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Entry one.
I have been wandering this world for days now. I do not know how long it’s been, and how long it’ll take me until I can finally rest. It’s like it’s never-ending. I walk to one place, think I can settle down, only to be chased out by one of those weird creatures, and start over. It’s exhausting.
I knew I had to run, there was no other choice. Staying there…
(A scribbled-out paragraph, intelligible words.)
It was just not safe there. And I have no relation to that place now.
Anyways, I have started this journal as a sort of diary, maybe. Just so I don’t get bored and lonely, since that’s the only fate left for me, I suppose.
I better start by introducing myself, then. Don’t know who I’m introducing myself to, exactly, but I guess I have to, in case I ever lose this book and someone will want to read it. I don’t plan on losing this diary, obviously- still, anything could happen.
Especially if-
Especially in this reality.
My name is Jelly Sparrow, people call me Żelek. At the moment of writing this, I am twenty-three years old. I was a programmer working remote in a small town, living with-
(More scribbled out writing)
It doesn’t matter now. Pretty sure they’re gone.
Now, what am I planning to do? Just get by, I suppose. Continue living in this weird cycle with the sky broken in half above me. Can’t even say I’m being guided by the stars- maybe just my own instinct, then.
And to you, Louis.
Wherever you are.
Entry two.
Since the last entry, it’s been about- what, a week, maybe? I walked for a bit, of course, passed by my crazy old neighbour’s shed in the woods. It was such a mess inside of there! Seriously, it was like a storm had ravaged through it.
Cabinets with things thrown around, dead rats everywhere- If a place could be considered abandoned, that’s abandoned to the second power. I honestly doubt he’s ever coming back there, seeing the state of the place.
Maybe I should feel kind of bad, we were… kind of close, actually. I had the house first and he helped me renovate, kept me… company, sort of. Both of us were completely alone in the world, and that was before he went to build that shed and completely leave society behind.
Can’t believe my neighbourhood almost forgot about him even existing, when he was one of the first people there.
After that, though, I set up camp in the woods, at the other edge of it. I know stepping away from the road is probably not a very wise move, because there could be literally anything hiding in here. And trust me- no, I don’t know why I’m talking to my own diary, I’d run into those creatures before. It’s not my first time in the apocalypse.
Well, it is. You know what I mean.
Only now have I really realized how alone I am. I wonder if- (scribbled out writing, the only words able to be made out being „they escaped”) It was meant to be this way. It was always meant to be this way, I was always meant to be alone, was I?
Even when people come, eventually they just go. And this is where I’m safe. When nobody tries to come up and break my walls down. Well, I’m not doing that anymore.
I’ll never do that again.
It’s just me and you, huh, Journal?
Oh God, I’m going insane.
Entry three.
I had no time for writing, but my suspicions were right. There were things hiding in the woods. Some- what is it, a dog pack? A wolf pack? I have no idea, they were so disfigured I couldn’t even see what animal that was supposed to be.
Hold on, I’ll draw it.
(Image shows a canid creature, its limbs contorted, longer than normal, almost seeming broken in places. Its neck is stretched and its jaws reach the floor, filled with rows of sharp, jagged teeth. Its eyes are so wide open they bulge out from the creature’s skull. The lines of the drawing are shaky, and the page itself is smeared with blood.)
Yeah, that’s something you can’t get out of your mind that easily. I’m not saying I’ll have nightmares, I barely sleep anyway- but still.
They managed to get me a bit, and I had to rip my own clothing to make bandages. They’re awful, though. I need to get to civilization, and fast.
I don’t want to be with people again. That’s not at all what I mean. I just need to find something to treat these wounds, and only cities have what’s needed for it: my legs are all bitten and they gnawed on my arm while I was lying there on the ground.
I should honestly be grateful I got out of there alive.
But besides the injuries, there was… another thing that was very much off about this encounter. While I was lying there, after the dogs left, I heard-
I heard whispers.
Well, at first it was just strange buzzing. Like an LED lamp over your head, annoying you all the time. But not just that, it felt like it was climbing into my head, trying to claw at my brain and take control of it, rip a hole inside and just gather inside of it. Then, slowly, I realised it wasn’t just buzzing.
It was hundreds upon hundreds of voices, all whispering to me. Eventually, I started to understand.
They were… it’s like they were trying to lure me in.
“Listen to us, child. We will salvage you. If you come with us, you can be safe. You can finally be safe.”
