Marcus Caine - The Last Words

So I think it’s here, what I’ve always known was coming. What exactly “it” is I don’t know for sure, but I’ve always known it would be through the internet, the TV, the radio, the cell phones, that’s how they would do it, that’s how they would get to you. And I’ve told people this over and over, and what did they do? They put me in here. Guess I shouldn’t complain though, at least I have food and a bed, more than I had before when I was living on the streets, stealing to live ’cause I don’t beg. But, now it’s here, and I’ll have to fight it, even more than I always have. I’ve got some ear plugs I keep in my room in case the TV gets too loud and just to make sure I’ve wrapped some ripped sheets around my head to cover my ears more. I’ll fight it, I’ll fight those fucking bastards.

It’s been an odd day, I suppose probably odder than most, but hey, I can’t really remember so I’m just going by what I wrote in my journal. Six shootings now; in England, Norway, Boston and now in Japan. Though Japan wasn’t a shooting, some guy just went crazy with a knife on the subway, started stabbing people. The only reason the news connected it with the others is that he was a professor too, just like all the other mass murderers.

I get the feeling that something is going on, something’s not right, but it’s kind of hard for me to trust my feelings when I don’t have a memory to really build on. Maybe mass shootings are becoming more common and I just don’t remember them? But no, I don’t think so, just scanning my journal I don’t see anything else about them so I decide to ask Dr. Gates.

“No, this is really, really strange, quite ominous in fact, I’m not going to lie to you Jude.” He was solemn. Was this the way he always was? “This is scary stuff and I’m debating for the first time on whether it’s really a good idea for all the patients to be seeing this on the news.”

“So you’re going to turn it off?” I asked.

“No, but I should. I don’t know. It has really upset them and I’m not sure that is what they really need, not all of them at least.”

“Maybe Doc, and it may not be my place, but they are adults.”

“I know, and I had never considered censoring what they watched before. But, I will say, Jude, I know you and Cassie are friends.”

“Which one is she?”

“The blond, and I think you are playing with me Jude. I now you are friends, but I’m not sure you should be telling her about what is going on. I’m afraid it will just reinforce here delusions regarding media and mind control.”

“I’ll think about it Doc, of course, you know, I’m going to forget you told me this.”

“I know, but I also know that you will write it in your journal, as you write every…”

And that’s when it hit home. People were screaming, I mean really screaming, at the TV and we ran in there.

Cornell, a student this time. No guns, but he had driven his car into a crowd of people on campus. Right here in New York. It was here.

So I wake up like I suppose I do every morning; heart pounding, feeling for my gun like I’m still under fire. I see that tatts, I read my quick notes, and eventually I’ve freaked out, cried, settled down, worked out, and I’m out the door.

“Morning Joe”, “Morning Jude”, good morning says a bunch of people I don’t know. But they know me. And I do know them, I just don’t remember them. And I don’t remember what they are all talking about but I catch up quick.

The killings. It’s all they are talking about.

“I think it’s just copycatting. These things always come in waves, like the postal shootings and the school shootings.”

“And those stabbings in China.”

“No, it’s the Devil doing it.”

But no one listens to that guy.

“It’s a virus.”

“It’s stress, the economy you know.”

“Aliens,” said one of the schizos with crazy tall hair.

And then we are all back at the TV, looking to find out more. And there is more. Another one already, a guy who murdered his family in France. The only connection is the words, worm milk chest mouth, some other words, written over and over on his twitter feed, the whole phrase short enough to fit in one tweet.

We get computer time. When we can email family and friends, or do, really whatever we want, they don’t censor us. But today everyone is checking the news. Checking twitter, blogs, etc. It’s all about the shootings. No one even on Facebook. I guess Facebook is still the thing, you know, I’m not sure, it’s been two years, sort of. Maybe MySpace is back, probably not.

And they’re talking about the words; written in notebooks, repeated on computers that the killers had. Worm, milk, some other words, that didn’t make sense. Repeated, over and over. Moth oil. What the hell does that mean? Why would all of them have it? Is it like some cult thing, spread out in the world? A code, maybe? Do the words have some other meaning?

@marcus314 Worm milk, chest mouth, sea wound…

Status: Worm milk, chest mouth…

Liverpool — Another pub brawl gone terribly wrong, and football not even involved.

Los Angeles — Onlookers reported that the gunman started beating people with his fully loaded gun instead of shooting while repeating the words worm milk chest mouth…

…went on a rampage in his software firm…

Front page of reddit:

Worm milk

Worm milk

Worm mil…

Look at my cat.

Worm milk

Worm milk

A stick figure cartoon: So I’m away from reddit for a few days. Wtf is worm milk?

…civil engineer throwing weights from his condos rec center down on innocent bystanders…

…a virus, says one English epidemiologist…

Tumbler:

Fuck Yeah Worm Milk

…navel crest…

Another campus stabbing, this time with a Katina sword…

…perhaps a water borne pathogen…

…student used what is reported to be a Klingon dagger…

…armed with a battle ax…

…and written in the blood of his family on the walls of their own home was the phrase; worm milk chest mouth wound sea…

…perpetrators primarily aged 20-40…

…first college campuses, now tech firms…

What is causing this rash of violence?

I noticed the big orderly first. Something was just, I don’t know, off about the way he was moving. It was kind of twitchy, jerky, almost like he wanted to dance but was fighting it. Was the rhythm going to get him? And the way his face looked. Blank, but with brief little rage faces. Like he would go from nothing to furious in the blink of an eye then back to calm. No, not calm, just kind of blank. I doubt anyone else had noticed. Going for as long as I have without being able to understand what people are saying or writing, I’ve gotten pretty good at reading body language and facial expressions and I knew something was way off with him. His eyes were unfocused, and he seemed to be saying something to himself with his mouth closed, I could see his jaw moving. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t really know him, just figured he was high or something. Wasn’t my business. You would think in a building full of shrinks someone would see something was off. I should have said something.

I was playing ping pong with Ponch, of course I don’t know his real name, I think it’s Eric. He was pointing at Eric Estrada one day on CHiPs, probably trying to tell me his name, so I started calling him Ponch because it seemed to frustrate him and he’s kind of a dick. Anyway, he was sucking at ping pong something fierce and I was talking about this shag carpet I remembered from a house I lived in as a kid, how I used to lay on it and move around and build up static electricity and go shock people in my family. I was beating Ponch something awful and his face was just getting more and more irritated, probably at losing and probably at my constant talking, but that just made me enjoy it more. A lot of them think the talking is because of the accident, but actually, I was like that before. I’ve always been a talker, a storyteller, a gabber, even, at times, a poet.