You don't know me, but I'm here to tell you that someone's looking for you. I'm not sure who though, all I have are these scraps, but I thought they might be important scraps, scraps that might be important to you. I promise I'm not trying to trap you, I'm not that skilled with computers. I mean, I am pretty good at breaking into Sal's records but that's about as far as my hacking skills go. That and setting up this blog. I heard blogs are kind of like beacons. Oh, and I guess I had to get into your cyber space (which is fucked, by the way). Okay, so I'm pretty good at hacking into stuff. But I'm not out to get you, I'm not trying to trap you or anything. Even if I was old enough to be one, I swear I wouldn't have it in me. I know that sounds like something a trapper would say, but it's true. Anyway. Keep reading if you believe me, I guess.
I also have a shitty X who I write about a bit on here, because Sal says I need to write about my own feelings more. She says this because she is worried I might get caught messing around in stuff that isn’t my business, and heartbreak is as good a disguise as any for a blog. But I think she means it in the other way, too. Anyway. It is kind of helping I guess.
If you are not Rhys, but you have any information about Rhys or N. that you can send me, or if you have any impressions that you’ve translated that you’d like me to share, please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org. You can read old posts, old scraps and old translations here.
Rhys, help. X is trying to contact me. He sent me a message through the terminal chat, as soon as I logged on, like he was just sitting there waiting for me or something. I saw his tag in the little bubble on the side of my screen and this weird thing happened, like all the blood in my body got sucked up by my hearts, rushing so quickly it practically fizzed and popped all the way up. I thought I was over him, so what the fuck does this reaction even mean? It was enough to throw my heartbeats off rhythm and for a second I felt like I had two bodies, that I'd jumped back in time somehow, or I'd split the moment into two halves, and had to pick one. It wasn't even that long of a message.
But it's still sitting there, blinking on my screen like an obnoxious massive star. Green. White. Green. White. Blink Blink Blink. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I wish it would just collapse and suck all of these stupid feelings into the empty. You know, feelings that make my blood thin, that make the space at the base of my neck expand and crackle, like pockets of oxygen trying to breed, like something growing.
Anyway, I didn’t log on for this. I logged on to write that I think I found you. I mean, not you now. But you from before you left Earth. I found a whole bunch of your messages, from that old website that humans used to use, the one that limited the amount of words you could say so you had to make everything you said very clear and full of meaning. It's funny, I'm taking Earth History, and we only just did a project on early 21st century communication systems. I wish I'd picked this one instead of the picture one. I read that it was used as a way for people to release short sharp parts of themselves, kind of like bright little databursts, and that at it’s peak it was used by almost everyone, or at least everyone who had an internet connection. But then software got upgraded, new platforms were invented and people lost interest, and according to my Earth History notes it eventually got shut down. Except I guess that it didn’t, did it Rhys? People who knew a lot about tech could still use it, right? And no one would even notice what they were doing there, hiding out in the old scraps of the internet. That's where you were, wasn’t it Rhys? In the junkyard?