That’s what one of the voices was saying.
You know, Journal, the worst thing about this whole ordeal isn’t the fact that I nearly bled out to death, or that I hallucinated weird voices all talking to me.
I heard-
I’m pretty sure I heard him as one of them.
There were so many people that I recognized. My sister Bella, Blue, Suzie, Quartz, and… and him. Louis.
I don’t know what to think. Maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me, trying to tell me I was safe. Maybe they were thinking about me: or… had been, at least. Because most of them are gone now.
Most of them are gone.
(Writing gets increasingly messier.)
Most of them are gone. Most of them are gone. Most of them are gone. Most of them are gone.
Most of them are gone. Most of them are gone. Most of them are gone. Most of them are-
They’re all gone.
(It appears that tears stain the pages, small specks down on the paper.)
I should get myself together. And move. Fast. It’s unlike me to just break down like that. What’s happening to me? I’m- I’m not like this. It’s almost out of character.
He flicks through the pages, skimming past paragraphs upon paragraphs of writing. It’s fascinating.
Entry seventeen.
I’ve reached the city.
Today was my first human interaction in… a while, actually. Don’t know how long it’s been since I started this journal, you can’t really tell time that easily these days with the sky broken in half. Only night and day, and even then, the days just blur together, all mixed up into some weird daze that we all live through each day.
Anyways, back to the story.
I set up a small base in some abandoned flower shop, I thought that the smell of wilting flowers would be enough to stop any sort of… animals or- well, people, from coming in and attacking me while I sleep. (A small note at the side saying „I know this sight would just break his heart.)
I don’t have anyone to keep watch for me, and simply not sleeping is something I have tried, but to no avail, obviously. I organized all the things I managed to scavenge for during my travels, and of course, the journal.
And as I was getting ready to settle down for the night: I was really looking forward to this, after being on my feet for so long, fighting desperately to just stay alive. It was my one chance to finally let myself rest, I heard a noise.
Obviously, I hesitated on going out and checking what was going on, knowing what… things lurk everywhere these days. It’s been a couple of weeks now, I’m certain of that, since that encounter with the dogs. My wounds healed pretty cleanly, there’s barely a mark left, apart from the rips in my clothing, obviously. Still, that interaction left me quite paranoid.
But I had to see it. It’s like something was pulling me in, edging me to just step outside and see what made that very noise I heard. And so I did.
I had no other choice.
That’s when I saw him for the first time.
A pretty tall guy, with a mop of messy blonde hair on his head and singed goggles, well- actually, all of his clothing was somehow burnt in a way, covered in soot. He looked like some sort of… scientist? I guess? The apocalypse isn’t a runway, of course, but he still looked… somewhat odd.
He seemed as lost as I was, just dropped into this world, looking around aimlessly until he found my place, drawn in by the odd smell of wilting flowers. He pointed out that it’s strange for the stench to linger around for so long, since it must have been months, if not years since the sky got broken in half.
Then, he pried even more. He wanted to know if I was a florist that happened to work there in… The Before, that’s what he called it, since he was completely new to the area and wanted to figure out some context.
It’s funny, actually, how I’ve almost forgotten to use my voice, with how little I’ve spoken throughout all this time. The last moment I remember using my voice must have been back at the town, saying my farewells to…
Doesn’t matter.
It was hoarse when it came out of my throat, didn’t really sound like I remembered it sounding. Speaking… just talking to the guy, trying to avoid his questions and all that unnecessary small talk- was surprisingly hard.
Eventually, I asked for his name. He introduced himself as John. Just that. No last name, nothing more, just John. Said he was doing some research in the area, and had a makeshift laboratory in one of the abandoned buildings. Truth be told, I’m almost impressed. He seems like a nice companion. Maybe not for me. He’s rather charismatic, or tries to make himself look like it. It’s not going to work for me, though. It’s not that easy.
I’m not that easy to break.
Entry eighteen.
John’s been coming by every so often. Usually, he just sits there and chats about his mysterious invention, which he does not specify anything about whenever I ask.
He just tells me, paraphrasing, “It will be a true game-changer.”
That tells me nothing, thanks, John.
But even if I don’t ever seem to listen, and honestly- I don’t know if he’s aware that I don’t, he keeps visiting anyway. He visits, he watches me work on whatever I’m doing, makes a couple of comments about the smell of the flowers still not having aired out, and how fascinating it is.
