhausted and as soon as we were allowed inside and shown an area to sleep, I passed out. I don’t know how long I was out, but when I dreamed it was of that scarred man, the look of shock on his face when the knife slid into him, and the dying light in his eyes as his hands tried to uselessly stop the bleeding. And the whole time that I see this happening over and over that monster is in the background, watching the man fall to the floor, body twitching. Then it looks at me, the stretched out skin on its face turned so suddenly in my direction- too fast and too abrupt- and I wake up sweating and with a scream bubbling up in my throat.

The others haven’t noticed how bad I’m doing right now, or they’re too preoccupied to care. Tony’s injuries are more obvious and so he gets more attention. It’s not like he ever asks for it, he just somehow always receives it…

I’m in pain too; it’s just mental and emotional. I think that I might be still in shock over taking a life, even if he would have killed me if he had the chance and I’m sure he wouldn’t have had dreams that woke him up in the middle of the night and left such dark circles under his eyes. I’m sure that those proxies don’t have much of anything to worry about save for listening to that thing.

I suppose that explains why Tony isn’t feeling much of anything.

I know he was a proxy for years, and I know that he did all sorts of things that he will never tell anyone. And he admits this to the world and all they can say is that it’s understandable that he would turn out this way and they accept him anyway. I don’t understand how someone like that could be viewed as a Saint of sorts, as someone who they can depend on even when he would turn on them at a moments notice if it saved his skin. Proxies are like animals, if you think about it. Killing mindlessly, regretting nothing, and controlled by their masters, their leaders. Perhaps in a way, we are too, but we still care.

 I guess if we used some of the bigger bloggers as examples, that one “M” man could be compared to a wolf, one who runs on his own and doesn’t accept the help of anyone. Mr. Strahm would be something of a noble lion, tough as nails and viewed as a hero of sorts. And then Tony would be a hyena. No one takes notice of the hyena, because he crawls in after the other animals, laughing insanely to himself because he has fooled everyone and picks up all the leftovers.

I’m unsure where I fall anymore in all of this. I am a murderer and yet I’m not feeling many emotions. If anything, I feel more…free. I did something that under normal circumstances would be frowned on, but here it’s merely normal. This is a society we have built, one that runs off of more animal instinct, and I am becoming more of an animal each day. It’s only a matter of time before the master comes and takes me away.