Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #38
Tic, Toc, Tic, TocChunks of time are missing. Seconds, minutes, and now hours. I have the feeling my life is passing in fast-forward without having any control over the events. I wish I could say I’m the spectator, but there’s no movie playing in front of my eyes. Nothing, just gaping holes in the film that seem to grow larger and larger by the second.
Earlier this morning, I was in the car with Dean on our way to a crime scene involving a possible angel slaughter. I looked out the window only for a second, a real second, but when I turned my head again, fifty miles had passed and Dean was giving me a rundown on the case as if I had been there to answer him the whole time.
What the hell happened during these fifty miles? Did I sleep? Did I have a normal conversation with my brother as if I were still there? Since I lost my soul a few years back, I’m afraid of what could happen if my conscience leaves the building. I know far too well how it ended up last time and the things I’m capable of. That’s what worrying me the most to be honest, more than all the enigmatic words of Vesta and Chef Leo about what I am inside. I don’t want to be responsible for the death of innocent people again–hearing their voices at night begging me to spare them, seeing their faces in my dreams defaced by fear. The sacrifice of all the ones I killed years ago is enough to haunt me for the next two centuries.
Every time I try to tackle the subject of these momentary losses of time, Dean goes automatically into his “everything is the Trials’ fault” spiel. I don’t care about my brother’s rambling, there’s no logical progression here: I went from resonating with the world, being aware of every single detail of the universe, every smell, every sound, to missing entire parts of my own life. From omniscience to nothingness.
Or is it simply the price to pay when you refuse the “gift” God gave you when you shut everything down? You just vanish from the surface of the Earth, little by little, minute after minute until there’s nothing left? If that’s really what’s happening, I see it as a blessing somehow. Dean will never remember me. He won’t have to worry about me or even to deal with my mistakes and poor life choices anymore.
It will be as if I had never existed.
sam fanart supernatural fanart supernatural paint gear sam clockwork clockwork gears supernatural sam winchester greyscale greyscale digital paint sams journal entry
