Director Notes.
CAMP
Occasionally, I worry if this is the appropriate venue. Would it have been a better policy to simply execute all new arrivals, rather than keep them for the alloted time?
Would a small population have been easier to enforce as well? It would be more simple to properly confine the control groups, if that was the case.
And would I be justified in killing the ones that present resistance, rather than continue to tolerate their unnecessary existence at camp? Their arguments are tedious and repititive.
Some of these children are no longer of use to me, but their removal would bring about more complications. I need to keep them busy, somehow, and the continuation of my genetic experiments has been bothering me for some time.
The amount of effort is becoming a frustration. Are these children that unable to handle the simplest of tasks? How difficult is it for this generation to think?
Perhaps the children could help? Though some part of my shattered morality is sickened by the thought.
The rampant homosexuality between the children here is -- disconcerting. I admit to being surprised. Jokingly, my brother suggested that there may be "something in the water," but I am becoming hardpressed to refute that.
No, really. I have come to the conclusion that there is something in the water, because the percentage of homosexuality here is ridiculous. Was this Father's doing? ... could Father have truly been that unstable to bring about such a thing?
The experimentations have been going well, against all reason and doubt. The control groups remain difficult to secure, but the reactions continue to be positive. I believe some of the chemical research will even be finalized by December, 2005.
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste.
I find myself wanting to drown them. Shuffling them off from this plane of existence would bring me great joy, I think.
I can't let these children die. I can't. I can't. Father, there is a way.
It no longer makes sense to me; there is no child here that fits the description or mental instability of the killer. Was it all a lie? Am I going mad?
---
He mentioned this facility would be created a short time from now, but that is impossible.
In short, my brother now knows that I have stockpiled enough for us to escape the country and live in America. There, I will again resume my research.
Still, I am undeterred. My resolve is absolute -- this facility will be built, whether the government supports it or not.
The only thing left is to reconstruct the facility the murderer described, breed it to fruition, and then find the culprit. It's insane, but with the context in mind, I believe in what I must perform.
My reasons are even unknown to our investors. I realize that I should feel an amount of guilt in this, but those men deserved to be robbed blind.
The effort from our resource facilities is phenominal, but even with my subsidary businesses, this research establishment remains taxing to maintain.
Am I the reason? Am I the reason behind everything, and this establishment, and his death?
The government wishes to close the facility down.
---
I really must question the logic behind the gorillas. These remnants of Father's insanity continue to harass me daily, three years after the fact.
The animals are a nuisance, and I find myself wondering more by the day whether it would be pertinent to release them ahead of schedule, for my own sake.
The birds have become unbearable. Gregory has suggested a roast, and despite being my resolution to become vegan, I think that I am very eager to agree.
If the research is ever completed, I think I will surprise myself and mourn when I will need authorize the removal of these creatures. Last night, my brother found a pair making a nest inside his shoes using sanitary supplies; thus he took it upon himself to ban tampons from the grounds.
Disgusting, loathsome -- this is not science, I cannot stress that enough. These creatures are not human and as such they will never have any impact on the health of true humanity.
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste.
Apparently the undead prefer brains. It was here that Stephan finally proved himself useful, much to his chagrin.
STEPHEN
I will never marry Charles.
We had met through my father in an attempt to sooth the the fears of his weak fellows, those who doubted my ability to run the company without the guidance of a man. I wanted to kill him.
Stephan thinks perusing my journal is hilarious. I believe I may have security remove both him and his family from the manor in revenge, diary.
Stephan has taken it upon himself to woo my very soul through shoddy writing. Today, he passed this note to me during lecture:
Her eyes
HER EYES
they make me think of chicken pies
of mother-made cake
and zombie surprise
Stephan has decided that it is much more simple to simply steal classic poetry and use it as a guide for his intent on me.
I love thee, as I love the calm
Of sweet, star-lighted hours!
I love thee, as I love the balm
Of early jes'mine flow'rs.
I love thee, as I love the last
Rich smile of fading day,
Which lingereth, like the look we cast,
On rapture pass'd away.
I love thee as I love the tone
Of some soft-breathing flute
Whose soul is wak'd for me alone,
When all beside is mute.
"My rocket to the moon." Stephan is insane; because I tolerate him, does that make me unstable as well?
Dear Diary,
I think I've fallen in love with the twit.
I love him, I love him. I hate him, I hate him. If he quotes another terrible horror movie at me, it will be easy to reach a decision.
Will any of the officers be able to understand? I certainly don't. These feelings are ludicrous and unwelcome, diary.
It's degrading, disgusting, disconcerting, and leaves me demanding for more. Juvenile though it is, I will never grow tired of the look on his face when confronted with corderoys.
I think it will take the workers some time to remove the all traces of blood. Tonight, Stephan kissed me.
