Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27707962-20160212013811

October 31, 2015



I've been told keeping a journal can help you organize your thoughts and be more logical about decisions. I don't know if I believe that, but here it goes. I've never much liked video games. All the shooting and the yelling, it seems a bit over the top for me. But at frat parties people are always playing Call of Duty, and my friends keep bugging me to play online with them. So today I bought a PS4. I have to say, it is pretty great. Yeah, the people are loud and obnoxious. I die way more than I win, but I guess that's just the learning curve. It's great and terrible at the same time. Anyway, I took my Econ final today, and I'm pretty sure I failed it. I tried to study for it, but I just can't remember all the equations and facts. Maybe I should listen to my dad and become a lawyer like him. Even though I was fucking useless on the debate team he made me join in middle school. If he bugs me about that one more time, I swear to god...



November 1, 2015



So yeah, I failed my Econ final. That was a fun conversation with my professor. At least I passed chemistry. I was almost certain I would fail chemistry. So I just came home after class and stared at a screen for 5 straight hours. I realize now how easy it is to lose time that way. I missed a party I was supposed to go to tonight. I managed to get there at the tail end, but everyone was already so drunk it almost wasn't worth it. A party full of drunk people is like a cake filled with shaving cream. It looks good, but once you try it, you realize it's disgusting. Speaking of things you'd rather not do, my parents called today, asking how finals were going. I had to lie to them, knowing how crazy they'd get if I told the truth. I swear to god they're both going to die at 50 of a heart attack from the cumulative stress of worrying about me. At least we won our basketball game today. We're in the playoffs now, which hasn't happened for years. We went out for drinks afterwards, and I may have gotten a bit hammered. Me and Bill got up and sang “Walking on Sunshine” karaoke, which, I'm sad to say, wasn't even in a karaoke bar. We just stood up on our table and sang, horribly off-key I might add.



November 2, 2015

Well, it's official. My girlfriend ended it. Don't know what I did wrong, she just left me a message telling me “it's over”. I guess she skipped town, because I can't find her anywhere. Maybe this whole journal thing is just bad luck. Or maybe she heard my karaoke and decided that any man who sings like that couldn't possibly be a good choice. I don't know. I guess I'll just play some Call of Duty and pass out in a pile of potato chips.



November 3, 2015

I found out that my girlfriend had been cheating on me with my best friend. That was a fun conversation. It led to a pretty nasty fight between me and him. We both ended up in the hospital and probably would have ended up in jail if we hadn't both lied about how we got hurt. In other news, Something strange happened last night online. I'm used to people screaming in my headset, but something was different about this guy. I knifed him in the back, which was kind of a dirty trick, but he just went ballistic. He screamed about how I had no honor. The rest of the game he hunted me down and killed me every opportunity he got. His insults became strange, and weirdly personal. He threatened to beat me to death with a trout, and suggested I run myself through with a samurai sword. When I knifed him again, he logged out, but not before leaving me with the ominous threat “you'll pay for this”. Something about this guy just creeped me out. I haven't been able to shake the feeling that this guy isn't just going to let this go.



November 4, 2015



<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">I've never had problems sleeping, but last night I was just tossing and turning all night. You know that feeling you get late at night? You know that creeping sensation you get up and down your back? And then the sun comes up and you laugh at yourself for ever worrying about a monster in the closet? I couldn't shake that feeling. I hope this doesn't turn into a pattern, because I'm smack dab in the middle of finals week here, and I need every ounce of concentration I have. I think I managed to do okay in Philosophy, but that's only because I practically memorized all of the material from the class. I love philosophy. But math, science, chemistry, I'm terrible. I guess I'm going to get really familiar with the taste of Red Bull.

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<p align="CENTER" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">November 5, 2015

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">My parents are coming to visit, and it's really freaking me out. They always find something to nag about, or complain, and I'm already stressed enough as it is. I got 2 hours of sleep last night, and I think I dreamed about equations and number beating me to death with my math textbook. And I don't know if it was a dream or not, but I distinctly remember hearing a loud crash in the middle of the night. When I went to check it out, I didn't find anything, but I thought I heard footsteps going away from the house. I told myself it must have been my imagination...

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<p align="CENTER" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">November 6, 2015

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">My parents' visit was, as predicted a disaster. I argued with them about everything. Every little thing that came up, from what restaurant to eat at, to what classes I was taking, we argued about. It was exhausting, and we both left angry and tired.

