That's right! I had no idea what it was we were after or what we were doing. You know why? BECAUSE I SPENT THE LAST FEW WEEKS FOLLOWING A STUPID FUCKING MUTE TO WHAT WAS VERY NEARLY MY FUCKING GRAVE.
Worth it. WORTH IT.
We found one of Duckie's little safe houses. I was surprised to find this one was actually a house. A little cabin in the woods.
It was ominous as FUCK. First off, place was rigged with traps. BEAR TRAPS! Had to make slow, careful, and thorough sweeps across the ground to get to the actual cabin as not to LOSE OUR FUCKING FEET. I think we set off 3 bear traps walking in a straight line from the window.
Not sure where Duckie got a budget for this kind of shit. Is it possible to steal that many bear traps? SOMEONE would notice? Wouldn't they? WOULDN'T THEY?!
In any event, the cabin was fairly bare. Three book shelves, one against EVERY wall besides the one with the door. The shelves were FILLED WITH BOOKS. Each of them a diary. Rantings of various cockroachs and murders. People I assume died around Duckie?
Some of the books where a series of Diaries all belonging to one person. Each series ended the same way... at least as far as I was willing to check. A final entry in Duckie's shit handwriting. He signed each one 'Speaker for the Dead' and explained what happened.
A SENSELESS WASTE OF TIME. I mean, they're dead. WHOSE GONNA SEE IT. Stupid fucking asshole.
There was one other thing in the room. A toy chest. A FUCKING TOY CHEST. Goofy fuck.
Inside were three items. A book, a sword, and.... my brothers body.
OF ALL THE FUCKING THINGS TO STEAL. I... I didn't even know he had fucking took it.
I... didn't even bury him when he died... went STRAIGHT AFTER DUCKIE. Never looked back. Never really paid attention to what he was doing... just chased him from place to place...
GOD FUCKING DAMN IT... I .... didn't even bury him... How could I... FUCK...
so... I took my brothers sword, because I had apparently mistaken another sword for it before because I'm THE WORST FUCKING SISTER EVER (Moth Edit: I noted that Duckie had put it somewhere here.), and the book, which turned out to be my brothers Diary, and we burned that STUPID FUCKING MAKE SHIFT CRYPT TO THE GROUND.
A proper burial, by fire.
Good-bye Trent, again. Please, wherever you are, do me one favor...
QUIT FUCKING LEAVING ME! QUIT FUCKING SCREAMING.