Monday, November 5, 2007

Double Crossed


Here is what I know up until this point. I was born on September 18th, 1984. I know this much because I've been piling up stacks of dated and marked newspapers and magazines neatly since September 18th, 1984. What else could I do? Wait, I can answer that - not much of anything. That is why I am marking this down today... and for however many more days I am incarcerated. Ah, the truth comes out. I am being held against my will.

So, now that we've clarified that I have been in here for quite some time, I think it best to start at the beginning of it all. It looks like I have plenty of time to write, so let us get underway.

September 18th, 1984

Seems like such a long time ago. Then again, when you are stuck in here, memories blend together and fade away over time. If I did not start taking notes, so much could have been lost. If someone arrives in this world and is immediately locked in a room, could you call everything they had at that point a gift? Did I really receive gifts on my first birthday, or was all of this junk here before I was born? I guess it doesn't really matter, I am here now - no way to change that.

On September 18th I spent my first day in this room. Of course I remember nothing of it. The only thing I have to go off of, like I mentioned earlier, are these piles of newspapers from San Bernardino, California. I suppose that is where I am currently located, but I don't think it would be that hard to get a newspaper from another city, state or country. Anyway, the newspapers arrive at precisely the same time every morning, 6 A.M. And even on the day I was born, a newspaper was delivered to my little cell. It would be a long time before I could read the thing.


You have to realize, I have had to learn what life is from what I have in this room. I've never seen outside this room, but I'm pretty sure that there is a world outside of it. I can surmise that because I've been reading my entire life - it is all I have to do. I get these newspapers, not to mention the encyclopedias and textbooks that fill this tiny room. I have siphoned all of the knowledge I can from what I have read, and I feel like I've read most of what is in here at least 30 times a piece, if not more. I know every typo by heart in these books and newspapers. If I ever get out of here, I'd like to become an editor - surely I have what it takes now.

Aside from the books, I have blank notepads, and some type of strange charcoal stick that is messy, but allows me to capture my thoughts, and learn. I use the textbooks that have given to me, and I think I have a pretty good knowledge of math and science. I do run into problems I cannot figure out, but with all of my free time, the answer eventually comes to me. I simply can't leave a problem incomplete. The odd thing is, as I have grown, the school books have grown with me... I've received newer copies with more complex subjects. So in that way, I feel like I am accomplishing something - it just doesn't matter much if I can't use it.

As I write this, my back is in severe pain. The one thing I do not receive in my holding cell is a comfortable bed and pillow. Instead, I have a stiff green canvased cot, and a makeshift pillow made out of a few old T-shirts tied into a ball. I would give anything for a real bed, like I've seen in the magazines and news articles. I'd love one of those form-fitting mattresses. As a result of sleeping on this cot for so many years, I am afraid I have experienced permanent damage to my back and spine. It hurts to stand for too long, and when the only thing you have to lay on is the bed that damaged your back, it isn't much of an option.

The room

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