Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-17834624-20140721040440

Wednesday, ‎July 16, ‎2014 I woke up in bed in the middle of the night a couple moments ago, sitting up and looking at the circular mirror and then the square window. It was a perfect night, and what I see are perfect, marshmallow clouds. I smile faintly, the sweat on my brow drying at a reasonable pace. I look over at my bedside lamp, before I avert my eyes to the clock. 4:37 AM. I groan in annoyance, before turning over on my side. Another day as the boring chemistry teacher that I was bound to turn out to be. I push myself up, and got readied in my formal outfit, fed and hydrated with coffee and glasses of water. This took about two hours, and I'm going to leave the house, albeit writing down my thoughts, notes and other things when I come back so that I don't get sidetracked. I've been known to have bad memory. ________________ Wednesday, ‎July 16, ‎2014 6:30:15 PM Today was essentially and easily describable of being full of shit. Today, not only had I been criticized for how I view my art and my knowledge by a minor, someone who had just joined the class and knew nothing about chemistry themselves. This didn't bother me inside the classroom, for I was a different person in there. Thereafter, that same minor approached me in the halls as I was leaving, and forcefully turned me around before the crazed look on his face softened as he looked off to the left, as if wanting to tell me something.

He withdrew a blank CD case, and a USB. It was not uncommon that minors and even majors would give me disks and USBs, and it was more often than not because of something they'd written. As I was about to ask what the contents of the drives were, he turned and left. I called his name, even if I knew I wouldn't get a response. "Seth? Seth!"

Like I suspected, I didn't get a reply. I opened up the case, and peered at the blank CD on it. I expected to go home and open it with my computer to an .RTF or .txt file. But now that I'm home, and writing this down on paper and hoping to transfer it to .RTF format eventually, I'm starting to dread what will happen if I do go and do so, but the curiosity is overwhelming. I'm going to find out what's on it.  Wednesday, ‎July 16, ‎2014 6:49:59 PM The contents of the USB were fairly straightforward. One was a locked .RTF file, and he had not said anything specific about the password, or even a hint. I tried to crack it once or twice, but it turns out it was hard-cored into the .rar file. I could try and break into it, but I suppose the password was put onto the CD. A man can hope, right? Anyway, there was another file, named "tumblr_mp1djhfp5j1r70le6o1_400.gif" (which I have linked here: http://37.media.tumblr.com/b97b42b7c7908ac182ae7a3ca2d0e796/tumblr_mp1djhfp5j1r70le6o1_400.gif ) about a scene in the movie "V/H/S/2" where the camera man burns his hand on a grill almost intentionally, as if experimenting. Congratulations for experimentation. Some of the other contents were nothing more than a couple confession files and depressive quotes from celebrities, as well as uplifting quotes from celebrities, which I don't understand. Was Seth suffering, trying to give himself help? ________________ In a state of deep thought, I had fallen asleep with my hand rested against my head. I continued to look at the files, most of them were locked. Again. I put the CD in, and opened it. It seemed that Seth was a fan of the bands Metallica and Tool, as I caught a couple references every now and then in his files. Here's one of the files, to speak of such. The name is "Something a little about my past.": ________________ "I hit the lights in my new room, after I moved into an apartment three blocks away from the Western Canada High School that I was to be applying for next week. I am utterly estatic. But I have to keep that part of me silent, as I hear someone getting ready to bed in the apartment to the left of mine. I relax in my chair, resting my head against my hand as I skim over my medical records from 1997. The day is October 1st, 2013.

Of course they're nothing big, I can barely read the text, anyways, due to how damaged and crumbled the paper turned out like. 1997 was the year I was born in, and there were normal syndromes that happen during the infant years; high risk to asphyxiation, imaginary friends, high risk to broken bones. Back then, I fractured my left carpals up to my humerus bone, right fibula and patella, from my mother teaching me how to walk improperly. By that, I mean, she taught me how to walk near a staircase, which had a large hole in the banister that we had removed, because there used to be a wooden balcony there that faced the skylight, that had collapsed in 1995 because of how much the wood had been rotted. I was always told not to stand on it, because my mother was always very religious and would feel terrible if it broke underneath me. The water would always flood through a hole in the ceiling, further weakening the wood as the years went by.

Anyway, continuing on my previous intention. My main reason for being ecstatic as I am is because of my father. He was a good father, but that doesn't give him the right to be what he is. I guess you could say he was a master of puppets, somebody that always expected somebody else to fall on when he needed them most. This was most apparent with my parents, because my mother would constantly tell me that my father was not to be gone to unless perfectly needed. More often than not, she would put me on the stairs and expect me to go to my room, but I always just sat there and listened as my father bruised, scratched, and cracked my mother's surface, each more gory and messy than the last.

It was part of the reason I'm so paranoid. Recalling this, I couldn't help but look over my shoulder at the closet behind me, except nothing happened. The anticipation of something happening was fresh, though, and it scared me to Hell and back.

