Entry Two
"Special Care"
Ah, little book...I
see no one has found you out. Sorry I had to leave so quickly without finishing
yesterday (at least I think it was yesterday...my internal clock is so messed
up and the sedates the nurse gave me won't help a whole lot). I guess it makes
a bad impression on my part, though, doesn't it? Well, I can make it up to you,
you little ungrateful piece of shit--if
I hadn't disconnected soon (I'm not sure if that's even the right way of saying
it, but you know what? Fuck it), they would've found you, and I wouldn't be able
to continue you, Blue Book. And you know what? I'm going to start calling you
Blue Book now, if you don't mind, since that's what you are. Haha. I don't know
why I'm even bothering asking for permission, since it's not like you're
capable of giving me an actual response. Still, common courtesy has always been
my thing. Used to drive Kavar nuts.
Speaking of which, my brother asked me about that earlier. Kavar,
I mean. I didn't tell him much. He told me to stop being so damned discreet
about everything. I played dumb, like I usually do. He thinks I'm stupid, but
I'm not. At least, I don't think I am. I don't feel stupid, at least. Does that
make any sense? Of course it doesn't.
It's rather peaceful here. Except for the ants. I'm trying to eat
a sandwiched that I kiped from the cafeteria and there's all these damn ants
trying to climb on my food each time I set it down. You know how hard it is to
write and eat at the same time, Blue Book? But the ants are there, merrily
marching along, bringing their little morsels of rations back to the colony so
they can live to die another day. What a cheerful existence. Unlike myself,
they actually serve selflessly for the purpose of others. It must be nice.
Actually, I don't know a thing about ants, so don't listen to me.
Think I'm going to stay here a little while longer. It's nice when
people aren't around you. The people here drive me crazy.
They don't want you to think that this is a nut house. They call
it a "treatment", because I guess it is. It's one of those kinds of
places where they dress you all clean and nice each day and lay down a billion
rules for you to follow, and if you don't you lose "privileges" (I
had been a good boy this week as you can see--otherwise I wouldn't have been able to get you, Blue Book.
Actually, all the privileges suck anyway. What I really did was I snuck you out
of the director's office. You've been used, you see. Your previous owner just
used all these blank pages to doodle ugly stick figures on, so I ripped them out
they were so damn hideous). I get bored out of my mind, and that's why I'm
stuck here writing in this stupid thing.
Marcus, you smug fuck.... I bet you're getting the greatest
kick out of this right now, diagnosing me with some kind of mental strain. Schizophrenia,
paranoia, whatever the fuck it is, I don't care. How many years has it been
since you've seen me, even bothered to know me, and now all of a sudden you
want to be "part of my life" and "help me"? I know your
smile is a fake smile and I know your laugh is a forced one. I know what you're
thinking. We aren't brothers for without reason, you see, and you aren't
director just because you look clean, too clean. It's because you know
how to bullshit your way to the top.
That's right: Bullshit. You just want to make money off of me. The
more patients you get, the more the government puts into your fat pocket and
it's even more if you don't cure them right away. Don't try to fool me with
those glasses, either. Those fake specs of yours aren't thick enough to hide
the charlatan in you.
Oh, dear brother and false master of the mind, you think you can
fool me....
I'll have a word with you today. Just you wait.
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