Entry #5
Dear Alfred,
This whole ordeal is starting to get into my nerves. The people around me aren’t helping one bit.
I seem to have “lost” a day.
Uh, I still have no idea what’s going on. I mean, I’ve been writing every day. Let’s try to figure out what happened. When I went home from the police station, that was Monday morning. I believe that was around 7am. When I woke up around 3:30pm, I started writing again, right? I ate dinner, I went to sleep. My parents were still out of the country and they were due back on Wednesday. When I went downstairs to eat, that day when everyone was crying, apparently that was Wednesday. In my mind, it was just Tuesday. Did I just sleep for 36 hours? Did I spend more than a day in the police station? What the hell happened?
When I went downstairs that morning, my parents just got home from their trip, and they had no idea I was there. My mom won’t say anything about it. My dad said some things about it, but not much to help me out. He just said that they went straight to the police station first, then the hospital.
Why the hospital? I was never in a hospital.
I kept on asking dad, but nothing. I’m not getting any answers. He just closes his eyes and shakes his head. It pissed me off a little, and I think I started to shout. But he just gave me a hug again and went out of the room.
What the fuck is wrong with everybody? Why won’t anybody tell me anything? Is the accident some big conspiracy that I unfortunately played into? Why should everything be such a great mystery? I don’t like this, I don’t like it one bit.
And why am I still in this hospital? This morning, the doctor stuck an IV in me. He told me it was a precaution. For what? I’m fine. I’m normal. Why won’t anybody tell me anything?
The package I got earlier was unmarked. No return address, no mailing address. It was a brown envelope. Inside was what seemed like a rag. Half was burnt, and the rest was ripped and really just black with dirt and oil and whoever knows what else. There was a printed note inside.
It read: Your shirt.
Whoever wrote that had enough time to go out of his way to go buy an envelope, write on a note and drive all the way to the hospital and I don’t even get a name? Seriously, what the fuck.
Yep. This shitstorm is really starting to piss me off.
Just tell me what the fuck happened already. I can live without the shadow and mystery.
-
Rick
This whole ordeal is starting to get into my nerves. The people around me aren’t helping one bit.
I seem to have “lost” a day.
Uh, I still have no idea what’s going on. I mean, I’ve been writing every day. Let’s try to figure out what happened. When I went home from the police station, that was Monday morning. I believe that was around 7am. When I woke up around 3:30pm, I started writing again, right? I ate dinner, I went to sleep. My parents were still out of the country and they were due back on Wednesday. When I went downstairs to eat, that day when everyone was crying, apparently that was Wednesday. In my mind, it was just Tuesday. Did I just sleep for 36 hours? Did I spend more than a day in the police station? What the hell happened?
When I went downstairs that morning, my parents just got home from their trip, and they had no idea I was there. My mom won’t say anything about it. My dad said some things about it, but not much to help me out. He just said that they went straight to the police station first, then the hospital.
Why the hospital? I was never in a hospital.
I kept on asking dad, but nothing. I’m not getting any answers. He just closes his eyes and shakes his head. It pissed me off a little, and I think I started to shout. But he just gave me a hug again and went out of the room.
What the fuck is wrong with everybody? Why won’t anybody tell me anything? Is the accident some big conspiracy that I unfortunately played into? Why should everything be such a great mystery? I don’t like this, I don’t like it one bit.
And why am I still in this hospital? This morning, the doctor stuck an IV in me. He told me it was a precaution. For what? I’m fine. I’m normal. Why won’t anybody tell me anything?
The package I got earlier was unmarked. No return address, no mailing address. It was a brown envelope. Inside was what seemed like a rag. Half was burnt, and the rest was ripped and really just black with dirt and oil and whoever knows what else. There was a printed note inside.
It read: Your shirt.
Whoever wrote that had enough time to go out of his way to go buy an envelope, write on a note and drive all the way to the hospital and I don’t even get a name? Seriously, what the fuck.
Yep. This shitstorm is really starting to piss me off.
Just tell me what the fuck happened already. I can live without the shadow and mystery.
-
Rick