Entry Twenty-Five
Hypothetically Speaking

After what happened the last time, I knew I shouldn't have done it, but I did. I went back to the intensive care ward to visit the sleeper. There he lay, quiet and incomplete, his eye stitched shut, his arm bandaged and compressed. His skin was naturally dark though it was pale as though he were dead. Part of me envied him then. Part of me wanted to be in his place. After all this time of bickering about the unfairness of it all, I don't think it would be fair at all of me if I did sleep for as long as he did. I don't deserve it.
    Slowly, some of the things I had forgotten are coming back to me. The more I talk to Wendel, the more it occurs to this small brain of mine that something strange and terrible did happen before the accident, and it was my hands that did some of those terrible things. I knew I shouldn't have, but I told him about the lady in the reflections, and surprisingly Wendel didn't seem to be too surprised by it. He didn't even ask me if I was dreaming the whole time.
    It didn't occur me before but I wonder now why Wendel of all people was the one hired to be my psychologist. Only recently did I notice that he doesn't seem to be the type to sit with you and have a long, philosophical discussion about the human mind. He looked more like a man who'd rather go out and party and rave and fuck any hole he can find while getting piss ass drunk in every way possible. He didn't seem to be the one to be standing beside a stranger's bed in intensive care, surveying the sleeper as he had been earlier today.
    That's Dr. Fucking H. Wendel for you.
    What had he found so interesting about the sleeper that he was there this morning? What did he find? What does he know? Is he really even a doctor at all?
    You know, I could get in trouble for even thinking stuff like that, let alone saying and writing it down in a journal. Oh well. I've found a safe place to hide you now, Blue Book. A perfect place where they'll never find you. Ever. Not even Sarah. So far no one has read my words except for you and me. Next time the doctors ask, I'll just remind myself to hide it. Hide it. Hide it all. They'll never know. They don't have to know. I'll just tell them that I let it all go and will never write again because you're a deceiving little cunt, Blue Book.
 
    The wards have been quieter than usual. Maybe someone's found a way to stifle Jake (and the rest of him) to silence. He could also be dead. I rather like that possibility.
    It's so quiet. I'm alone. When I'm alone, I think too much. I'm gonna go on a walk now, Blue Book, and I'm not taking you with me.
    For some reason, I have a feeling that things are gonna end soon. I'm starting to remember things I don't want to remember again, and there's this dark feeling from the pit of my stomach. It's sort of like that punch in your gut you get when you fear that something will happen. I've always had this sense of intuition that's always led me to know these things. Something bad is going to happen, and when it does happen, I'm not going to like it. I'm scared, Blue. I'm scared to remember everything. I don't want to remember.
    The nightmares have been getting more frequent. I'm starting to long for the nights where I'd just simply lay there and not think of anything, not see anything, not hear anything except for my neighbor's snoring and Jake's incessant babbling in his sleep. It isn't any different, you know. It's the same running, the distressed screaming as I'm slowly being torn open and eaten alive. It always ends the same way, too: The hyenas laugh at me. They're always laughing and mocking me. They say they've taken something precious from me and they'll take it more and more.
    Funny. I didn't know hyenas could talk.
    Anyway, I don't know why I started off on all of that. I said I was going to go on a walk, and that's what I'm gonna do. My legs could use a good stretching after being laid up for so many days.

--Alexander

By the way, I'm going to go back to my little special, quiet place. I like my quiet place. It's quiet.

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