manu59
Today:
Diary, they want me to tell you that you are a work of fiction and anything you say may be used in a court of law against us. They want me to say lots of things, so I am. I’ve lied before. I’ll lie again. Doesn’t everybody?
They wake me at 0600 with pills, then breakfast which isn’t so bad, but no stimulants; no coffee.
Wonder if Nurse Wretched here stimulates anybody.
I hobble around after breakfast in the dirt garden, like Selkirk, beard and all. I doubt that bugger was in chains on the island he landed up on, which is where they found me, incidentally. Chains and batteries not included.
Then sleep, pills, lunch and chess. Had darts till I got the cleaning guy in the balls; lucky shot but he didn’t seem to care.
Haven’t hit anybody recently. May get a medal posthumously so I wouldn’t wait for it.
Old entries:
January 15: Arrival Aden. Took over the ship. Started diary. Head buzzes.
January 20: Red Sea. The buzzing is worse. Somebody spoke to me. Interesting. What he said was, screw it.
January 25: Sudan. Couldn’t breathe on the bridge. Pins in my eyes; absolute clarity. I knew I was in control of the ship, but the voice knew it wasn’t me up there in the twilight.
I wanted to kill somebody so damn badly.
January 31: Better stop writing this shit; it’s driving me crazy.
The absolute corruption of absolute power; the control over men and machinery, the sudden breakdowns and brain going click click, make a mistake and die.
Mafia Island, Africa. (A rose by any other name doesn’t smell as sweet).
The right place at the right time.
It had to be there, it had to be planned, it had to be done.
Killing twenty people is for me.
February 10: Never look down at the sea from a ship. Draws you, like a glimpsed curve of the woman you love- your mouth goes dry, your heartbeat quickens, your pulse hammers your head; you know it will be interesting but you’re out of control, mesmerised and you don’t care about anything on this godawful earth but the goddamn need to find out.
February 20th: Pasted newspaper clipping
Authorities have called off the search for the crew of a freighter which ran aground off Mafia Island. 20 crew are missing. The only survivor, the Captain, is in shock; details are sketchy about the accident that occurred in good weather.
Today again:
Diary, they returned you today; scared the shit outa me because they think I’m sane and will release me.
They still don’t know how I took over watch and stood everybody down, all asleep. Headed straight for the rocks.
She sank in minutes but I was thrown off the bridge and broke three teeth and a collarbone.
Someday I will tell them.
Someday I will smell my wife’s hair again.
Someday.
It’s too tiring to explain now.
Instant Karma’s gonna get you, too.
Poll Rate this entry
Diary, they want me to tell you that you are a work of fiction and anything you say may be used in a court of law against us. They want me to say lots of things, so I am. I’ve lied before. I’ll lie again. Doesn’t everybody?
They wake me at 0600 with pills, then breakfast which isn’t so bad, but no stimulants; no coffee.
Wonder if Nurse Wretched here stimulates anybody.
I hobble around after breakfast in the dirt garden, like Selkirk, beard and all. I doubt that bugger was in chains on the island he landed up on, which is where they found me, incidentally. Chains and batteries not included.
Then sleep, pills, lunch and chess. Had darts till I got the cleaning guy in the balls; lucky shot but he didn’t seem to care.
Haven’t hit anybody recently. May get a medal posthumously so I wouldn’t wait for it.
Old entries:
January 15: Arrival Aden. Took over the ship. Started diary. Head buzzes.
January 20: Red Sea. The buzzing is worse. Somebody spoke to me. Interesting. What he said was, screw it.
January 25: Sudan. Couldn’t breathe on the bridge. Pins in my eyes; absolute clarity. I knew I was in control of the ship, but the voice knew it wasn’t me up there in the twilight.
I wanted to kill somebody so damn badly.
January 31: Better stop writing this shit; it’s driving me crazy.
The absolute corruption of absolute power; the control over men and machinery, the sudden breakdowns and brain going click click, make a mistake and die.
Mafia Island, Africa. (A rose by any other name doesn’t smell as sweet).
The right place at the right time.
It had to be there, it had to be planned, it had to be done.
Killing twenty people is for me.
February 10: Never look down at the sea from a ship. Draws you, like a glimpsed curve of the woman you love- your mouth goes dry, your heartbeat quickens, your pulse hammers your head; you know it will be interesting but you’re out of control, mesmerised and you don’t care about anything on this godawful earth but the goddamn need to find out.
February 20th: Pasted newspaper clipping
Authorities have called off the search for the crew of a freighter which ran aground off Mafia Island. 20 crew are missing. The only survivor, the Captain, is in shock; details are sketchy about the accident that occurred in good weather.
Today again:
Diary, they returned you today; scared the shit outa me because they think I’m sane and will release me.
They still don’t know how I took over watch and stood everybody down, all asleep. Headed straight for the rocks.
She sank in minutes but I was thrown off the bridge and broke three teeth and a collarbone.
Someday I will tell them.
Someday I will smell my wife’s hair again.
Someday.
It’s too tiring to explain now.
Instant Karma’s gonna get you, too.
Poll Rate this entry