I Walk

The following is a transcription of an anonymous journal found outside a public restroom. All spelling and grammatical errors have been left uncorrected. Illegible sections, and sections that were stricken out, have been noted.

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If I woke up dead tomorrow I wouldn’t be surprised.

Sorry... I couldn’t stop laughing just now. Of course I wouldn’t be surprised if I died! Because I’d be dead. I wouldn’t be anything, or feel anything.

(There is a crossed out section here.)

What I meant was - I wouldn’t be surprised if I died because I know it’s going to happen. I know I’m about to die. KNOW. There’s nothing I can do about it. Never was. There’s not even any point in writing this down because no one will ever read it. And the reason I continue to write it is because the voice is saying that I’m about to write it. It’s a weird weird weird feeling writing the words down down that it says for me to write. Write. I can break it if I try. But just now I tried to write TRY TRY but it said TRY TRY and I didn’t write it. I heard it say I was gonna try and trick it. It knows I’m trying to trick it.

(The next sentence is crossed out but can still be read.) I can’t listen to my life. Too distracting!

A young woman is about to die in a car accident. She’s driving along a residential road and there’s a schoolbus coming towards her and she doesn’t know it. I don’t know where this is, what country it is or anything. There’s a young boy rolling up his homework and chewing up a piece of torn off paper in his mouth and soon he’ll spit it out through the rolled up tube he made and hit the busdriver’s rear view mirror. The driver will turn around to yell at him and in that instant his foot will slip forward and press the gas pedal down too far and the bus will speed forward and crash directly into the side of the young woman’s car. She will be broken into pieces. I can’t do anything about it but I know it’s going to happen in about five seconds.

5... 4...
She’s dead now.

I don’t know how I’m going to die yet. Before when I listened to the voice, what it said about itself, all there was... It said “i walk. i walk.” It’s coming closer. I know.

It’ll probably eat me. Something gruesome and horrible. I don’t know what it looks like. It doesn’t talk about itself, or anyone, except their actions. All it cares about is what will happen, not how, not why. Its voice is like thousands of birds, all of them singing together, and though each individual voice is beautiful, combined they make a terrible screaming. Listening to it gives me a headache. I want to stop but I can’t. I hear it all the time, and I cant get away from it. I tried covering my ears but the sound still gets through.

(The next paragraph has been crossed out with a large X, but is still legible.)

Before it knew about me, I mean it always knew about me but before it started paying attention to me, I listened all the time. It was so quiet back then. At first I thought I had to be on the hill where I first heard it, but over time it got easier to listen to, and soon I could do it wherever I was. The power to know the future, I thought. I never heard anything too intersting though, just people walking around or driving, animals doing things... animals have fascinating behavoir when they’re unbothered by people, by the way. I listened to what I found entertaining, like surfing channels on TV, or I guess more like on a radio. I thought I was doing it, switching between every other fate... now I know they’re all of them always going. Always. I just can’t understand them all at once. One or two is easy enough to keep track of, and bits and pieces filter in and out, and the ones I care about get louder, but I think that’s just my subconsious, because the voices are always th

It’s so loud now. So loud. And it’s close. And yet everything else, all the other people and fates, they stay quiet, like it wants me to hear the ones concerning me... jesus, I wonder if it’s done this before? I couldn’t be the first person to learn about it, in all these years... I wonder if it LIKES when people start to hear. All the time, telling them what to do, the world what to do, but never getting to be a part of anything. Just observing and foretelling or commanding or whatever it does, and then one day another person gets wise, and starts changing fate. Then something must be done. This thing, it can’t have people changing the future. It enters his or her life, to end it.

Well, it doesn’t seem to want to kill me the easy way. Just say “he walks down the street and a piano falls on his head”. No, maybe it can’t make things happen like that. Or maybe it can, only when the subjects of its puppet show aren’t aware of their strings. But I guess I clipped mine, and now the voice has to take a more direct approach. I want to listen in again, hear it again, see if it is any closer now. Focus on it and just wait it out. Hear the play by play of my inevitable death. I can hear its thousand shrieks dully always, and just need to pay mind to one in particular. The one that it calls for itself.

i walk. i walk. i walk.

No way of knowing where it is. Are people near it? Can they see it? Everything else is like reading a boring book, a description of events one after the other, no driving motivation for anything. God damnit, what about people’s WILL?! What about

(Here, a page is torn out, but writing is legible on the scrap that remains. The text that follows appears exactly as it does in the journal. No effort has been made to make sense of what is left of the missing page.)

their need to b
born into som
lies that they
any god wo
can’t belie

  Time is
didn’t w
now I fi
friends
noone kn
even kn
room som
hidign from
soon it’ll be
anymore, bu
I love know h
to die this way!



i walk. i walk. i
i walk. i walk.
i walk. i wal
i walk. i wal
i walk. i wa

(The journal continues on the next page.)

No. I won’t cry about this. It doesn’t help anyhing, even if I can’t stop crying I know it won’t help anything so even though I’m crying I won’t let it control me. I can’t let my last moments end like this I can’t I can’t I can’t I cant cant cant cant

(The ink has been blurred by a moisture stain.) end like this not the way it wants not like this!

I’ll cover my ears, I’ll stick toilet paper in them, I’ll scream though it won’t do any good, and I’ll drown it out until it comes through that door. When it comes for me I’ll throw this out the window. The time I had to write this was all I needed. Anything else now would just make me even more scared. I’ll throw this out the window when it comes. When it comes. For me.

If you read this, if anyone finds this, don’t try it. Don’t ever think you’re above it. Don’t think about this, just know that none of it matters. You can’t change a thing, no matter what, all you do is what it wants, and all that happens to you is just a

(The journal ends there. The author of this journal has not been identified. A man who wishes to remain anonymous found the journal while walking through the park, and turned it in to police after reading it. The police opened an investigation, suspecting a hoax. Since then, the case has been closed, and any attempts to interview the officers put on the case have been met with refusals. One interesting point of note, however: The restroom the journal was found outside of had a surveillance camera installed by its door. The recordings from the camera taken between 8:00 pm and 10:00 pm on 2/19/06 have been confiscated by law enforcement, and are not available for public release.)