[Del]'s Diary

ENTRY THIRTY-EIGHT

Until last night there have only been four presences so far? Sugar, Hunter, the falling man, and the student with the broad nose. Now it is five. I hope there are no more. It’s getting hard for me to keep them all straight.

I’m in a small cramped and dirty cell and I wear a strange blue uniform. I look down at my hands and am surprised to find them a dark cocoa color. I cradle my body in my arms. It feels battered and broken, but not near as bad as the time I lie dying on the concrete sidewalk.

The cell door squeals opens, and a Korean man walks in. He wears a course light grey suit with a red belt and piping. My body feels a loathing toward this man I can’t understand. But at the same time, a queer devotion and hunger. Like a keen desire to do whatever this man is about to ask of us. I feel a war wage erupt between the two strong emotions.

In an accent, the man only quietly asks me if I’m ready to talk. I shake my head, and he leaves just as he came. With no emotion.

And then I can feel my body anxiously anticipate what is bound to come next. This dark man that I wear has his own rat living in the pit of his stomach. It’s larger, and with sharper claws than that of mine. The door opens, and more men come in. All in the same uniform as the last. And then it begins.

Fill found me huddled in the corner, scratching at my arms until they bled. I think he slapped me in the face once or twice. Shook me violently while shouting for help. The doctor soon came, and pricked me with a needle.

Fill is watching me now. Well, he must always be watching, but now he is sitting at the desk, while I hide beneath the bed. I think he’s afraid to leave me.

But, I so feel calm now. My fingertips feel numb even. The man’s cries are on mute.

I had hoped to have bled the man totally from my system with every stroke of my pen, but I must have used the wrong colored ink.

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