I was resigned to even writing this journal, and for the first two days I kept my will strong, but even the strongest of minds cannot defeat the allure of distraction from staring at the wall of a cell. This journal entry will probably be the longest of them all. There is a lot to explain about the predicament I find myself in, and the hellhole that I now seem to be imprisoned in for the foreseeable future. To start, I should let you know who I am. I used to be a lawyer. A well off, respectable lawyer, with a family, a three story house, everything a typical american would dream of having. Now, it doesn’t matter. Not a single fucking thing I had changes what’s happening now. As I type this, I am sitting on my metal chair, in my cramped metal cell. Everything around is metal, save the soft mattress. You’d be surprised how grateful a person can be. You get taken from your home, locked in this fucking cell, but hey, we have soft mattresses. I guess that’s just the cruel humor of the world. Anyway, getting on with it. The rest of the cell is just a dull, metal.…
It was a quiet Sunday afternoon when the sobbing echoed through the apartment complex. Everyone rushed outside to find Jacob, kneeling in front of the leafless birch tree, crying. They stared in awe, unsure of what to do. After all, no one knew anything about him. The tenants stood shocked and confused as Jacob’s fingers dug into the soil at the base of the tree – scooping handfuls of dirt into his pockets. He continued until his pockets were full, then the crying ceased, just like that. The silence was so unnerving that some backed into their doorways, as if taking precautionary measure for an impending calamity.
Dirt spilled from Jacob’s pockets with each step as he slowly made his way back to his apartment. His movements were meticulous and deliberate, he seemed to savor each step like a mouthful of delicious food. Step after step his neighbors watched with anticipation, not sure of what to expect, but sure something would happen – Nothing did.
This would be the last time anyone saw Jacob.
Jacob was a strange old man. He would leave his apartment once a day for exactly an hour and stand in the courtyard talking to the ground near that birch tree.…
The slight dripping sounds from the kitchen abruptly ended my post vacation buzz as soon as I opened the front door. Knots that I had hoped were lost somewhere on a Hawaiian beach returned to their home in the small of my back as I began the process of doing mental math. The last plumbing mishap relieved me of a month’s pay and half of my comic collection. Judging by the competing tones of multiple drips, I told myself this was going to be an expensive plumbing emergency.
Rounding the corner, my jaw went slack at the sight of thick red liquid dripping from my ceiling. During my absence, my ceiling had transformed from a bland, sterile beige to an oozing crimson tapestry. I rushed out the door to my upstairs neighbor’s apartment as I dialed 911. My silent prayer for their safety was interrupted by the dispatcher’s mechanical greeting. Before she could finish, I began rattling off the first words I thought of.
“My name is Edward Michaels and I lived at 3710 Santiago Lane. I just returned from vacation to find blood dripping from my ceiling. It’s coming from the Andersons’ apartment and …. Wait, their front door is ajar.”
Numb, I attempted to narrate the scene as I choked back a resurgence of airline chicken.…
“Dude, I’m telling you. Dawn is never going to find out. You’ve got all of your bases covered.”
“I don’t know man; she seemed pretty suspicious of me hiding the phone.”
“Don’t even worry about it. As soon as you get what you want out of Sheila, you can easily ditch her to give your neglected girl all the love she’s missing. You’re golden man! You’re golden.”
“Yeah but what if Sheila keeps calling. . . “
“Ok you’re boring me now” Leo interrupts as he blasts the car’s stereo.
“Dude what are you. . .?” Jeff starts, but before he could finish his question, a horrified looking person suddenly springs in front of the car. The individual’s face appears to visually express the words, Stop! Help me. Unfortunately, Jeff doesn’t react in time to avoid the hit.
Immediately halting the car, he screams with panic, “Holy crap! Where did that guy come from?”
“I don’t know!” cries Leo with an equal amount of frenzy.
“Oh hell! What if he’s dead?”
“What if he’s not” Leo yells back, “He’ll sue or press charges.”
The paranoid pair step out of the car and see the lifeless body on the ground. Leo touches his pulse and gives the he didn’t make it head shake.…
Deisha opens her eyes while reaching for her cell phone, “Wow, two hours earlier than yesterday” She shrugs as she attempts to roll herself out of bed. “Ah forget it; what’s the point in waking up earlier anyway? I’m going back to dreamland.”
The 32 yr old is awakened by the song of an ice cream truck passing by. “Wow, it’s almost evening” she tells herself as she stares at the time on her phone. She decides to fight her way out of bed and walk into the kitchen to grab the first few snacks in sight. “What am I supposed to do for the rest of the weekend?” she wonders.
