So Here's What Happened
July 22nd

I went down to the bowl, and I heaved for a good half an hour while I waited for my stewing guts to come back up and leave my body. What definitely happened is that I vomited several times, out the mouth and nose, a sickly yellow pus that I imagine came from the pieces of steak floating around inside of it. Should I go on? Point is, it was gross. The whole time, this dark voice kept speaking in my head, This is all your fault. You knew what would happen. Am I crazy? Of course not. That voice was my own, and it used to be me. Before I switched. Trouble was, it wanted back in.

This is what you get for going back on your word.

I knew that.

You should try to scoop some of that up, though. Still looks good.

Jesus, no.

Jesus isn't here right now.

The meat was somehow even rarer when it came up. I knew my thoughts should have been about the cow, but they weren't. I was thinking, am I really making myself eat this so I don't have to be scared of being eaten? Do I really have that little trust in my own family?

You remember last week?

I did, and suddenly I no longer needed an answer to my question.

Our grandma Crystal moved in with us in the house, a couple months ago. Crystal's been a wreck since Old Bill died, an old war vet who once fought the Nazis. I'm proud of the old man, but I'm nothing like him, unfortunately. I've never faced any kind of danger in my life, not the kind with bullets. Some kids in my class have, but we're too young to shoot back, I like to think. Anyway, my recent diet change has been nothing for her to latch on to. She needs it, I could sense, that thing that she can hate. That someone who's close to her who'll take the brunt of her anger. Something about old folks, maybe, or just the culture she had growing up. I don't know. How dare I keep living after Bill? That's what she wanted to say. After all he did for us. But she never could, until last week. I slipped up and ate sloppy joe in front of her. I made it with beans instead of beef.
She looked me dead in the eyes like a beast and said, "You know, a man died so you could have that sandwich. And you won't even have the real thing – you vegan pussy."
I couldn't even argue, my mouth was full and my sandwich was falling all over my plate.
She went on, "Men eat meat so they can grow big and strong, and fight the reds and the kremlin. What do you do, huh? Who do you serve? Anyone but yourself? Greedy little fuck."
She was trying to push me, make me react.

She'll eat you alive one day.

I told myself to shut up. I looked in the mirror and stared back into my red, watery eyes and I told myself to stop talking, or thinking, or whatever.

She'll have you for lunch, you know that? She's not okay up there – she's growing into a monster.

This is a lot for a preteen to grasp. This was entirely too much for a sick one.

I think I hear a knife being sharpened.

I told it to shut up so loud, and I remembered everyone was sleeping, and I covered my mouth and puked inside my hands and the screeching in my ears came and I just... stopped. Seeing things. Everything went dark. And then the sink exploded.

Daisy had it fixed, but she gave me a good talking to. She can't afford water damage, and we had to use up all our towels soaking up the mess.

I didn't talk back to Crystal, by the way. I just licked off my plate like our dog does, while giving her the side-eye. I told Daisy what she said. Daisy says she's losing it, so we're sending her to a home. It's her retirement fund that's keeping her for the next decade. She used to be nice.

The Dog's Funeral
August 3rd

Remember that dog I mentioned? He passed away. I was there when it happened, but I couldn't tell Daisy that. Not after the week we've had.

He was playing a game, or at least he thinks it's one, where he runs away. Stupidly, I tried to catch him. Between the school and the rows of houses, he hit a car, but the car hit harder. The crows were waiting for him, like they'd been expecting it, and I had to chase them off. I called Daisy and she had animal services come to get him. And by get him, I mean they scraped him off the pavement. Not the best way to go.

We buried him in the backyard, next to our former cat. He was caught in someone's garage, and went insane from motor oil fumes on a hot summer day. He was never the same after that... always walking in funny ways, never in a straight line. Couldn't jump on anything anymore, couldn't find his own food. We had to put him down. But after that, I noticed all of Fort Mancraig smells like that... even at night. I wonder if the same thing's gonna happen to me.