It’s honestly unnerving how he observes my every move. I know he’s a scientist and all, and that it’s probably learned behaviour, but it really does seem like he’s trying to study me. Study exactly how I walk, talk, behave. It creeps me out.
I guess I should probably confront him about it one day, maybe. It’s not like I mind his company too much. He’s kind of like a spider in a web. He could be considered freaky, terrifying, only bound to be chased away, and some people would get familiar with the sight.
Which one am I? I do not know. I cannot determine that just yet. I know I wrote that he sends a shiver up my spine, but in some way, it just feels… alright. Like I’m afraid of his intentions, but I’ve grown accustomed. Like an annoying guest on your couch who you just want to get rid of and who you’ve been trying to convince to leave for the past two hours, but now it’s been so long they may as well stay for longer.
Well, John. You strange man.
You want to study me, I’ll study you.
Experiment begins, I suppose.
He skims through pages of text and complaining about mundane matters, overlooking the messages of longing for someone he didn’t recognize. His eyes fix on one specific entry.
Entry twenty-three.
I’m done with this.
I thought this place was a good one to stay in, guess not. Of course it’s him. Who else could it be? I think at this point I’d rather get ripped to shreds than have to listen to this guy again. (Rambling continues, until the writing gets so messy it is only an unsteady line. The ink is smeared.)
Now I’ve calmed down. I suppose.
But still, I need to put an end to this.
He’s always there. Always there, watching, looming over me. If I think I can get a moment of peace, I find him somewhere at my place.
Every time he says something about himself, he refers to himself as we. As if he’s trying to include me in his own life by something as simple as speech.
I’m also pretty sure he’s absolutely obsessed with spiders. No clue where he gets them from. But he keeps finding them and bringing them over to me. One time I even woke up with him staring at me, yeah, in the middle of the night, trying to get a spider to crawl on me.
He got a slap to the face and I thought he’d get the message after that.
I don’t- I don’t know what he wants. I’m not sure I can decipher it. I thought I was okay with this, guess not. Guess you get sick of something when it’s there for too long.
I’m going to talk to him this evening. I know that at this time he’s still in his lab, or- whatever. It sure didn’t look like one when he made me visit that one time- hah.
I keep getting this feeling this isn’t going to end well for me. I’m leaving this journal here, because I don’t know if I’ll return to write another entry.
Goodbye, I suppose. Maybe I’ll read this back and think- wow, I’m a complete idiot for thinking I’d die there. What, he’s gonna have some super-weapon and shoot me with it the second I step into the man’s basement? Well, at least I’ll get some entertainment out of it, reading how I was overthinking this so much.
And maybe I don’t want to admit it, but- all those people I can’t bring close to myself again.
Maybe I miss them.
Especially-
Especially you, Louis.
***
“My name is Jelly Sparrow.”
The words land and echo in the walls of the room, slicing through the silence that had settled in it like the dust that fell on each surface. An old fashioned table pressed against a wall in the middle of shedding its wallpaper. Broken floorboards, scratched with the signs of old turmoil.
He takes in a shaky breath. His lungs fill up with air like he was inhaling for the first time, immediately hit with the overwhelming scent of still-wilting flowers. Guess it really is strange that it’s still around.
“My name is Jelly Sparrow.”
He repeats, like a mantra, like something he lives by. Still sitting on the floor, the journal sprawled out before him. The pages seem old, the edges yellow, like it’s been there for years, waiting for someone to open it once again.
“People call me Żelek.”
He adds. What people, though? He was completely alone, after all.
Alone in this box, locked in four walls.
But maybe, just maybe, something was hiding behind-
It’s best to check it out, at least.
Żelek gathers the strength to lift himself up from the floor, supporting himself with the wall next to him. The wallpaper feels rough against his hands, covered with a dried, dark substance and healed scars. He glances at them just for a moment, and redirects his attention to the indent in the four walls.
The floorboards creak as he takes hesitant steps towards it. The rectangle in front of him is different to the walls: made out of brown wood, covered in splinters. At the side of it, a silver shape, stretched out into a mass that he could easily hold in his hand and press on.
And so he does. It feels cold against his palm, tingling against the warmth as he holds the silver for just a second more.
A door.
It’s a door.
He presses on the silver - the doorknob - and falls into the next space.