This is a reoccurring struggle for Deisha. Her husband is constantly out of town while she stays home; and she deals with it by sleeping the time away. Her philosophy is the longer she sleeps, the less she has to be alone and bored. Rarely leaving the house, or even communicating with others, the outcast spends most of her days in bed, in the kitchen, and wondering why the world is so cruel. When Jack is gone, she doesn’t find the motivation to clean the house or even maintain her own personal hygiene.…
You’re not going to believe what happened to me. I was alone at an unusually long red light at about 3 o’clock. I swear the traffic light wasn’t staying red by coincidence. Anyway, I was sitting there thinking about how busy my day will be tomorrow when a knock on my driver’s side window made me jump. After I turned to see what it was, my heart skipped a beat. The nuisance was a kid of about 15 yrs old who was wearing entirely black. What really startled me however were his eyes. They were as dark as his clothes. I don’t mean the kid’s irises were black; I mean he had no whiteness in his eyes at all.
I didn’t want to open the window. Who in their right mind would? My gut instinct was telling me to just go through the red light. But I decided to roll down the window anyway to see what the little oddball wanted. He asked, “Hey mister, is there any way you could give me a ride to Part Street? It’s just a few blocks up.”
I had never even heard of this street before, but had no intention on asking more about it.…
What is going on?
I have never known terror as I do right now. Having just woken up, I have found myself in an unimaginably cryptic room. After attempting to call for help, I realized that I can’t open my mouth. I’m so scared; and worst of all, I don’t remember who I am and how I got here. I found this pen and paper next to some forms in the corner of the room. What’s going on? I can’t feel anything. Am I on some kind of drugs? Somebody’s coming! I’d better hide these notes until I know more. . .
I suppose you’re going to be my journal until I get out of here. Earlier a psychotic looking person visited. I think he was a man and a surgeon or something. He was covered in dry blood and had his entire face hidden by an extensive protective mask. After entering, he laid a tray by the bed, walked over to me, injected me with a needle and then get this: He removed a muzzle off of my face! No wonder I couldn’t yell out earlier. After removing the muzzle he put the tray in front of me; it was some kind of disgusting looking cold meat.…
I woke up. Sheets were stained with sweat, breath was no longer bated, and unconscious solace began to surcease.
Depression kills. Not in a directly physical way, not in a way perceivable by anyone except the sufferer. It made me feel psychotic. It went past the brain tissue, into the atoms of their molecules. I always imagined the electrons painstakingly orbiting a chunk of ice. There was never light in my imagination.
I felt a subconscious sigh emit, and tossed off the sheets. I sat up, let drop head to hands, and contemplated once again my current situation. I contemplated the fact that I could no longer stay awake during the day. I contemplated the nothing I felt all the time about nothing.
I’ve been contemplating suicide.
Yet I’m too pathetically apathetic.
I got up, and silently made my way to the kitchen. My night vision and preference for darkness have both increased proportionally. Light couldn’t help me navigate the cramped quarters of my apartment any better than the dark.
Came to the counter. Loosened the lid. Popped the pill. Instant release. Or was it a placebo? Irrelevant.
I sat down on the couch in the living room. It was 9:04 P.M.…
The cold was the first thing I felt.
Even before my eyes were open I felt a very deep chill in my core, a thousand spindles of ice sewn between my tissues. I blinked, my eyelids slowly bringing and stealing back the darkness, and with it the desire to keep them closed forever.
I was lying face down on the floor, the tiles speckled with browned blood. I moved my arms to push myself up, but my muscles were stiff, almost too stiff to bend without breaking. I feebly pushed myself up, forcing weight upon deadened legs. I began to wonder why I felt the way I did. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been laying there. There was the most peculiar feeling in my stomach, a sort of dissolution. Perhaps I had ingested something that knocked me out?
Wait. Where was I? I looked around the room I was in. It was a kitchen, mostly everything in order except for the few traces of a hurried exit. The back door was open, barely bolted to the top hinge. Cabinet doors were left open, and it seemed only the food readily edible was taken. A knife set was knocked over, with a few blades missing.…
The floor was vibrating. The walls shook, pathetically trying to withstand the shifting below the foundations of the apartment complex. The television fell over, coughing up shards of glass in it’s last breath. I cursed all the money wasted, calculating the price of the setback in my head. Outside my window lay a contrasting scene of a magnificent Sun shining over the city.
Inside my home, though, I was miles away from it. I was tossed back and forth, without an end in sight. I had likened my situation to being a reluctant passenger upon Charon’s ferry, riding the tumultuous rivers of Hell straight to it’s depths.
I could see the televised warning in my head as I stumbled. The University’s Ricther Scale was reading a minor earthquake, but they didn’t say it occur after the one that would cause the building to collapse upon me. I had never experienced an earthquake before, and anxiety’s overtly heavy breathing became a schizophrenia I couldn’t get rid of.
Attempting to keep my balance, I began to make my way to the doorway to my apartment bedroom. A particularly strong tremor pushed me back. Began to steady myself. Stepped on a long piece of broken television screen.…