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Memoirs of the Lost

11/9/10 - Atlantic City, New Jersey

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April Horinek

11/9/10 - Atlantic City, New Jersey

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11/9/10 – Atlantic City, New Jersey

There was blood everywhere. On the floor, on my clothes, on the people surrounding me, on my hands. I didn’t even help anyone, and I still had their blood on me. I’ve washed twice, scalding myself in the process, but I can still feel it there. The sensation of the blood trying on my fingertips will fade in time, this I know from experience; however, the feeling of utter hopelessness will stick with me for some time.

I have been alone for far too long. I have my motley, and those who I call friends, but at the end of the day I am still alone. I realize that is partially my own doing – I have spurned numerous advances from would-be knights in shining armor – but it does not make the truth any less terrifying.

Los Angeles was a painful eye opening experience. I do not blame Mr. Goodhands, but I wonder if what I have discovered is something that one such as myself truly should know. What does one do with such information? Where do I go, who do I turn to? Oh that’s right, I have no freehold, nothing to balance me, no one to watch me to ensure that I am not descending into madness.

It was inspiring to see the way the members of this city banded together immediately in a time of need. Those who could, did. Those who could not, helped in whatever way they were able. Though it does make me think that perhaps I should learn the basics of first aid. 

It is lovely here. I was invited to stay at Thorndale Manor, though I feel terrible about taking the room of another. The Lost of Atlantic City have been quite welcoming, and I feel comfortable returning to the city again.

It looks as though the sun is starting to rise. It really is quite beautiful. However, it looks as though Jamison was wrong.

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