Żelek squints his eyes as light begins to blind him, making the pounding in his head stronger. With the hand that hadn’t been holding the doorknob, he shields his eyes from the danger. Here, the smell of flowers is stronger.
It’s not surprising, seeing as they seem to line the shelves stretching alongside the walls at his sides. It would be an offense to call them flowers, honestly. They’re barely corpses of what the plants could have been, frozen in time, tortured by the concept of approaching death not taking them.
Some of them are ripped, petals thrown across the floor, mixed in with droplets of the same dark substance that stains his hands. The furniture and old decorations are all rugged, torn apart, destroyed and laying messily in the room. Something must have happened here.
But what? Żelek questions.
He doesn’t want to stay any longer: but he doesn’t want to go back inside into the dark, either. The light may be dangerous, but it may as well be his only way out.
Glass shards lying on the floor. A door hanging wide-open. A gate to a promise of something new, but also something uncertain. Something he doesn’t seem to recognize.
Żelek steps forward and exits the building.
Suddenly, everything seems much more open. A dark path stretching itself from one side to the other, further than he can see, cracked by the weight of passing time. Buildings looming over him, overgrown with nature that seems to have died but hasn’t, a strange phenomenon. It’s no match to what’s above them, though.
Żelek gasps seeing it. He feels almost enchanted by the sight, rooting himself in place. He cannot move, he cannot breathe, he cannot speak.
It seems bland at first - just a grey sky. A thick wound cuts through it, swallowing the light all around it. He swears he can see colours swirling inside of it, and maybe beginning to nestle in his mind as well.
He blinks once, then twice. Strange.
The only thing missing is any sort of sound. Back then, he had the creak of floorboards, the patter of his footsteps, the ringing in his ears.
Now, everything is simply quiet. Still. Even the wind that seems to fleet past him and make the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and disturbs the thick vines growing out of buildings, it makes no sound.
It’s all so unfamiliar. It’s all so… it makes him feel small. Just a tiny dot compared to a whole fresco, nothing when put against the world’s magnificence and mystery.
Perhaps he should walk further. Explore.
And so he does. For the next- however much time, he lets himself get captured by the maze of his surroundings. It all seems so different, yet so repetitive. Like he knows what to expect whenever he turns a corner, but at the same time, he lets himself get surprised by the smallest of details. A different colour of paint on a building. A sign with ornate writing, with letters he cannot make out with how the colour had oxidized.
It’s… fascinating.
He feels like he’s been here before, an odd sense of recognition. But at the same time, it’s all new, and he’s discovering it for the first time, his steps never having touched this piece of land. Somehow, he knows exactly which way he should turn to see something that will amaze him.
Though the silence remains.
***
Żelek finally makes his way back to the place he came from. His legs ache from walking so much, but the satisfaction somehow makes it better. A familiar sight of what he first observed points him just in the right direction, and he gets ready to lurk back into the darkness, and perhaps regain some strength before going out again.
And just as he’s about to take a turn and step into the building, he sees movement out of the corner of his eye.
Movement, and finally, sound.
A clink as something falls to the floor, and annoyed muttering as it gets picked back up and is possibly fidgeted with. Muttering?
A person.
Suddenly, a wave of anxiety rushes through his veins: what is he going to do? He hasn’t spoken with people since…
He doesn’t remember, actually. As if the answer is hidden behind a lock, and he doesn’t have a key.
“Hey, you!”
Shit, he’s spotted.
A stranger appears from behind the corner, his hands in his pockets. His cold, light-coloured stare pierces through Żelek, intention unknown. Pale, blonde hair falls on top of the man’s forehead, shielding him from staring even more.
“Never seen you around before.” He says, looking Żelek up and down.
Żelek stutters, not sure what to respond. He isn’t scared- why would he be? He could probably take this guy in a fight if he had to. But they’re not fighting. Maybe he could still just run.
But he doesn’t. Maybe, despite the feeling pinning him down, he wants to say more.
“I’m- Jelly. Jelly Sparrow.”
To that, the man’s shoulders slump forward. His eyes widen in disbelief.
He scoffs, “No, you’re-“ A bitter grin spreads across his face, “No, you’re not. You’re not him.”
Something twists in Żelek’s chest, he furrows his brows, taking a hesitant step back. What does he mean- of course he was! He found the journals, they were written by him, right? He’d tested it, his handwriting was the same, those were his journals! And what business did this guy have to tell him he wasn’t, well, himself?