He says he loves me -- he's always said that he loves me -- but more and more I find myself trusting in those words to a powerful extent. Stephan frightens me.
Tonight was EXHILIRATING. It was INCREDIBLE. I have lost all respect for men and the human race in general, but I LOVED EVERY MOMENT OF IT.
I dreamed of destroying the empire again last night. Stephan blamed it on "too many cookies," and so I continue to think him mad.
I have not been made a victim. Part of me appreciates Stephan's attempts to remove Charles' eyes, but it was unnecessary; Father wished for me to display my business assets, so I did.
It's been three days. I've called Father, his sister... if Stephan lost the tickets, I may murder him before the others have the chance.
I haven't been sleeping. Finals are approaching at the university and I find myself unable to give a flying damn. Stephan is missing; do they not understand what this means?
I'm still unsure why I was able to tolerate Stephan, much less be able to consciously admit an attraction to him that went beyond school girl fantasies, not that I continued to experience such daydreams by that age.
Apparently the undead prefer brains. It was here that Stephan finally proved himself useful, much to his chagrin.
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste.
Do I miss him? Of course I miss him. I can't -- the feeling of being alone is unbearable, these past few months.
The idea that Stephan is still alive is impossible. I saw him -- I saw the blood. I saw the remains. He is not here.
I feel so very stupid for wanting to believe otherwise.
Am I the reason? Am I the reason behind everything, and this establishment, and his death?
"For thirteen years," I was told, "you drove me to madness." Whether that was the truth will haunt me for years to come.
FAMILY/BUSINESS.
I really must question the logic behind the gorillas. These remnants of Father's insanity continue to harass me daily, three years after the fact.
No, really. I have come to the conclusion that there is something in the water, because the percentage of homosexuality here is ridiculous. Was this Father's doing? ... could Father have truly been that unstable to bring about such a thing?
Father advises me to use my fairer sex as an advantage, but if the business world were that simple, Mother would not have had such a difficult time of it.
How can he stand it? How is he able to look a man in the eye and go through with it, regardless of the amount of human emotion that he must surely see? Killing is reprehensible, Father. I cannot believe what you have become.
I have not been made a victim. Part of me appreciates Stephan's attempts to remove Charles' eyes, but it was unnecessary; Father wished for me to display my business assets, so I did.
(?) I think it will take the workers some time to remove the all traces of blood. Tonight, Stephan kissed me.
The manor is burning to the ground and I find myself unable to care. He is dead, and I think Mother would be proud.
I dreamed of destroying the empire again last night. Stephan blamed it on "too many cookies," and so I continue to think him mad.
The effort from our resource facilities is phenominal, but even with my subsidary businesses, this research establishment remains taxing to maintain.
The debts are rising. I am unsure where to turn. I feel like I am losing my grasp on reality, and am dragging down the others with me.
My reasons are even unknown to our investors. I realize that I should feel an amount of guilt in this, but those men deserved to be robbed blind.
Will any of the officers be able to understand? I certainly don't. These feelings are ludicrous and unwelcome, diary.
The birds have become unbearable. Gregory has suggested a roast, and despite being my resolution to become vegan, I think that I am very eager to agree.
The rampant homosexuality between the children here is -- disconcerting. I admit to being surprised. Jokingly, my brother suggested that there may be "something in the water," but I am becoming hardpressed to refute that.
If the research is ever completed, I think I will surprise myself and mourn when I will need authorize the removal of these creatures. Last night, my brother found a pair making a nest inside his shoes using sanitary supplies; thus he took it upon himself to ban tampons from the grounds.
In short, my brother now knows that I have stockpiled enough for us to escape the country and live in America. There, I will again resume my research.
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste.
I will never marry Charles.
MISC.
So, so desperately.
To imply anything more without further evidence would be underhanded; I cannot allow myself to sink to such a depth. I will continue my studies until I am able to discern a more appropriate reason.
Blood was everywhere. I could not stand it. I will continue not to stand it. Death by disembowelment is only deserved by absolute fiends.
I think it will take the workers some time to remove the all traces of blood. Tonight, Stephan kissed me.
He begged the man to slap his ass harder and harder, begging for a release that would not come
Dear Diary,
My brother finds it hilarious to steal my notes and make a mockery of them.
It was so hot, the feel of the donkey beneath his
Once. It was one time, and it will never happen again. I do not believe murder is a solution.
Do you believe in miracles, diary? Neither do I.
Tonight was EXHILIRATING. It was INCREDIBLE. I have lost all respect for men and the human race in general, but I LOVED EVERY MOMENT OF IT.
I have decided to hate myself. A valiable solution, I think.
The idea that Stephan is still alive is impossible. I saw him -- I saw the blood. I saw the remains. He is not here.
I feel so very stupid for wanting to believe otherwise.
Do I miss him? Of course I miss him. I can't -- the feeling of being alone is unbearable, these past few months.
