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He felt like an idiot.

((Alvaro Vacanti, continued from 70's Horror Movies 2: New Wave Massacre))

He had been walking, since he had seen Alessio. Trying to find him. Trying to get away from Michael and Maria. Trying to figure out what to do and where to go and who was out there and what he was doing. He didnít know. He was running. Searching. Trying to find others. People he knew. People he liked. Friends. Customers. Teammates. Anybody. Someone who wouldnít hurt him. Someone he wouldnít hurt. Someone who could just make him forget where he was and who he was and what he had done and maybe someone who didnít know maybe someone like that was out there. Maybe someone didnít know. He wanted that. He hoped that. He knew that it would never come and that everyone knew and that everyone hated him but maybe they didnít. He could hope. He could dream.

But he didnít.

He couldnít.

He was walking. He was in the open. He couldnít sleep. Not until he found a place to rest. Not until he found safety. Not until he could find someone that could help him. Save him. Get him out of here. He didnít know. Something good. He wanted that. He just hoped that something good could finally happen.

It didnít.

He couldnít.

The night passed. The sun rose. The vestiges of exhaustion crackled all over his body but he didnít notice that. He wasnít going to. He could hear the crackling of the speakers. The announcement. He kept walking. He wasnít going to hear it. He wasnít going to hear his name again. Even if they were he wasnít. He could do that. He could do some good for himself, maybe. He could do it for Jasper. He could. He would.

And then he heard the name on the announcement.

Alessio Rigano.

Murderer of two people.

Alvaro stopped.

His hands were shaking.

He had seen him, yesterday. He had saved him. He had told himself that he could be a hero in the room with his glasses and he had shown that. He had saved Alessio. He had saved his friend from the people bullying him. He had. He was. He had been a hero.

He didnít.

He couldnít.

And that was when his name came up again. And that was when the man on the speakers taunted him. And that was when everybody heard his name again. And that was when everyone knew. He wasnít a hero, he was a monster. He was the villain. He was the one who everyone hated and who everyone mocked and who everyone took advantage of because he was that kid with the cafe and he was that kid who had murdered two of his classmates he was that kid who couldnít speak right at all and he was that monster. The laughing stock. The evil one. The one everyone knew.

Did he want to be like that?



No, he didnít.

He didnít want to be like this anymore.

He didnít want to be here.

So he took a step. Forward. There were cars. Garages, in front of him. He knew of this place. This was part of the danger zone. This place would kill him if he entered. This place would let him leave.

So he took a step. Into the danger zone. He couldnít hear the beep. He couldnít hear anything. He knew this was the place. He knew this was it.

So he took a step.

And the vestiges of exhaustion, the cracks all over his body, shattered. He fell. His body hit the ground. He didnít move. He didnít need to. He knew it would happen. He knew he didnít need to do anything. He knew that this was it.

Breathe in, breathe out.


Time passed.

He just wanted this to end already.
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