“What do you mean I’m not? Last time I checked, I was myself, you know?”
Sure, he didn’t really remember anything past that day’s morning, but-
And the guy just starts laughing. That sick grin still on his face, like he was told the most over-the-top conspiracy theory and he didn’t believe it, like he was given bitter medicine and had to swallow it down.
“Last time I checked, I’m pretty sure I can recognize the face of the man I’d lived with for three years.”
The smile falls from his face, the man’s expression instead turning stone-cold.
“So no, you’re not Żelek.”
He takes a step forward. Thoughts race in Żelek’s mind: confusion, fear, fury - a mix of emotions all tangled up in a mess that zapped him like electricity, urging him to move, do something, say something - but he can’t bring himself to.
“I-“
“How do you know him?” The man spits, inching closer with every second. Soon enough, something silver, gleaming, roaring of danger is in his hand.
Silence. He can’t speak. How was he not Żelek? He was! He knew he was, his head is pulsating with a voice screaming: tell him! Tell him something! Tell him he’s wrong, because you know him, you surely remember-
He didn’t. He really didn’t.
Żelek raises his arms above his head. Maybe if- and only now he’s started thinking critically- maybe if he makes himself seem unthreatening, he’d be let go, or he’d get a moment to kick the guy in the shin and distract him. Good plan!
But the man doesn’t attack.
“I asked how you knew him. If you do, he must’ve passed through here.” He sighs, “Seriously, cut the act. There’s no curtain waiting to fall.”
“I don’t remember.”
The guy tilts his head, more confused than mad at that point.
“What do you mean you-“
Another voice cuts through their argument, their heads turning in the direction. It has an almost song-like sound to it, like a chirping bird.
“Quartz!” The woman that approached calls out, storming forward, “I’d been looking for you all over, thought one of those brainless things caught you!”
Żelek observes her.
Her ginger curls bounce up and down as she runs up to the pair, a mossy green cardigan loosely hanging off her shoulder. Dark spots are smeared across her figure and her clothing, a sign of struggle. For a moment, he wonders what happened. The messy attire and the bright grin on her face, and a furrow of brows all contrast each other.
Quartz - now Żelek knows his name, and recognizes it from the journals - takes a step back as the woman approaches, patting him up and down to check for any injuries under the man’s layers upon layers of clothing draped on his figure.
“I didn’t encounter anything, I’m fine.” He reassures her firmly, quick to end the conversation about the matter. Though slowly, he stares back at Żelek. “Except for this guy, I guess.”
The woman turns to him, her expression hard to tell.
“Yeah, he sure isn’t”
“How do you know who he is?” Quartz cuts in.
Żelek - if he can still call himself that, the very thought sending a shiver down his spine. How was he- it was just not possible, it can’t have been!
His hands start tingling with uncertainty, words hard to get out. “I- I don’t know! The journal said-“
“Hold on,” Quartz interrupted once again, “What journal?”
***
“Here it is.”
His grip is tight on the book, like a lifeline. Maybe they weren’t his, sure, who knows - but they still made him regain a sense of identity.
After all, waking up in a dark room, head pounding, with no recognition of where you are and who you are isn’t really a pleasant experience.
And reading the journals-
He bit back what could be even a tear.
Quartz flicked through the pages, a sense of hidden satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Wow. I didn’t think it would go this easily.”
He raised his gaze, surprisingly warm for their previous interaction.
“Thank you. I know who’d really appreciate this, uh-”
“Can’t really give you a name. Sorry.” He chuckles nervously.
“Yeah- right, right.”
“We’ll be going now, I think.” The woman speaks up. “Gotta get back before the sun sets.”
He simply nods, a lump in his throat.
“Uh- Farewell, then. I hope we see you again.” She smiled brightly, yet her glance seemed slightly pained.
He bowed.
They left, and he was alone.
His legs grow limp, giving out underneath him as he collapses to the floor. Not caring about the pounding in his head. Not caring about the nest of nerves stirring in his chest.
There was only one question.
One horrible question that he would never find the answer for.
He read a diary of a dead man, and thought he was keeping him alive - keeping himself alive with it. But to hear he was just stealing another person’s story, claiming it as his own, trying to desperately find a reason to keep going, to exit that very room, one frozen in time. A lock for the past and all the memories. The journal was never meant to be discovered. Yet he did.
He isn’t Jelly Sparrow, that’s obvious.
But then who is he? And what happened?