Occasionally, I worry if this is the appropriate venue. Would it have been a better policy to simply execute all new arrivals, rather than keep them for the alloted time?
Would a small population have been easier to enforce as well? It would be more simple to properly confine the control groups, if that was the case.
And would I be justified in killing the ones that present resistance, rather than continue to tolerate their unnecessary existence at camp? Their arguments are tedious and repititive.
Some of these children are no longer of use to me, but their removal would bring about more complications. I need to keep them busy, somehow, and the continuation of my genetic experiments has been bothering me for some time.
The amount of effort is becoming a frustration. Are these children that unable to handle the simplest of tasks? How difficult is it for this generation to think?
Perhaps the children could help? Though some part of my shattered morality is sickened by the thought.
The rampant homosexuality between the children here is -- disconcerting. I admit to being surprised. Jokingly, my brother suggested that there may be "something in the water," but I am becoming hardpressed to refute that.
No, really. I have come to the conclusion that there is something in the water, because the percentage of homosexuality here is ridiculous. Was this Father's doing? ... could Father have truly been that unstable to bring about such a thing?
The experimentations have been going well, against all reason and doubt. The control groups remain difficult to secure, but the reactions continue to be positive. I believe some of the chemical research will even be finalized by December, 2005.
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste.
I find myself wanting to drown them. Shuffling them off from this plane of existence would bring me great joy, I think.
I can't let these children die. I can't. I can't. Father, there is a way.
It no longer makes sense to me; there is no child here that fits the description or mental instability of the killer. Was it all a lie? Am I going mad?
---
He mentioned this facility would be created a short time from now, but that is impossible.
In short, my brother now knows that I have stockpiled enough for us to escape the country and live in America. There, I will again resume my research.
Still, I am undeterred. My resolve is absolute -- this facility will be built, whether the government supports it or not.
The only thing left is to reconstruct the facility the murderer described, breed it to fruition, and then find the culprit. It's insane, but with the context in mind, I believe in what I must perform.
My reasons are even unknown to our investors. I realize that I should feel an amount of guilt in this, but those men deserved to be robbed blind.
The effort from our resource facilities is phenominal, but even with my subsidary businesses, this research establishment remains taxing to maintain.
Am I the reason? Am I the reason behind everything, and this establishment, and his death?
The government wishes to close the facility down.
---
I really must question the logic behind the gorillas. These remnants of Father's insanity continue to harass me daily, three years after the fact.
The animals are a nuisance, and I find myself wondering more by the day whether it would be pertinent to release them ahead of schedule, for my own sake.
The birds have become unbearable. Gregory has suggested a roast, and despite being my resolution to become vegan, I think that I am very eager to agree.
If the research is ever completed, I think I will surprise myself and mourn when I will need authorize the removal of these creatures. Last night, my brother found a pair making a nest inside his shoes using sanitary supplies; thus he took it upon himself to ban tampons from the grounds.
Disgusting, loathsome -- this is not science, I cannot stress that enough. These creatures are not human and as such they will never have any impact on the health of true humanity.
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste.
Apparently the undead prefer brains. It was here that Stephan finally proved himself useful, much to his chagrin.
STEPHEN
I will never marry Charles.
We had met through my father in an attempt to sooth the the fears of his weak fellows, those who doubted my ability to run the company without the guidance of a man. I wanted to kill him.
Stephan thinks perusing my journal is hilarious. I believe I may have security remove both him and his family from the manor in revenge, diary.
Stephan has taken it upon himself to woo my very soul through shoddy writing. Today, he passed this note to me during lecture:
Her eyes
HER EYES
they make me think of chicken pies
of mother-made cake
and zombie surprise
Stephan has decided that it is much more simple to simply steal classic poetry and use it as a guide for his intent on me.
I love thee, as I love the calm
Of sweet, star-lighted hours!
I love thee, as I love the balm
Of early jes'mine flow'rs.
I love thee, as I love the last
Rich smile of fading day,
Which lingereth, like the look we cast,
On rapture pass'd away.
I love thee as I love the tone
Of some soft-breathing flute
Whose soul is wak'd for me alone,
When all beside is mute.
"My rocket to the moon." Stephan is insane; because I tolerate him, does that make me unstable as well?
Dear Diary,
I think I've fallen in love with the twit.
I love him, I love him. I hate him, I hate him. If he quotes another terrible horror movie at me, it will be easy to reach a decision.
Will any of the officers be able to understand? I certainly don't. These feelings are ludicrous and unwelcome, diary.
It's degrading, disgusting, disconcerting, and leaves me demanding for more. Juvenile though it is, I will never grow tired of the look on his face when confronted with corderoys.
I think it will take the workers some time to remove the all traces of blood. Tonight, Stephan kissed me.
