It’s me, Julie, and I punched a person today. 

I saw that mall. I saw the same thing over and over and over and over again with so many pairs of eyes that the pain doesn’t go away even as I closed my eyes. I wanted to gouge them. It started with an itch, but like a hole that needed to be filled, it kept asking for more and more and more and more and more. 

It started with an itch. It really started with an itch, but that moment of peace that I desperately asked for came at the cost of me waking out of a moment of pure bliss with the taste of blood and a realization that my fingernails had been torn free.

I don’t have a big room. I don’t even own a house. No one is there to take care of me, so seeing the blood splattered all across my small table, sprinkled by bits of flesh and nails… 

It didn’t make me scream. 

I’m familiar with this feeling. It’s the sort of thing where your breaths are labored, where your chest tightens and you feel your cheeks warming up. I cried. I was crying, but I needed to stop. I saw my reflection with a bloodied and helpless smile. I knew, by then, that I didn’t break my heart amid suffering. I was already broken, sobbing at the thought that I had nothing more to give but had to do more for that peace.

Why did I do it?

I’ve been so many people. I know exactly what they are. I know exactly who they are, what they felt with others, what they saw, and what they suffered. We all saw the same thing. We all experienced the same thing, and all of us did nothing but smile. 

I know that person whose eyes I borrowed. All I know is that I call myself Julie and that I believed in my heart that I let something that atrocious happen. Even my last post infected so many. I’m sure because I suddenly knew people that saw the same thing, which now I would call the Bob incident for funsies. 

That’s why I punched someone today. 

It was a protester, a social media influencer, true to its name as a video gamer who calls themselves a combat specialist or a chef. The type that believed she’s right because a thousand people or so gave their “approval” to her with a click of a button. It was a pretty strong and clean hit. I think I knocked her out before running, and I’m thankful that she actually thought twice about getting me jailed. I’m thankful, but I wasn’t happy about it. It seemed too good to pass, content and all, that the only logical reason for me to think of is that she got the same thing that placed me in this psychotic jail. 

It’s the type of disease, a mental pandemic, that eats you whole at the moment you study it. That’s why the smartest people died first, leaving us, the dumb ones, to wait for our deaths while we try to piece things little by little. That’s the best plan that I had in mind. I punched that girl because she and her avid followers are demanding to know more. 

Who can blame them?

I know I can’t. I was the same. It was me who talked to Bob. I asked him about things that I shouldn’t have. That’s why I’m here. The only problem I had with that protested was the fact that she was going after those people who’re choosing to do nothing. They would scream at people who would keep their heads down and not join their fight to know more. They demand that everyone should tell them everything, and in that little parade of hers, she commanded us, the infected, to open our mouths and talk. 

They don’t understand. 

They don’t understand the feeling of fighting for something you’ve hoped for, only to realize that you’d be killed by someone who had a wish that’s so meager that you’d want to cry. They don’t understand the terror of being isolated in a single place, where your only choice to escape is to kill other people and get a wish as a reward for participation. They don’t understand the idea of getting choked in the neck with a pan until everything turned black. They don’t understand the idea of fighting for the sake of the one you love, willing to risk everything, only to lose her in the process, and even don’t get the shot to save her. 

They… they don’t understand the idea of the effort I made to not cry or show any weakness as I killed my best friend, who got lost in his way because I was too cowardly to try and see if I could protect the both of us. They don’t understand the idea of having to shoulder everyone’s sins, everyone’s hopes and dreams, and waste it because it didn’t feel earned and choose to use it to force upon a sequel just because I thought it was funny.

Funny. I know it’s not me, but upon looking at my trembling hand… 

For the way it moves, I feel like I’ve felt how it was to hold a bat, to hold a pan, to hold a gun, to point it to someone, to pull the trigger, to watch the sparks fly, to hear people cry out, beg for mercy that they would kneel and offer everything they have only for me smile. I enjoyed it. I loved every bit of it, especially the memory of flying through the air, slaughtering people with rocks without even giving them the hopes of fighting back. I remembered them all. I don’t why I could see it, but I understand. It’s to understand the Second Eden. It was fun. Winning is fun. Feeling superior is fun, but it all soon turned upside down because I remembered everything. 

Every bit of it. 

I knew how my cranium sank deep into my skull when the rocks rained. I knew the full terror they experienced when they got choked by a pan. I understand how scary it was to think, get shot in the head, and see the darkness gazing back, consuming you that everything feels cold and your thoughts would just crumble like sand even as you formed them. I’ve understood what they’re fighting for, great or not, and I’ve understood their despair at the moment they fell out of their wish. I don’t get much sleep, but if I do, I would shoot my eyes open, screaming before breaking down to cry. 

No one should know this much. No one should win this much. No one should suffer this much. Everyone fought for what they thought was funny or right, but shouldering them all for the same of being superior is too much. 

There’s nothing at the top but the full view of sadness built by a fight that never asked to be fought, a picturesque scene of an unseen spiral presenting itself slowly until you see people circling into a single point of nihilistic dread where they could do nothing but scream for that moment of peace. It was a test of heart, and we failed. 

I’ve known all of my victims. I could list them if I wanted, but it makes me relive their hearts, seeing that even half of them looked at my post with genuine concern for others. They did it for the sake of knowing something that would allow them to help the others, but they got dragged down into this hole with those who wished to make content out of this, with those who wanted to use this for their agendas and kick other people down, to people who used this so they could check if they’re fine and see if they’re better than everyone else. 

But, I can’t blame them. We’re humans, after all, and it defeats the purpose if we abandon the other. We are what we are; nothing more, nothing less. That’s what all of us thought. That’s what we’ve all realized. We don’t want to fight anymore, and everything should end here. 

I’ll abandon the peace I craved, so for my last chance to feel good and make myself braver, I wrote this note for my family. Maybe, one day, we the rest could talk about this in hopes of not putting everyone insane. 

I’ve seen and understood everything. It showed how human we are that it was almost too beautiful and cruel. So, if you found this note somewhere and if you’re not infected, I’m sorry, but know that this was the last testament of me, Julie, and the others, as to why we chose to do this.

Our hearts have been tested. We’re all aware, and we’ll do nothing to save others.