Chapter 2

It was time to go. Something told me not to go, but I had to go, because at the same time something was pulling me in. Something made me have to go. The wind was blowing strong. The trees began to mosh. Like a mosh pit at a concert. Kind of like the mosh pit you would imagine at a Wavves concert. WAVES. A mosh pit that resembeled waves.

“Grab your bags, everyone,” said Steph grabbing her Care Bear duffle bag. I grabbed my cat shaped backpack, and my 80’s Barbie duffle bag, and began to walk. Slowly, but surely. I just followed. Walked behind everyone else. The grass was still squishy. Squishy and squishier as you walked closer. As though there was a pond we were about to step into.

I wanted to smoke, I brought two packs, just in case. But I knew it was not a good time to smoke. But my body was nervous. It needed one.

“Hey, do you guys mind if I smoke as we walk?” I asked.

Some of them stared at me like WTF no?

But Steph nodded in approval, and asked to join. So did Joey. He always smoked along with me. He and Steph were my smoke buddies. They were the only ones that actually approved. Kitty did not care, but she would never try one. It was not her thing. She was too much of a goody two shoes. I used to be a goody two shoes, when I still had a God. When I used to pray everynight. “Please God, don’t let anything baad happen to my family, my friends, my pets, and everything I care for,” is what I used to say. Sometimes when I was really scared I still said it. This reminded me of my parents. Of their preiching. Of how my father goes to church twice a week: once for himself, and once to makeup for me not going. He was afraid of me going to Hell. He was afraid of himself going to Hell. My whole family was afraid. That’s why they still believed. It was there ticket to heaven. It was there ticket to a longer life. A happier life. But what was my ticket? I did not need a ticket. I had my own faith. Faith in myself, and faith in the world. Though it was awful. Dreadful at times. But I still kept faith. I had to. It’s the reason I never called myself an athiest. I couldn’t. After years of believing something sticked. Believing in something stuck. Let it be myself, the world, or superstitions.

I kept thinking about what they qwere talking about. The clown. The suicides. I felt like everyone who had died in htat forest was watching us. I felt like the Clown was waiting for us. He had to be. But part of knew none of this made sense. How could they be watching us? How could he be real? How could he still be alive? How could I be so foolish to believe?

But sometimes faith attacks you. You believe the foolish, because something inside you forces you. Something inside of you pulls you in. Just like the forest was pulling me in. I believed in the forest. I knew it was there, but that’s different. That’s realism.

Let nothing bad happen.

Please let nothing bad happen.