Tuesday, July 14, 2009

07/14 | 01:19 AM

There's something written on the garage's west-most wall.

I couldn't see it at first, what with it being dark (and me cowering like a baby and all), but the graying wall's been tagged. And not by the usual gangster marking or juvenile prank shit you'd expect.

The message is small, obscured in part by piled up box cartons leaned against each other.

An hour ago, something ran through the backyard and tripped the house's security lights. The light filtered into the garage through a smashed window, and it illuminated the wall - and the message - which I probably would have missed otherwise.

The lights are off now, but I keep running my fingers over the message. It brings me comfort, but I'm not sure why. The message itself is simply nonsense:

"Belief is a graveyard."

Written on to the wall in a red liquid, I have a nasty suspicion, it might be blood. But it might not be.

Every once in a while I'll lick the fingers that I run over the message. I imagine I can taste the metallic penny taste.

That comforts me too. But I don't know why.

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