He says he loves me -- he's always said that he loves me -- but more and more I find myself trusting in those words to a powerful extent. Stephan frightens me.
Tonight was EXHILIRATING. It was INCREDIBLE. I have lost all respect for men and the human race in general, but I LOVED EVERY MOMENT OF IT.
I dreamed of destroying the empire again last night. Stephan blamed it on "too many cookies," and so I continue to think him mad.
I have not been made a victim. Part of me appreciates Stephan's attempts to remove Charles' eyes, but it was unnecessary; Father wished for me to display my business assets, so I did.
It's been three days. I've called Father, his sister... if Stephan lost the tickets, I may murder him before the others have the chance.
I haven't been sleeping. Finals are approaching at the university and I find myself unable to give a flying damn. Stephan is missing; do they not understand what this means?
I'm still unsure why I was able to tolerate Stephan, much less be able to consciously admit an attraction to him that went beyond school girl fantasies, not that I continued to experience such daydreams by that age.
Apparently the undead prefer brains. It was here that Stephan finally proved himself useful, much to his chagrin.
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste.
Do I miss him? Of course I miss him. I can't -- the feeling of being alone is unbearable, these past few months.
The idea that Stephan is still alive is impossible. I saw him -- I saw the blood. I saw the remains. He is not here.
I feel so very stupid for wanting to believe otherwise.
Am I the reason? Am I the reason behind everything, and this establishment, and his death?
"For thirteen years," I was told, "you drove me to madness." Whether that was the truth will haunt me for years to come.
FAMILY/BUSINESS.
I really must question the logic behind the gorillas. These remnants of Father's insanity continue to harass me daily, three years after the fact.
No, really. I have come to the conclusion that there is something in the water, because the percentage of homosexuality here is ridiculous. Was this Father's doing? ... could Father have truly been that unstable to bring about such a thing?
Father advises me to use my fairer sex as an advantage, but if the business world were that simple, Mother would not have had such a difficult time of it.
How can he stand it? How is he able to look a man in the eye and go through with it, regardless of the amount of human emotion that he must surely see? Killing is reprehensible, Father. I cannot believe what you have become.
I have not been made a victim. Part of me appreciates Stephan's attempts to remove Charles' eyes, but it was unnecessary; Father wished for me to display my business assets, so I did.
(?) I think it will take the workers some time to remove the all traces of blood. Tonight, Stephan kissed me.
The manor is burning to the ground and I find myself unable to care. He is dead, and I think Mother would be proud.
I dreamed of destroying the empire again last night. Stephan blamed it on "too many cookies," and so I continue to think him mad.
The effort from our resource facilities is phenominal, but even with my subsidary businesses, this research establishment remains taxing to maintain.
The debts are rising. I am unsure where to turn. I feel like I am losing my grasp on reality, and am dragging down the others with me.
My reasons are even unknown to our investors. I realize that I should feel an amount of guilt in this, but those men deserved to be robbed blind.
Will any of the officers be able to understand? I certainly don't. These feelings are ludicrous and unwelcome, diary.
The birds have become unbearable. Gregory has suggested a roast, and despite being my resolution to become vegan, I think that I am very eager to agree.
The rampant homosexuality between the children here is -- disconcerting. I admit to being surprised. Jokingly, my brother suggested that there may be "something in the water," but I am becoming hardpressed to refute that.
If the research is ever completed, I think I will surprise myself and mourn when I will need authorize the removal of these creatures. Last night, my brother found a pair making a nest inside his shoes using sanitary supplies; thus he took it upon himself to ban tampons from the grounds.
In short, my brother now knows that I have stockpiled enough for us to escape the country and live in America. There, I will again resume my research.
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste.
I will never marry Charles.
MISC.
So, so desperately.
To imply anything more without further evidence would be underhanded; I cannot allow myself to sink to such a depth. I will continue my studies until I am able to discern a more appropriate reason.
Blood was everywhere. I could not stand it. I will continue not to stand it. Death by disembowelment is only deserved by absolute fiends.
I think it will take the workers some time to remove the all traces of blood. Tonight, Stephan kissed me.
He begged the man to slap his ass harder and harder, begging for a release that would not come
Dear Diary,
My brother finds it hilarious to steal my notes and make a mockery of them.
It was so hot, the feel of the donkey beneath his
Once. It was one time, and it will never happen again. I do not believe murder is a solution.
Do you believe in miracles, diary? Neither do I.
Tonight was EXHILIRATING. It was INCREDIBLE. I have lost all respect for men and the human race in general, but I LOVED EVERY MOMENT OF IT.
I have decided to hate myself. A valiable solution, I think.
The idea that Stephan is still alive is impossible. I saw him -- I saw the blood. I saw the remains. He is not here.
I feel so very stupid for wanting to believe otherwise.
Do I miss him? Of course I miss him. I can't -- the feeling of being alone is unbearable, these past few months.