The Cliff

FOURTEEN : Aamon's notebook

I haven't deliberately written anything in a long time, so please accept my apologies if there are any inaccuracies. Who are you apologizing for? No one, literally no one, will read this. What exactly is this? I'm not sure I should call it a notebook because I won't be writing daily; I simply know it. I'm writing this for myself, to remind myself of who I am. I'm and I've been forgetting since I was a teenager, I'm not sure whether it's a sickness or what, but I'm having trouble remembering things, so I'm going to write my biography, my life, to you, Aamon. It's also the same as yours.

The first thing I remember is that I tried to, I tried to call and beckon to him, but he just never heard me, he was gaping at the sky in awe, which he never did to his son, to me, to you.

The swing never stopped, it chucked me far off to the ground, close to the cliff, as well as I couldn't do anything but pray for my safety, but I slipped, all the way to the river, I saw them, flying all around me, and no one, no one helped, they wanted me to drop dead, but after what I did, I should've just died at that very moment, but I didn't; the water is the one who saved me, Even my father didn't care; he just stood on the brink of the cliff, laughing at me drowning. He wanted me to die because he knew his blood within my veins wouldn't be beneficial for the humanity.

And as I smacked my head on the sand, I recalled everything that happened before the swing, everything that happened the day before it.

You're free to quit reading now, Aamon; you don't need this in your thoughts.

Of course you're still reading; it's in our nature to be inquisitive and to seek the truth, yet finding the truth can be tricky.

I remembered him, with the razor in his hand, slowly slicing my mother's throat; she wasn't afraid of dying, but she was afraid of losing me; she smiled as her spirit sailed into heaven; she smiled.

But he didn't, he looked at me with no fear in his black eyes and said, "You belong to me now," as he stood up, washed the knife, and dragged my mother to the spooky room in front of the kitchen, I hung a sign there, and I'm hoping it's still there.

After that, no one saw him, and I was placed in an orphanage for fourteen years, where the only thing I could do was read. Thankfully, there was a bookstore there though, and I devoured all the books, my favorites were "Haunting of Hill House" and "The Silent Patient." I didn't just read them, I ended up living inside of them, which was a good thing back then, but not now, because everything I see, every character drift from the artwork to my mind, that's why I've never read or watched anything else in my life, I've been banned from them, but when I broke my rules in the university which I went to after I turned eighteen, I watched some psychological movies, that disturbed my mind, they made me do it, Dr. Lecter made me do it, John Doe did, Jack Torrance did, the Red Dragon did, that's why I've never read or watched anything else in my life, I've been prohibited from them, those guys were all there, huddled around me and sharing their passion for murdering, like if it was a symphony. A masterpiece.

I killed over four girls in one night; the first, the investigations never included me; I was just a normal bloke at a university; the second, when I was going for another one, the third precisely, after I wore a new glove and broke into their room from the window; however after I put the knife on her navel, ready to get it in her roommate started screaming; everyone woke up; when I returned to my room, everyone was awake; they saw me, the jury convicted me to my demise, but after a lot of inquiries, I was diagnosed with psychosis, which caused the judge to change his mind, and I was sentenced to 25 years in a mental illness hospital instead, where I lived excruciating struggle, but I don't have to talk about it, because you will never forget that, not even for a second, after 25 years, I was sent back to my home, with no permission to go, farther than the river.

Everyone came to see me, but I made them all leave right away; because I wanted to have a proper conversation with myself to figure out what had happened to me, and yet after all that I... and here I am, writing this to my future self. To remember who I truly am, I'm not just a murderer; there used to be a nice man inside of me, and I hope he stays with me and you for forever.