Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27028306-20150926010953

Day One

''The first entry of this journal begins, then. My name is Jack Thompson. Beyond that, I can't be arsed to put the date or anything trivial; I don't feel it's important to do so. My therapist recommended I put my thoughts down on paper to help me get through my "emotional turmoil" as he put it. Bastard. You know, sometimes I wonder if he's just around to drain my wallet and resurrect memories that I'd rather stay dead... still, my wife insists I see someone, so I oblige. ''

''Where to start... well, I had a lucid dream last night -- there was this man, though he didn't reveal his name, and he was talking to himself. It rather strange, honestly. I couldn't make out what he was saying through all the mumbling and crying, but eventually he swallowed a whole bottle's worth of pills in a single gulp and left. I wonder what happened to him after that?''

''Oh, right, I forgot to mention what the emotional turmoil was over. Well, I had a friend who took his own life a few months ago. It's been very hard on me and my wife was worried, and despite my insisting I was fine, she wouldn't take my word for it. So, here I am, writing in this painful journal with an empty wallet in my back pocket and my wife watching TV in the other room.''

I think I'm done for today.

Day Two

''Another lucid dream. This time, however, it just got dark for no reason. What the hell?''

''Anyway, I suppose I should get started on actually expressing what's happened and how I feel. Well... god, this is harder to talk about than I thought it would be. The aforementioned friend's name was Erik. As you can guess from the spelling, he came from the north - I think Norway, though he typically never talked about his past - and settled here in England a few years ago.''

''You could argue he was a shady character. He was a man of a large stature with wiry red hair and a thick beard, sporting pale skin and a good amount of muscle. We met at a pub one day and struck up a conversation over the news being shown - a double homicide just outside of town, where a husband took his wife and son, killed them, and then blew his brains out. It's quite odd and horrifying what people will do to themselves and others. ''

I'll continue tomorrow.

Day Three

''Back to Erik - our friendship began once we realized that we both had similar, somewhat intense interests in serial killers. So, we began meeting up at said pub a couple times a week to chat about serial killers in the news and famous ones of the past. This went on for however long until one night Erik called me and told me to head over to his place instead of the pub. Sounding like a fun idea, I went on over. After some of our usual ramblings about whatever, Erik mentioned he had a "collection". Intrigued, I had little idea what he meant, my curiosity forcing me to inquire about what he was referring too. He said he'd show me, and I figured that would be the best way to satisfy my curiosity, so we went off into a back room in his house.''

''I don't think I care to write about what I saw at the moment. The memories are all to fresh like some of the memoribilia he had.''

''P.S. - Yet another lucid dream. This one involved me being stuck in my bathroom. At least I had some matches to play with. ''

Day Four

''Erik had amassed a collection of items and souvenirs belonging to serial killers. It was absolutely sickening. Between a rusty and crusty knife (which was red for two reasons) and a couple of frozen limbs in the freezer, I experienced nothing but nausea and repulsion. It's not even funny that Erik expected me to find it interesting or cool. ''

''Now, how did Erik get these possessions? He befriended serial killers. Asking around, snooping, and meticulously and obsessively studying murder cases, he managed to find a serial killer on occasion and would try to get on their good side. Often, the serial killers took some kind of pleasure in having someone know about their crimes, so they didn't mind. However, Norweigan authories began to get on his case after finding a link between him and a serial killer, and as soon as they stopped bothering him about it he left for England.''

''This is all purely based on what Erik told me. I have no idea if there was anything else to his collection or if he was himself a... well, you know. I'm not wholy sure if I care to know, either. After he showed me the stuff in that room I insisted he never contact me again and stormed off, going back home to try and process what he revealed to me.''

''P.S. - No dreams as I didn't sleep last night. Thinking about all of this is making it hard to get some rest.''

Day Five

''I spent that night wondering what to do about Erik. By morning, I concluded I should call the authorities. That proved unecessary, however, when I found my wife in the kitchen looking shocked, watching a news story about a house burning down last night. ''

''It was Erik's house. I followed the story over the next few hours, catching updates about the charred body found in the scorched rubble and how it appeared Erik started the fire, making the incident a suicide. Although most people were dumbfounded why he chose to burn his house down to kill himself, I was burdened by knowing exactly why he chose that peculiar method. Scorched earth was the name of the game, and he played it to completion.''

''What have I done? I know that it was my reaction that set him off. If I had just... I could have remained calm and tried to talk to him. It's possible I could have saved him from whatever dark, downward spiral he was on. (I suppose that bastard therapist of mine was trying to get me to arrive at something like this. Well, it worked Dr. Wilson, you jackass.)''

''I guess there isn't anything else to tell. As I don't know if anyone should become aware of the truth, it might be best to have this journal go up in flames like Erik did. I could tell my therapist I misplaced the journal or something. I don't know; I just don't know.''

''P.S. - Actually managed to get some sleep last night. As is usual when I sleep now-a-days, a vivid dream was had in which I was consumed by water. The water refused to drown me, though, merely enwrapping me in it's cool, greenish-blue glow. The water comforted me in a strange manner, the warmth making me feel safe and the sound of the water's slight movement carrying an inkling of soothing words. Of all the dreams I've had, this one stands out. What did it mean?''

''P.S.S. - There was a need to come back and note something - I feel that this journal has helped me regardless of my hatred for it. I'm beginning to think that it was the release I needed, a safe place for me to confess the full story of what happened. Maybe it is time to try and move on; maybe it is time to try and tell people the truth. There may or may not be legal ramifications, but it might just be a situation where I have to accept whatever happens. I'll start with my wife. Here goes nothing.'' 