Day 028: Mountain Of Youth
Summary: There are two sides to every story. And apparently every Lip.
Date: 26/06/2016
Related: None

Jun 26, 2149 — Mount Weather

If you're readin' this, I'm probably dead. Or will be soon. Or maybe not. Who knows. But the fact that I even have a journal should be some indication that things are going better than to be expected. So thank Zod for that.

Shit hit the fan. The Groundhogs came to murder us in packs. You'd think they'd be cheaper by the dozen but it's more like they were killer by the dozen. A lot of people died. On both sides. And that's fucked up. It didn't have to come to this. There didn't have to be any bloodshed. But y'know us stupid fuckin' humans. We can't set aside our differences for the greater good. And by greater good I mean, y'know, survival. No, it's just like the stories they told us about the past, y'know? It's all about territory and pride and blood for an eye or some bullshit. Whatever the reason it's not good enough. Not for all the death that just happened. There's no reason that makes sense for that kind of carnage.

But fuck it. What do I know? I'm just stupid fuckin' Lip, right?

Not anymore. Or well not to these weird ass people. I guess I better start over. So I'm at Mount Weather. Finally, right? Apparently, this is the place that everybody was talking about when we first landed. And we got snatched up after the Day of the Dead bullshit went down. Rescued, I guess, is the term I should be using. This shit is weird. It's awesome and everybody's really fuckin' nice. Well, the Mountaineers are. Everybody else steal treats me like garbage.

Sometimes I wish I was on the outside of the dropship when Cole hit the button. It'd be a lot better than feeling like everybody hates me for being myself. Or am I not being myself? Maybe I'm not.

Sometimes we get hit with an opportunity to redefine ourselves. To become something better than we were. We strangers to these people, yeah? And everybody wants to ask a hundred thousand questions but nobody wants to figure out what the fuck is goin' on in this place. I mean, these motherfuckers are happy as fuck. And I guess so because they eat chocolate cake every day and have clothes and showers and shit. And I'll admit it. I'm happy as fuck too but there's a lot of fucked up shit that's going on outside these walls and the only way we're gonna' either A) get back out there or B) find out what's going on out there is if we be patient and play nice with the Mountaineers. Which is what I'm doin'.

Apparently, that also gets me slapped in the face.

I guess it doesn't matter what I'm trying to do. Or that I'm trying to help. Nobody wants me to help. Nobody wants me to be anything more than the stupid asshole that makes jokes and annoys the ever loving fuck out of everyone. Nobody wants to know Phillip Oscar Wylde, Jr. Nobody cares about Phillip Oscar Wylde, Jr. Nobody knows Phillip Oscar Wylde, Jr.

So fuck it. They'll get Lip.

Dialed to Eleven…

… Hundred.


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