Sept 23, 2016

Dear Diary,

Hello, I guess. Jesus, this is stupid.

I always felt that writing in a diary was pretty much the most self-absorbed, idiotic thing anyone could do, and even more ridiculous to address it as “Diary," but here we are.

Iʼm not sure what Iʼm supposed to put in this thing. I don't know what the weather is like outside.

I smell like a 14-year-old boy whoʼs wearing Brute and forgot to shower this year.

I like puppies and long walks on the beach.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I love no one

Hell, whatever. At least I have something to do now.

I guess if Iʼm going to sit here and scribble with a crayon, I might as well use the opportunity to its capacity.

So, Diary, my name is James. I live in this chickʼs basement now, unfortunately, and she gave you to me and told me to use you to "think about what I've done and explore myself."

Her name is Amy. I'm pretty sure sheʼs going to read this, so let me emphasize to you now that sheʼs just a swell person. It also just dawned on me that Iʼm writing with a crayon, which means I canʼt edit or erase. I hope she can understand that Iʼm not very good at this diary thing and forgive my frustrations.

I hear her coming. Be right back.

Okay, back. Yep. Sheʼs going to read you everyday and counsel me through my issues because sheʼs a wonderful, caring woman with my best interest at heart, and she knows I need her help.

First assignment is apparently to explain why Iʼm here and "how our actions result in consequences." Due tomorrow night at 6 p.m.

Gonna sleep now, Diary. This should be fun.

• • •

September 24, 2016

Dear Darla,

Diary, I've decided to change your name to Darla because why not. Itʼs better than Diary, and you're hot pink, so I thought Darla would suit you.

"Why Iʼm Here and How Our Actions Result in Consequences"

I am here because Amy thinks Iʼm dangerous. Amy told me that she knew I was going to rape and murder her and dump her body in an empty field somewhere, so Iʼm here to learn to keep my hands to myself.

I need to show Amy that this was not my intention at all. I tried to tell Amy that I think sheʼs an amazing cellist, and that listening to her play at The Vine was one of the most intriguing experiences of my life. I told her she was beautiful, and I meant that. I told her that I wasnʼt stalking her. I swear. I was working up the courage to ask her out.

I told her I was sorry for following her to work and watching her on the bus, but I promise I never meant to scare her.

But she didnʼt believe me, Darla. I understand why, but I need her to realize that I wonʼt hurt her. She doesnʼt have to use the gun when she brings me food. She can stay and talk to me if she wants. Iʼm not going to try to leave. Iʼm not going to harm her in anyway.

Darla, sheʼs a counselor, so I know she'll see that Iʼm not bad. She can read people. Sheʼs obviously a brilliant lady.

Talk tomorrow,

James

• • •

September 25, 2016

All right, then. She doesnʼt like your name, so you no longer have one. Sorry about that.

She also doesnʼt like the fact that I tried to use you to con her, and I can appreciate that. She said I should direct questions or comments meant for her, to her. I didnʼt mean it as a con. I do hope she knows that I was being honest. It doesnʼt help to share with someone if they wonʼt listen to a word you say. Thatʼs why I wrote it here. I thought maybe if she read it, it would be easier for her to hear. I know I scared her. Itʼs hard to listen when you're afraid.

So I have to write feelings in here. And I have to answer the consequences question. I forgot about that yesterday, so I'll do it first.

The only understanding I can share concerning consequences is that when we do something, something else happens to balance the action. If you do a bad thing, bad things happen. If you do a good thing, good things happen. I have no idea how to put it into better words. Thatʼs going to have to be okay.

As far as feelings are concerned,

I feel sorry for what I did.

I feel hungry.

I feel tired.

I feel like Amy misunderstood me.

I feel like I wish I hadnʼt followed her.

I still think sheʼs beautiful.

Good night, hot pink book.

• • •

September 26, 2016

Amy says if I donʼt expose my true intentions, I will never leave. She says she doesnʼt like my thoughts on consequences, and she thinks my understanding of them is probably why I've gotten myself into this situation.

Itʼs been eight days in this basement, and I feel like Iʼm losing my mind. I donʼt even know what time it is. Thereʼs usually a window or something in a cellar, but I donʼt see one. I canʼt search around because of the chain.

Iʼm scared now. Amy isnʼt frightening, but I am afraid I donʼt have the right answers for her. I've tried to explain myself so many times, but I feel like maybe sheʼs still afraid. She doesnʼt have to be.

The casserole she brought me last night was good. It really was. I know I should hate her, but sheʼs a great cook and sheʼs taking the best care of me she can in this situation.

Last night I yelled at her, and I feel sorry for that. Sheʼs not a bitch. My eyes still burn from the mace, and I understand that I deserved it. I shouldnʼt have jumped at her. I shouldnʼt have screamed. I was stupid.

