January 6, 2025

~63 Days until the The Synchronization~

When Wyatt woke up he realized he was sleeping on couch-san.

Weird, I could have sworn I was on the floor…

He chose to ignore that small detail though. He first had to think about what to do next. He had wounds that needed tending and he still needed to complete his first goal of stocking up on supplies.

I should assess my wounds first. What exactly hurts?

He sat up and put his focus on feeling his body. A shiver of pain shot up Wyatts left hand and, for a moment, Wyatt forgot about his broken ring finger.

Oh shit. That's actually bad, I don’t know what to do about a broken bone. At least I think it’s broken? Feels broken. Ah, well for now I guess I’ll just wrap it up tightly.

Wyatt knew basic first aid, CPR and such, but he was by no means a professional. The pain from his finger was by far one of the worst pains he had ever felt, worse than having a glass bottle broken across your neck. Probably worse than when his father hit him with a hot pan. Definitely worse than when his brother stabbed him with a pencil.

The broken finger was the worst of his injuries. He also had a splitting headache, a sore right arm from when the hobo bit him, and a large bluish purple bruise from the kick to the stomach. Those were the other more noticeable wounds, he didn’t bother trying to count the small bruises and scratches that he also had.

Wyatt got up and headed to his kitchen, passing the corpse of the hobo without so much as a glance. He quickly grabbed a couple Ibuprofen pills and a wrap bandage, used both, and then went to his front door. No, not the broken wall but his actual front door. You know, the door to the rest of the condo complex. There, he picked up his only backpack and began packing for the exploration ahead.

Honestly, I have no idea what's happening. Is this some sort of government test? An extermination? Was there a warning to this I never got or is everyone else just as confused as I am… So many questions and so little answers.

He gave a heavy sigh as he shoved a couple bottles of water into the pack.

I guess it doesn’t matter. I should probably only focus on the present, I can leave the past in the past and the future for future Wyatt.

He gave himself a small nod in acknowledgment. He was almost proud of himself for thinking so maturely. If he hadn’t just had to fight for his life and kill a man then he would probably be YOLOING his way through this… event? No matter.

He was about to heave the pack onto his shoulder, signaling that he was finished looting his kitchen, when he saw a couple cans of good ol’ beer on the floor. He almost slapped himself for being so stupid.

Can’t forget the beer. Never forget the beer, oh god imagine a world without beer. Do I still have that nice bottle of bourbon or did I finish that off?

After a quick check, he found no bottles of bourbon. So apparently he already drank that, and now he hated his past self.

God damnit. I bet I was procrastinating, “oh lets just leave it up to future Wyatt”. Well now it’s future Wyatt here telling past Wyatt to “fuck off”.

Wyatt stopped moving and almost laughed out loud. What was he doing? Having conversations with himself now? Well, this was a new stage of loneliness.

He shook his head before moving to the living room. He proceeded to pick up his favorite blanket, which was nothing special, and another extra pair of clothing. He also brought his pocket knife, his swiss army knife, a couple packs of ramen, and a couple bags of chips. Not much, he was hoping he could get some things along the way to… well somewhere.

That was actually his next main question, where to now?

There might be some kind of shelter for the victims of the earthquake or something. There usually always is, though he bet it was for show. Letting people know there was some faint speck of hope, only for it to be an event for the public to make them think the government cared for them.

The world was rotten, and it would probably always be. He wasn’t naive enough to believe he could change it, nor did he believe he was an exception to this rot.

These are toxic thoughts, I should just continue to focus on the situation at present.

Back to the real question, what was the destination now?

Well, if the shelter never existed or he was kicked out somehow then he decided to wander. Just like when he left Texas… The endless nights, the lingering hunger, the cold and sleepless nights. All of that was still too raw for him to forget. Too recent.

He shivered. A cold seeped through his bones and into his core. He could still feel the rain as it drenched his clothes, the disgusting smell of an unwashed body, and the continuous hunger. These were things he hoped to fix in the sunny, west coast California. But it was the same thing here as it was back home.

Wyatt didn’t dwell on the question of where to next, he wasn’t the kind of guy that would dwell on something for too long. He wasn’t emotionally driven, but he was definitely lazy and preferred to leave it up for future Wyatt to decide.

For now, he decided to complete his looting trip and then he would wander around looking for the shelter. If no shelter existed, then he was going back to wandering.

Anyways, I think I should go back to Blueberry street and loot some supplies from the stores along the street. I wonder if the pastry chef on the corner left some of his bear claws… Oooh I'm salivating just at the thought.

He gave his head a light shake to dispel the thought of the pastry. Distractions weren’t good right now.

Wyatt shifted the weight of the backpack on his shoulder to the opposite one as he headed to the broken wall leading to the alleyway. He took one step out, before he hesitated.

The world was changing, he could feel it in the pit of his stomach, yet he still couldn’t believe it. The earthquakes, the abandoned neighborhood, and the huge cracks in the sky. Everything seemed so surreal, so fantastical, that it was kind of hard to believe.

Oh well. Fuck it.

His other foot left his condo, his old home, and off he went.

To a new world.

To a new beginning.

To get a fucking bear claw.