The following takes place on December 1st, 2013: almost two months removed from the last "real" look into the life of one Jessie Diaz. "How is she now?" you may ask. Fear not, for I come bearing answers! However, things would be much nicer if she were able to communicate her own thoughts! Oh wait, she can, and she is...


A jumbled collection of random letters contorted to fill the role of words, sentences, and paragraphs on an age darkened slip of paper, stitched to other, identical in size and shape pieces fills up my vision and thought. In other words, I'm reading a book. Brave New World, to be precise. I literally feel all of the saliva in my mouth drying up at the needlessly bleak, overbearing atmosphere that does nothing at all to distinguish the book's theme: some drivel about how industrialization and technological advancement ultimately creates a cult of personality that removes conventional morality in favor of meaningless sex and test tube babies. The fact that halfway through this nonsense I've managed to pick up on this would be crazy, were it not obnoxiously plastered across each and every single word that Huxley uses to create this world. This brave, new world, so to speak.

Forcing the remaining moisture in my mouth down my bone dry throat, I close the book and lay it down on the floor. Transitioning to a sitting position, I accidentally on purpose kick the book into the middle of the room. This is the last time I ask Anna for a recommendation. I rub my eyes, hoping to at least look enthused for the day that awaited me whenever the front door would open. Being that they're going to be the only thing of mine that people actually see, I don't necessarily have much room for error, there.

On stiff, wobbly legs I stand, vision clouded by a mask of unrecognizable dots and streaks of shades of black and grey. Seconds pass, and the vision subsides, gradually fading out into reality. I stumble across the room, over the threshold and into the kitchen. The white pill bottle rests where it always has; on the middle of the counter looking out into the main room. I take a deep breath, gripping the bottle around the top and twist once, and pull off the lid. I look into the bottle, and sure enough, it's filled almost to the top with the little, circular pills: Ativan. Anti anxiety. Hopefully, these will work.

I tilt the container to the side, and let one of the pills drop into my left palm. Two milligrams. I place the bottle back on the counter, lid next to it, and walk over to the sink. With the pill still in hand, I place a small cup right under the faucet, and turn on the water. The cup fills halfway when I turn off the tap, and I pick up the cup once more. I place the medicine on my tongue, and immediately take a drink of the water to help force it down. After, I take another drink before setting the cup back in the sink.

Well, they aren't here yet. The long sleeves of my shirt make me skin crawl, a sensation that even the most furious of scratching can't remedy. Ugh. In the silence, I can hear the seconds ticking by on the analogue clock hanging on the wall. They should be here by now; they aren't in trouble, are they? No no, that's crazy talk! Or, is it? It's not like it's totally unheard of, right?

So much for anti anxiety, huh? My heart's racing like, like, like an unfinished simile? No, that's not right. Whatever, it'll have to do. Jittery as ever, I drum my fingertips along the metal rim of the sink, staring blankly at the wall in front of me. Tap, tap, taptaptap. The pattern, interesting, odd at first. Slowly, it becomes sluggish and mundane, and all I need to do is go through the motion. All the while, the clock ticks each passing second without hesitance.

What feels like hours pass, when finally, I hear the familiar sound of the front door creaking as it opens, metal doorknob colliding with drywall once again. From the other end of the thin barrier, I can hear exasperated muttering. With the widest smile I can possibly muster, I try my absolute hardest to stay on my feet while rushing out to greet the woman behind the voice.

"Anna!" I exclaim, wrapping my arms around her. Smiling, she hugs me back and kisses me on the cheek. "Where were you?"

"Oh, just running a little late is all," she replies with a giggle.

"Oh! When you didn't come back, I uh-assumed something bad happened, and, and, and-"

"C'mon Jess, breathe." She pats me on the back, and I start to calm down just a tad. Jesus; when will this medicine kick in? "You take your medicine yet?"

Sheepishly, I nod my head yes. For some reason, I don't think she believes me.

"Sure you did." Okay, don't believe me, that's cool. Although, I really am not acting like I should be. Maybe I was supposed to take it earlier in the day? Maybe? Oh well, no use even thinking about that now, lest I fall into another pit of self doubt and thin, shallow breaths. She pulls away from me, and walks into the living room. "You ready?"

I smile and nod, despite the fact that she can't see me. "Yes," I say in a voice barely above a whisper. She turns around and laughs.

"You sure don't sound ready."

"It's just, nerves. You can't blame me, can you?"

"Relax! I was only making an observation, is all." She turns around, looking past me and at the door. "He should be here right about..."

I look back over my shoulder to see a large man, face covered by a ski mask standing in the doorway. Taken aback, I feel what little color I had drain from my face.

"Now." She walks up next to me, putting an arm around my shoulder. "Shall we go?" she asks, nodding to the man, who steps into the hallway of the building. I take a deep breath, and tilt my head to look at her.

"Yes." I smile, unsure of whether or not I'm actually happy, or am just trying to look brave. Either way, what's done is done, and what's to come, will come.

Wow, that was redundant.

Together, we walk out of the apartment, into the building's hallway and more importantly, into the unknown.