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Dear Mom and Dad,
It's been a while since I last wrote you both, and for that, I deeply apologize. It's not like either of you will ever read one of these, so I don't understand what the point is, really. In a way, I see it as a way of keeping me sane— truthfully, I think I do it to mentally convince myself I'm still leading on a normal life, when in reality, this is the farthest from it I think I'll ever get. Hell, I bet this is normal now. That is, unless our mission is proven to be a success. Jeez, it really has been a while. The last time I wrote in this, it was only Ro and I. I guess it's time to catch you both up.
We joined forces with this group of people. One in particular, Eugene, is some kind of scientist— or something. Anyway, he has an awkward, nerdy exterior that I have yet to fully break, but I've made it a personal mission of mine to do sooner or later. Under that though, he's brains. Lots of them. He says he can figure out a cure to this all, and that alone was enough to get Rosita and I on board.
After everything— reuniting with Diego and Santos, only to watch them both die a painful death shortly following— we needed something. We needed this. Ro and I didn't get to see both of your fates, dead or alive. Bare minimum, Eugene gets to DC. He figures out the key to this all, and we were a part of something much bigger than anything I've ever been a part of. That's enough for me. I won't ever go to college, or be able to safely start a family, so this is what I'm living for now. I feel like it's my purpose, even if I'm not even doing anything all that crucial.
So many lives were lost during this whole thing; let's be realistic— it's a wonder I'm one of the four that have made it this far, alive. Stephanie, Josiah, Warren, Rex, Pam, Roger, Dirk, Josephine— all gone. All of us went into this as strangers— mere acquaintances— and we came out as a family of some sort. They're gone. I hope I find people like that again someday.
This road we're on right now is extremely bumpy, which I'm going to take as a sign to wrap this up. Abraham isn't exactly the most gentle driver, but I love him nonetheless. He's oddly become like a father-figure to me— which is, not to mention, really weird now that I think about it— especially considering how him and Rosita— nevermind. Rosita and I have a big age gap anyway, sometimes I tend to forget she's my sister and not my mother.
If you guys did actually kick the bucket, I really do hope you aren't shuffling around, eating people. God, that would be bad.
And if you didn't know it, or I didn't say it enough time already— I love you both. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think about either of you. The pain has subsided. It has to. In a world like this one, there's no time to dwell. I paint this expectation of how you both died— it was peaceful. Neither of you suffered, and neither of you reanimated. I can't think about it too hard. If I remind myself that Santos was only 6 years old, then I get upset. I can't do that, and Rosita certainly can't either.
Once more for shits and giggles, I love you two. I'll write soon, as long as I'm alive. And if I'm not, I'll see you guys anyway.
Love,
Nat
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hi everyone! welcome to yet another book that will take me forever to update. for the record, i'm constantly thinking about my books 24/7, i genuinely just have not mustered up enough time to write something i want to post and am proud of.