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<p align="CENTER" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">November 7, 2015

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">Well, there was a shooting in the math lecture hall today. Thankfully, my class ended before it happened and I wasn't there, but it's scary to think about what might have happened. 5 people died, and the police shut down the building. My math final is canceled until they can sort through the crime

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">scene. They got the guy who did it, which is unusual for these kinds of things. He was screaming and raving about “the non-believer”. He kept telling that to the cops, that he was looking for the non-believer. There were helicopters and SWAT teams everywhere. There was smoke and gunshots, and screaming and crying. The whole place was like a warzone, and all for this one guy. Crazy wackjob. It'll be at least a week before they can sort through the building.

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<p align="CENTER" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">November 8, 2015

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">Okay, this is really starting to freak me out. I was up late last night working when I heard what I thought was a gunshot. When I looked out the window, I didn't see anybody. There were no cars parked on the block or driving past, so it couldn't have been a truck backfiring. It didn't sound like it came from a TV, but I can't be sure. Just to be safe, I called the police, who came and did a search. They didn't find the bullet or gun. They made a note of it, and said that they'd be looking out for someone in the area with a gun, but it felt like they were brushing me off. I didn't leave the house today. I figured it was better being safe than sorry.

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<p align="CENTER" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">November 9, 2015

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">I boarded up my windows today. It looks pretty strange, to be honest. A nice neighborhood with one weird guy with boarded up windows. I can't really explain why I did it. After what happened I've been trying to come up with ways to be safer. I know there's not much to be done to protect yourself from these kinds of things, but I have to try. I'm just tired of the way people are looking at me. There's something strange, judgmental about them. It's just too weird for me. I went to get a doughnut from the cafe down the street, and I just felt the judgment as I walked past.

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;orphans:1;">“ Look at that weirdo boarding up his windows,” I just know they were all thinking. Well, it's not a totally crazy response to a shooting, is it? I know they happen on college campuses all the time, but I never thought there would be one here. My parents were on the phone for the third day in a row, frantically asking me if I was okay, and what they can do. I told them not to worry, that I'm safe, that it's all okay. But I'm not sure if I believe that myself anymore. I've been so on edge and not sleeping or eating much. It's been pretty crazy.

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<p align="CENTER" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">November 10, 2015

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">I finally got some decent sleep, now that I don't have to prepare for finals anymore. I don't feel all that rested though. I heard somebody knocking at the door earlier and when I went to check, it was just a package. I figured it was the new computer I had ordered and opened it. It was full of a white, powdery type substance. I was immediately afraid it was anthrax, and I called 911. The policemen and CDC guys came and shut down my house and searched everything. It turned out to be sugar. Which should have been obvious. Why was my first reaction anthrax? Too much TV, too many late night youtube documentaries I guess. Maybe it was a prank, or a mistake, I don't know. Maybe if I wasn't so jumpy I wouldn't have wasted everybody's time. And if people didn't think I was crazy before, they almost certainly do now. Seeing a guy's house with boarded up windows get swarmed by cops doesn't do a hell of a lot for your opinion of the owner, does it? Well, after the cops left, I shut the door and didn't open it for anything. Not even the mail.

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<p align="CENTER" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">November 11, 2015

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">I can't go outside. Well, not so much can't as won't. I just know that people think I'm crazy. I can feel it, see it in their eyes. It gets lonely here though, especially at night. You believe things at night you wouldn't during the day. You hear a noise, and you tell yourself it's okay. That there's no such thing as monsters, or demons, or angels or devils. And there's that little voice in the back of your head that whispers to you. That little voice that's the ultimate believer, that can't be dissuaded with logic or tricks or ploys. It can't be argued with, or intimidated, or bribed or reasoned with. Because that little voice is doubt. And a little bit of doubt goes a long way. It only takes a little bit of doubt to infuse your strongest, most foundational beliefs with an uncertainty that makes your very thoughts dangerous. Like my philosophy textbook says:

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;orphans:1;">“ Because every thought is an experiment, in a way. A sudden, miraculous flash of neurons which creates, for a brief instant, a component of consciousness which by its very definition is subjective, and has no immediate external validation. What lives in the brain, for better or worse, once it finds a home, grows like an untempered storm. Even the most inane of notions begins this way, and the process of its creation is as miraculous as the creation of our very universe. For if we understood this process, we would surely understand ourselves, and that is the essence of philosophy.”

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<p align="CENTER" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">November 12, 2015

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">I want pizza. And frustratingly, the only way to get it without leaving the house is to order in. But then I'd have to open the door. And let in the judgment, the staring. I'd have to let the outside world pollute my environment which I've worked so hard to create. But still, I want pizza. It's a dilemma to be sure, and it means that I don't get pizza. I tried distracting myself with my math textbook, but that just made me drool every time I saw the symbol for pi. I know, it's silly, but it's all I can think about now. I wish they had used a different letter, like upsilon, or theta, or whatever. Just not something that sounds so much like the English for pizza “pie”.