The Elder
August 22nd

Crystal's doing better now, they say, and she's taking regular medication. She won't let go of Billy, she was married to him for decades after his service until he took his own life by shotgun. I had no idea. At first they tried to keep reminding her, telling her he's been gone now for years. Then she grabbed a plastic knife and spoon and tried to make a pudding out of her next-door neighbor. Good thing they're not very sharp. She needs to forget, Daisy told them, and if they keep saying it she'll never be able to. She's got dementia, and Daisy thinks it started a while before anything. Maybe last fall. All I know is her eyes look dark. Maybe she'll get some rest that way. I hate to say it, but now that she's gone, I can finally rest too. You'd never know it when you're slamming back a triple bacon super-burger, but herbivores and omnivores don't have the best relationship. There's a jolt, like lightning, when someone moves and you aren't sure where to go. It takes more than a while to get used to.

Daisy's noticing my improvement, and she's experimenting with seafood and vegetarianism. I can already feel the difference in my bones. Too bad I can't make the air cleaner, too.

Dive
August 27th

I'm getting ready for school next year, at Hawkins Middle School. Grandma can't help us pay rent anymore, so that's probably for the best. Daisy found a bachelorette pad, while I'm stuck in the dorms. I'll be cooking my own meals on a hot plate in the break room, probably while the other guys try to put stink bombs in it. Last year they put one in my locker on the last day of school, and now I have a new backpack... on my wish list. We're pretty broke, so I'm stuck using the stinky one. On the bright side, we get our own rooms, pre-furnished with a folding futon, which is the coolest idea. On the other hand, they're seven by seven feet. Just enough room to sleep. The closet technically makes it eight feet long, so there's room for a door at the end of the wall. It's clever enough, and I'm just happy to have some privacy.
There's one thing I have to commend... instead of bathroom and shower stalls, they just built a few complete bathrooms per floor. So you can just bring a small bag in and out with you and do your whole routine. The part that sucks is that you get buzzed after twenty minutes, and it'll keep going off just loud enough to bother you until you get out.
Every floor has access to the overlook balcony that wraps around the back of the building. There's a second door to the stairs in case of a fire, too. They've really thought of everything here. The roof is slanted, so I imagine the kids on the top floor have a higher ceiling - lucky them. I'm on the third, so I'm not complaining.
There's four buildings: A, B, C, and D. A and D are for boys, C and B are for girls. I'm in A.
I'm in French Immersion, apparently. The pamphlet says that all classes, except for English Language Arts, will be 'en français'. That's funny, because last I checked, I was like, Italian or something. Daisy doesn't really know where we're from, nobody knows who our dad was. All we know is we don't look as white as our mom, and our hair is a lot curlier. Back on topic, having a second language is supposed to help me get a job when I'm older. It also makes us eligible for "additional funds" from social services. It's kind of sink-or-swim. Luckily, I'm awesome at diving to the bottom of the pool. I even kind of like the feeling of my ears popping. Not so great at swimming, though. Sometimes I just sit at the bottom and watch other people swim... I always hate having to come back up for air, but I don't feel like drowning. At least not this week.

The Feast
August 31st

The school itself is a five-story monolith conveniently in the middle of all four dorm buildings, and it somehow manages to loom over them all. The dining hall takes up half of the main floor. They put on a brunch for the newcomers, free food for the first day. There was beef, ham, a gravy fountain, mashed potatoes, string beans, steamed carrots, and more. That's not even counting dessert. I may have taken some of everything.

This is gonna suck for you later.

I know that.

Then why do you keep doing it?

I don't know. Because it's not the end of the world. I've been eating nothing but plants for weeks, why not have some fun? I grew up eating meat.

Because you always throw up eating meat.

I've been getting better with that.

And you ache for days, and your body starts to swell. And you get angry and pissed off and start acting like a jerk.

Yeah, that does happen.

