I'm not sure which will run out first: the time until they find me in here, or the ink in this pen. I'm hoping time, honestly. I'm hoping I can get everything down in time. I wish I could think about this linearly, but the gas is making my mind fuzzy. My thoughts disparate and disjointed. One moment I'm remembering Damien plucking at the buttons on my shirt, next he's replaced with Lucy as she brutally rips my clothes off. One moment I'm thinking about how I'd construct a program to tell the digital water cooler to dispense the glorious liquid at a certain time every day, the next I'm thinking about the dumpster I was hiding in when I found you.

It's completely ridiculous. It's all I can do right now not to jump into another tangent. But time is certainly running out. When I wrote that last paragraph I thought I had a lot more time. But now I can hear them.

Look. I can't just sit here and wait. This is more than a cave, this is an underground tunnel. I don't know where it will lead, but I'm going down into it. I doubt that I'll get very far before they find me. But amongst any survivor's pessimism are the traces of inescapable optimism. I have a chance.

But this is the last I think I can write before I go in. I wish I could have told you the whole truth about what happened and the part I played, but at least I got the basics out of the way. You can probably figure out the rest because you know me so well. And I am so sorry.

There are so many things in my life that I should have done, should have said, should have put down on paper... god dammit.

Good bye.