<p align="CENTER" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">November 13, 2015

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">I got a facebook message today from somebody I didn't recognize. It simply told me to “be afraid”. The strange thing is, when I checked back later, it was gone. I must be losing it because I distinctly remember seeing the message. I've been hearing noises too. Like somebody's tapping on my windows. I was about to go to check, when I realized that that would mean undoing the boards that I had nailed to them. When I leaned in really close, I could hear whispering. Like a spell, or mumbled prayer. I felt vibrations coming from the floorboards too. I spent a good half hour with my ear pressed to the ground. It was faint at first, I couldn't tell where it was coming from. But I kept at it, and I'm almost certain now. It's coming from the south east. It's a small, rhythmic scraping noise. Like metal against rock. I called the electric company, the water company, the city. Everybody tells me there's no construction project going on. But either they're lying about something or... oh my god. Maybe they are. Is it some kind of fracking project they don't want us to know about? Or something worse? I know, this sounds crazy, but what if they were in on the shooting? Maybe they wanted everyone focused on that so no one would notice their sinister project. I mean think about it. It's not like the government hasn't kept secrets like this before. After the Snowden NSA scandal I don't trust the government like I used to. Maybe there's some kind of mineral, or uranium, or whatever that they need down there. What happens if they miscalculate and my house just falls straight into the ground? Late at night I'm asleep and all of a sudden BOOM, the whole thing comes tumbling down. I gave up trying to figure it out after about 2 hours and moved back to the strange message. There's no record of it in my history, on my phone where it showed up originally, anything. I tried asking facebook, but that got me nowhere, nobody I talked to knew what to do about it. Later that night I got some spam mail, which I almost never check, but I was still going through my emails to see if I missed something. It was one of those typical scam messages about helping some distant relative out of a jam in Nigeria, or Somalia, or wherever. But I noticed something odd about the message right as I was about to delete it. The message, which was in terrible, almost unreadable English, had the look of a substitution cipher. I had taken a cryptology class and I recognized it as being a simple code in which each letter actually represented a different english letter. Pulling out my old cryptology textbook, I started to translate it. It was hard work, and I was out of practice but after awhile, I got the answer. It read “Prepare for war with the legion. We're coming for you. Nowhere is safe.” There was something ominous about the message beyond the typical nonsense internet scare tactics designed to get you to send money, or give up information, or whatnot. Something felt different about this message. Something about the way the text was written, like it was meticulously designed to pass as a random spam message and conceal the true meaning. A thought suddenly occurred to me. Perhaps it wasn't a warning. They never expected me to translate it. They were taunting me, having a good laugh at the guy too stupid to see the warning signs right in front of his eyes. A mysterious internet militia made up of nutjobs from god knows where set their sights on me. They know my email, it's not too much of a leap to consider that they know my name, where I live, where I go to school, who my family is. They could be planning their attack right now, I had to warn my family, my friends, anyone who they might go after. I took my time drafting a message which conveyed urgency, but tried not to make me sound too off my rocker. I stressed how important it was that they listen. I hope they do. As for me, I've doubled the boards on the windows, and added a bolt on the door. I ordered a gun from one of those online sites that probably shouldn't even be legal. I spent the better part of an afternoon securing all entrances into the house. I boarded up windows, bolted doors, ordered more supplies online to reinforce my defenses. I had to be ready. For when they come. Because they will be. I just know they will be. I must remain aware of my surroundings.

<p align="CENTER" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">November 14, 2015

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">Nights here are almost unbearable. The drilling sound coming from under the floor grows louder every day. The silence is as complete as the grave. Every creak of the floorboard, every whisper of wind in the trees sets my nerves on edge. You know that feeling you get, late at night? You know the one, when you're alone. When you're standing in a room, and it's deathly silent. And you feel a shiver go up and down your spine. You turn around, and you feel eyes watching you from behind. You can feel a presence, an almost oppressive consciousness lurking just out of reach, just far enough behind you not to be felt, but to be sensed. You can feel it there. The evidence of your eyes, your ears, all your senses and your logical mind tell you it must not be, and yet, though every rational bone in your body screams for you to ignore it, that primal feeling, that tingle that starts in the middle of your back and spreads up your back, extinguishing any doubt as it goes. The further that little whisper, that shiver spreads, the less you can fight it. Until finally, it overwhelms your rational instincts, everything you know and hold to be true breaks down, and you're running, screaming from the monsters in the dark, from that presence that you can be sure is there, just out of reach. The evil, red eyed behemoth that you know is just waiting for you to let your guard down, or god forbid, sleep to strike. To rip and tear and indulge every animal instinct in its body and leave your bloody and mangled corpse slung into a corner. These monsters, these beats are nothing compared to the beasts that ravage our minds. That doubt, that little tiny seed of belief that you can't quite erase. No matter how hard you try, it persists, it eats you from the inside out until there's nothing left. Every step, every breath you take. It has to be silent. Because any loud noise, that's an opportunity for it to strike. A running faucet, a TV, a creaky floorboard, that's just the opportunity it needs to move, to advance, just a little, without you noticing. And then suddenly it's behind you, tearing your clothes and flesh. Sleep. Sleep is the enemy. I must keep it at bay...