And it's terrible for the environment.

I don't know. A serving of meat takes over thirty gallons of water, and a vegetable takes like, two. But almonds take a lot too, don't they? And what do you care about the environment? You're a voice in my head.

So what do you think happens to me if you die?

I tossed these questions over, muttering to myself in line. I probably looked stressed out to anyone walking by.

Free range meat is better for you. Better yet, fresh kill. Dryo knows best.

He had taken to calling himself Dryo Genix, after a character I made up. He was a secret agent who worked paranormal cases, and solved ghost crimes. His name literally means 'Dry Cryogenics', but I liked how edgy it was.
I got to the pecan tarts, pumpkin pie, and homemade chocolate chip cookies at the dessert table. I was about to go for the cookies, when Dryo stopped me.

You don't want those.

What? How would you know that? You're not even real. You don't know anything I don't know.

You'd be surprised. Remember how your grandma made her cookies?

I remembered how Crystal used her salty, wrinkly, sweaty hands to knead the dough back and forth. It never grossed me out until I watched her do it, and once I took a break from meat, my sense of taste became more sensitive... I could pick out her 'flavor' among the chocolate chips, brown sugar, all-purpose wheat and table salt.

Smell them.

They smelled just like hers. But that wasn't likely, since she's been in at Shady Acres. That was probably just the old lady smell that all homemade baked goods had. Still, it made me gag. I looked down at my plate, at the ham and beef and mashed potatoes, and instantly my stomach turned. I was surprised that my appetite could wear off so fast, but it wasn't because it looked gross. I realized that I'd been eating human sweat for years, and I couldn't figure out how it was any different from eating animals. What was stopping me from being just like a zombie other than cultural practice? It was the first time in a while that the moral side of veganism hit me again, like a stray shopping cart on a mission, clipping every unwitting ankle in its path. What if... doing the wrong thing only so often doesn't make it okay? What if it just isn't worth it? What if you can't just "do it this once and make it up later"?
A butter tart placed precariously off the side of its tray broke in half, and both sides landed on the only empty part of my plate.

Good boy.

I stared at it for a good few seconds. I lifted the plate up to sniff them... no grandma sweat smell. The baker must have worn gloves, or used another method. I tilted my head to the side, wondering why it broke at exactly the time when I was... I shook my head. Then another kid throat-coughed impatiently, signaling that I had stood in line too long. He could go around, but he was eyeing the cookies. I moved on and grabbed a table. The meal was great, but there was milk and butter in the potatoes. Don't know why I expected different. Eating the tart in two halves turned out to be a great idea, I guess because breaking up portions helps you see how big they really are. I tossed the ham.

Dirge of Colonus
September 1st

I feel like shit, all over again. But this time is even worse. Before, I just kept puking and hurling and whirling my guts around the sink and toilet and any stray mixing bowl or paper bag I could find. Like a ritual projectile purge with no real inquisitor beyond my stomach acid level. But this is different, because I can't puke. No matter how hard I try, it just... sits there. 

This Sucks
September 2nd

I used to be the best at math, science, language arts. Everything was tops, I was hitting straight 4's. Now we don't even use them, everything's graded in percents. I'm getting soixante percente on all my tests, if I even understand them. Junior high is another world. It doesn't help that nothing's in English.
I'm struggling, but Daisy says if I stick this out I'll have skills that'll put the rest to shame. She told me I'm already extremely smart and talented, and that everyone should be jealous of me. Or at least, she started to say that before she left for night courses.
I don't envy me. I'm crashing hard every night in a tiny room, with no friends and nothing to eat. I dream about murder in self-defense and worms in a pork grinder, stamped into patties by great machines, and fed around the world to anyone with a hunger in their eyes.

Guess I'll go eat worms!

I can't tell why I'm doing this anymore. Is it seriously a morality thing or am I just scared? Am I afraid of being like Crystal, or am I just afraid of being like myself?