I just need her to believe me. I need her to understand that I mean what I say when I say it. I wasnʼt going to rape her. I wasnʼt going to kill her or torture her or dump her anywhere. I really only wanted to get to know her.

I guess I got what I wanted. I shouldnʼt have been so shy.

• • •

September 27, 2016

Nothing I say hasnʼt any impact on her, Diary. Nothing. She doesnʼt believe me. She says Iʼm in denial. She says Iʼm creating an identity to justify my actions, and I need to look harder.

She says I need to dive deep into my psyche and fish out the demons.

Maybe sheʼs right. Maybe there was part of me that wanted to hurt her. Maybe I did plan to rape her. I would never have killed her, but maybe she was just so out of my league I couldnʼt have asked her out, and it would have been easier just to force myself on her.

Maybe Iʼm sick? I think I did need her help after all.

I wish sheʼd leave the gun upstairs. I wish she wouldnʼt pour cold water on me in the mornings. I wish sheʼd loosen these shackles.

I feel afraid.

I feel pain.

I miss my dog.

I feel disappointed in myself for being a monster.

I feel grateful for Amyʼs help.

• • •

September 28, 2016

Dear Diary,

She wants to know my intentions. I told her. She doesnʼt care.

She wants to know how I got here. She put me here. Thatʼs how I fucking got here.

She thinks Iʼm in denial? Maybe sheʼs in denial. I wonder if sheʼs ever considered that, diary.

If I could just kill myself now and get this over with, I would.

I feel hopeless.

I feel alone.

I feel like I can say or do nothing right.

• • •

Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough.

Fuck you.

• • •

September 30, 2016

Dear Amy,

You know what? You want to know my intentions? You want me to expel my devils onto this ridiculous notebook?

You were right, bitch. I was going to rape you. I followed you into that alley with the sole purpose of slamming your head into the brick wall until you passed out.

I followed you for two weeks, Amy, but Iʼm sure you are aware of that. I knew where you were each second of every day. I watched you undress through your bedroom window. I watched you feed that dumbass cat. I watched you check your mailbox at 5:30 every morning.

I saw it all. I know everything about you. No boyfriend. Dead mom. Runaway father. Pathetic job at the high school. Iʼm sure theyʼd love to know they have a deranged slut chit-chatting with their behaviorally challenged students.

I parked my van around the corner behind the school. I was going to shove you through the back doors and take you for a long ride, you psychotic cunt.

I have this nice little cabin outside the city, and was going to take you there for vacation. Show you a good time. Then when I was done, I was going to cut you up into tiny pieces and feed you to my dogs.

Is that what you want to hear? Huh?

Why?

I donʼt know. Because you looked weak playing your cello. You looked like you needed me. You looked soft. You looked like youʼd been alive for way too long. You're disgusting. Whore.

You want to know what I understand about consequences?

I understand that I should've done it sooner. I should've killed you the first night I saw you.

Your soup last night tasted like horse piss. It made me vomit.

Why donʼt you just go ahead and get rid of me now? Because I promise you when I get free, you're going to regret ever being alive.

I feel NOTHING.

• • •

October 1, 2016

Dear James,

Good job. When you can open a line to your true feelings and understand your intentions, only then will you begin to grow.

I knew about the van, James. I didnʼt know about the cabin, but thank you for being honest with me. I agree with you that the cat is stupid.

I understand that you're angry and frustrated, so I will forgive your rude comment about my soup.

I really think we're getting somewhere, James. Iʼm proud of you.

Your next assignment will be a series, and unit one is:

"Letting Go of the Ego: Who are You?”

See you this evening, James.

Best Wishes,

Amy

She had a special gift but

hated children

wanted to gnash on them

eat them

A beautiful girl came

through the forest

to the house on chicken feet

to have her ugly removed

a pointed horn stuck on her face

like a unicorn,

like a half-baked demon

The old woman removed it

took the ugly for herself

sent the girl to fill a pot of water

to cook her with

The pot came back empty

no one saw the cracks in the bottom

the old woman put the horn

on the front of her house

sent her away again

The girl came back once more

with empty pot

The witch, angry

bares her teeth

demands her pot of water

The girl realizes her fate,

her death

and in walking again

to water, runs back

through the forest

home

Baba Yaga rages

flies high on her bundle

of dry, cracked bristles

loosely tied together

she chomps down trees, bark

with her mouth

Tired, scanning the ground

she is left alone

no food

only the ugly

Fighting outside with

eyes half-open

cigarette ashes

and empty beer cans

sit on the bench

the carriage rolls

into the street

red lights rolling

no sirens, crying

sounding

as she is taken

away

Mommy never -

holds her at home again

has a home again

is held by her Mommy again

I will get her back, she says

going from state to state

man to man

fighting outside with

eyes half-open