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<p align="CENTER" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">November 15, 2015

<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">I got replies today. From my warnings. Actually they came yesterday, but I was too busy trying to pinpoint the source of the drilling. A friend of mine majoring in cryptology told me he'd be glad to take a look, to verify my work. He came over today, and when he knocked on the door I almost jumped out of my skin. I looked through the small opening in the boards on the door that serves as an eyehole, and saw that it was my friend. Quickly, I undid the bolts and the boards, and hurried my friend inside. Once he was in, I renailed the boards, and redid the bolt, and did a quick check to make sure nobody else had been allowed inside. My friend gave me a strange look. A judgmental look. I hate that look. But he came to check my work, so I showed it to him. He looked over the message, looked over my calculations, and did a few of his own. He shook his head a few times as he worked and mumbled to myself. I realize now how bad I must have looked. I haven't shaved in 3 days, and haven't changed my clothes in at least 4. He finally stopped working, and gave me a confused look. He told me that it was gibberish. That there was no code, it was just a random, nonsense spam message. He told me that I needed help, that he couldn't let me live like I was. Every word he spoke made me angrier and angrier. Until finally I couldn't stand it any more. I picked up the laptop that he had brought with him and broke it over his head. I screamed at him, denying his ugly lies, his deception. I brought the computer down on his head over and over. There was so much blood, and so much brain matter on the floor. I was practically slipping on it. I quickly cleaned up the blood and soaked the floor with bleach. I couldn't get rid of the body though. That would have meant going outside. That would have meant letting in the outside world. I couldn't allow that. So I stuffed him in a corner. And I went back to work, decoding messages, listening for the drill.

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<p align="CENTER" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">November 16, 2015

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<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">I made careful calculations and decided the drill was drilling in a northwesterly direction, directly underneath my house. In addition, other messages became clear when combing through my spam: “We'll find you”, “Boarding up your windows won't save you”, “You can't win this war”. If they knew about the windows, they were watching the house. I was under siege. Thankfully, my gun had arrived and my building materials. With shaking hands I set to work reinforcing my defenses. I welded steel beams behind the wooden boards. I reinforced the door with industrial grade steel. The smell from the body was becoming unbearable. But I couldn't leave now. Not with them watching me. Perhaps they were using my webcam to see what was going on in the house. I smashed my computer, and anything with a camera on it. I carefully transcribed this journal onto paper before destroying my laptop. I feel that now, more than ever, I need the clarity that comes from this journal. When I read back over my older entries I realize how naive I was. How could I have let myself get to this? And how long can I go on like this? I have all the water I need, but how much food do I have left? 3, 4 days worth? I can order some off the internet, but how can I trust it? How could I get it, cut some kind of opening in my door? I don't know. I can't last much longer than this.

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<p align="CENTER" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">November 17, 2015

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<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">I must write quickly because I hear sirens in the distance. I've cracked the mystery. The guy that I pissed off in that Call of Duty game, it's been him the whole time. He has a network of agents, or people, or whatever. They're drilling under my house, they did the shooting. They've been sending the threatening messages. But I hear the sirens coming now. I don't know if they bought off the police or what. But they're coming, and I'm not going down without a fight. But as I'm writing I realize I must be crazy because I'm hallucinating that there's a red dot on my ches...

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<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">Legion report of the events of November 17, 2015

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<p align="LEFT" style="margin-right:0.16in;margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;font-weight:normal;orphans:1;">''Our agents finally cornered Daniel Hall. The effects of the neurotoxic agent have become evident by now. Information from his webcam and the back-up cameras placed in his house early in November reveal that he is displaying paranoia and homicidal rage. His murder of cryptologist Frank Winters was an unforeseen and tragic side effect of the drug. At first we were confused by the many hours he spent listening to the ground, and his mumbling about a “drill” when an agent pointed out that the machine pumping the gas does indeed sound like a drill from a long distance. We terminated Mr. Hall at 11:57 PM Eastern Standard Time on November 17, 2015 as a revenge measure, it being the last chance before the police took him into custody. For documentation purposes, this was in retaliation for his unabashed attack on our leader on the popular online video game Call of Duty. Long live the legion, many years may it reign.'' <ac_metadata title="Looking for comments on Paranoia [Unreviewed]"> </ac_metadata>