I remember there being one instance where my aunt had actually stepped in on one of my father's and mother's arguments, and let me just specify that the cause of death was ruled off as a homicide. He took the glass beer bottle, and he hit my aunt with it on a 45° angle. It made me actually concerned on whether or not the injuries would be fatal, but the nurses later that night confirmed that the damage was fatal, and that she had died because of exsanguination; a loss of blood.

Now that I've admitted this, I suppose I'll try and get some rest." ________________ That's where the .RTF ended. I didn't want to continue reading any of the other entries, finding the first one to be fairly boring to begin with from start to finish. The time it took to read it had to have been four to five minutes, and I can't imagine what it was like for Alex to have to write all that, seemingly no breaks considering there appear to be no pauses in between what he's written. I don't want to admit this, but... I have a very low tolerance to the cold, and when I finished reading, I felt cold. So I shook my shoulders. It didn't do much, though.

I noticed a couple minutes ago how there was a warm breath on my arm. I looked over, and saw none other than my sleeping husband. It was about 6 in the afternoon, so he was still asleep, due to his working nights.

Well, that was weird. In the middle of looking at my husband, a familiar chorus struck due to my phone, and more specifically, the house phone. I was noticeably strange, as my ringtone for the house wasn't exactly normal, so I wasn't surprised to hear a chorus that I was too familiar with,

"Then the traveler in the dark, Thanks you for your little spark, He could not see which way to go, If you did not twinkle so."

So I picked it up and answered the call, another familiar chorus successing the last one after I had answered,

"When the blazing sun is gone, When the nothing shines upon, Though I know not what you are, Twinkle, twinkle, little star."

I remember how I didn't have children, I didn't have any close family and those that I did had died off by now I'm sure, but it's not improbable that somebody hacked the line. And so, I answered,

"Hello? Yes, what do you need?" "Twinkle, twinkle, all the night." "Don't play games, please. Is there something you'd like?" "Though I know not what you are, twinkle, twinkle, little star." "Seth, this isn't funny." "When the blazing sun is gone, when the nothing shines upon." "Seth, you've five minutes to stop."

Who I could only guess was Seth hang up, and I cursed to myself silently before slipping my phone back into my pocket and continuing to look through the files on the computer. Here's the file "apologies and more", dated today: ________________ "I can't fucking hold out another day. HETS My friend, Jacob, had committed suicide a couple hours ago, his mother told me, and I can't stand up with sanity anymore. I'm so sorry, Jacob. I'm so damn sorry that I didn't give you help yesterday when you said you were finished with everything and 19568 that you had made up your mind on life and BCAOJ death. I'm so sorry that I couldn't help you with your problems even when I tried my best and that I didn't talk to you much aside from some words that barely 18625 meant anything. I thought that talking to you even for a couple minutes would prevent you from doing what you were deciiding to do. It was the weorst thing ever to learn tEISAJSChat I had unitntentionally casued you to commit suciide in the way you did, jumping from the roof in front of your widnow and landing on that steeel pipe at the bottom, that went through youur cehest. I'm so sorry that I didn't help you with all your problems. I'm so sorry.

I'm. So. Sorry." ________________ The document ended there, aside from some scrabbled text, and I noticed quite a few mistakes in the smelling during the time that it took to read it, which wasn't long. I understand why Seth looked so melancholy today, but not why he decided to disrespect his elders. I'm going to try and get some sleep, now. ________________ Thursday, ‎July 17, ‎2014 2:30:15 AM I couldn't get much sleep, I was too focused on what I had read that Seth had wrote. It's cold in here, and I can't get much done today considering it's 40 below- oddly enough- and considering I've now got a cold due to having slept mostly nude and uncovered last night.

Anyway, I've come back to looking through the files on the USB and CD, neither of which have the key to open the .rar files. My primary focus was "no apologies forward". I went back at "apologies and more" and tried the scrabbled letters. I first tried HETS and BCAOJ, neither of which worked. I tried 19568, but that didn't work either. I tried 18625, and that cracked it. I looked at the insides, and there was a file named "heartless bastards". Odd. None of these had capitalization other than the one I first read.

The only thing that kept me from reading "heartless bastards" was a knock on my door. My husband was a heavy sleeper, so I ended up standing up and answering the door at two-fucking-AM. It was the mailman, but oddly clothed, and he looked a lot like one of my hallucinations that I had ever since I was an infant. I was diagnosed with schizophrenia at four months of age when my mother described to my psychiatrist that I "was seeing things that weren't there" and was waving to what I described to her as "a large man with a wide open mouth, and holes in his face that looked like gastric air bubbles."

I was unsurprised, not because of the visage, but because of the mailman being this late on the job. I smiled at him, but he simply chuckled, put something down gently, and waltzed off. I picked up the heavy box, and heaved it into my house, before laying it down and taking a knife to the tape, which actually came off quite clean. 