Forward
So, I’ve decided to keep a journal to try and keep track of things. I’ll try to keep it linear, but that might get tough, you know?
So. Um. Hi.
Sorry, I’m just... thinking about where to start.
...Eh. I’d start at the beginning, but that’d get weird, you know? So, I’ve decided.
I’ll start at /your/ beginning.
At June 6th, 2012.
So. Um. Hi.
Sorry, I’m just... thinking about where to start.
...Eh. I’d start at the beginning, but that’d get weird, you know? So, I’ve decided.
I’ll start at /your/ beginning.
At June 6th, 2012.
6/6/12
1
Alright. Start from the top. /Breath/.
The sixth of June wasn’t anything special for me. The sixth of June has no special meaning for me either. Well, I guess 6+6=12, so there’s that. I’m not really that into math though, so I couldn’t tell you if that means something. I guess I’ll start now.
It was a Saturday, so I took a walk to the public library. I did this partially because I had nothing better to do, but mostly because my family is old fashioned (or just cheap, take your pick) and we don’t just have computers laying around. Or video games. Or CD players. Or /blenders/. But I digress.
I have this uncle on my mother’s side, who always picks on me. It’s seriously bordering bullying, or familial abuse or something, I’m telling you. I’m better at handling it now that I’m older, but the story goes that for as long as I can remember, my uncle has called me ‘Chuki’. No one knows what it means, (and no one cares, except me,) and I don’t much care for it. It’s not a pretty name. Chuki. Chuuu-ki. Bleh. But you know how families are, and mine is no different. So practically everyone I know calls me Chuki now. Some of my brother’s friends actually think my given name is Chuki.
So, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but what you have to understand is that when my uncle comes into town and starts calling me Chuki, everyone else follows suit. It dies down when he’s not around, but it just annoyed me that everyone calls me that, and /no one/ knows what it means.
Therefore, my trip to the library. The library has shiny, technical, fancy things. Like computers. The library also does not contain my family, and as much as I love them, when my uncle is in town, they’re all a bit overbearing.
I began my search as many searches begin: on google. Google told me Chuki wasn’t a word, and after a half hour or so of finagling, led me to names in weird languages meaning weird things. I clicked on something that brought me up a list of names meaning roughly the same thing as Chuki, and, after about a whole ten seconds of staring at this mass of information, I decided to just print it off. I logged off and went to fetch the freshly printed sheets and took them outside where I could stare at it under a tree or something. It was on my meander towards one of the more comfortable looking oaks that I saw it.
Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. I’m not the kind of girl who just goes around picking random objects off the ground. For whatever reason, this was different. Where normally, I wouldn’t have given a second glance to the muddy, oddly shaped brass object, this time, before I knew it, I had walked over towards it and bent down to pick it up before I even knew what it was.
When I tried to stand back up, my vision kind of sparked out, my chest seized, and my head spun in circles behind my eyes. If you’ve ever had low blood pressure, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You sit in one place too long, and then you go to stand up really fast and the whole world goes cold and out of whack. It takes alot to just hold onto reality and try and force your brain to go into standby until your eyesight decides to come back. If I would have been thinking (but I wasn’t, because standby mode, remember?) I would have realized that this didn’t make any sense, because nothing I had done could have triggered this. As it was, I just strengthened my stand and kind of stood awkwardly hunched over until the spinning stopped.
When I came back into myself, I found I was standing in a room with six walls. I think if I had been anywhere else, I would have started noticing smells and sounds first, but there was no smell, and the only sound was a dull, monotonous ticking. I don’t think I noticed the ticking first, because I think it was always there. I don’t really know how to explain it. It wasn’t like my brain told me ‘oh, hey, there’s a weird ticking sound coming from somewhere’. No, it was more like my brain didn’t even bother registering it because it had always been there. That’s the best I can do for an explanation.
When I finally did notice the ticking and realized it had always been there, I think I kind of freaked out. First though, I took a look around the room I found myself in. I was standing on this strange, hexagonal platform that was an unearthly white. It was so white, it was almost glowing. On each corner of the platform, there was a pillar, with six sides, and the same white as the floor. Looking up, they went on so long you couldn’t see where they ended. They just faded into the blackness.
The blackness was all around me. At first, I thought it made up walls, but now looking again, the platform just dropped off. When I realized this, I hastily made my way closer to the center. At the base of each pillar was a weird cryptic outline of an image. Some I thought I recognized, like a cat, the number thirteen. Others I just had to guess at. One might have been an umbrella, and there was another that looked kind of like a hairbrush, and then one that I completely guessed on as being a spaceship on a tall docking station. The final image was also strange, but it looked so terribly familiar, in an unfamiliar way. That was when I remembered the thing I had picked up. I looked at it sitting in my palm and it was still muddy, so I wiped it off on my pants. When it was mostly clean it was easy to tell that it was some sort of pocket watch. I went to open it with my other hand, and that was when I realized I was still holding the papers with all the printed names.
I looked around for somewhere to put them, I saw a simple black binder on the floor next to the weird white stand thing in the middle of the room I had been trying to completely ignore. Still ignoring the stand, I walked over to the binder and sat down. After putting everything else down I picked it up and flipped through it. It was full of college ruled loose leaf paper, just like a binder should be. It was definitely more sturdy than most binders are, and seemed to be something other than just cardboard underneath it’s black skin. I slipped the papers with all the names in the back pocket of the binder, and that’s when I noticed something odd. On the lower right corner of the pocked were five indented silver words.
Property of Syandene S. Sarr.
I dropped the binder like a hot coal and kind of freaked out again. I’d rather not tell you what all that entailed.
After I was done with my little episode, I decided the stand I had been so pointedly ignoring really couldn’t be any worse than what I’d already seen, so I looked at it.
I called it a stand before, and in purpose, that’s what it was. The difference is that it was connected to the floor, and mostly just seemed like the floor had been molded by someone into a point, and then they had taken their thumb and made a rounded indent where the point would have been. Above this floated a greyish, glowing orb. I’m not talking, weirdly colored and plays tricks with your eyes, glowing. The orb was glowing, and it was what gave the room any light at all. As pretty as it was, levitation isn’t really something I’m comfortable with.
I sat down and thought about the situation I’d found myself in. I must have sat there for a few hours before I decided I was just driving myself insane. I leaned over and picked up the pocket watch, and put it in my pocket. Then I grabbed the binder and turned to the first page. From there I made a list. I even titled it.
Things That Could Possibly be Happening to me Right Now
-you’re dreaming.
-you’re hallucinating. That thing you picked up had toxic chemicals that went straight to your brain, and you’re not actually /here/, you’re in an ER somewhere.
-you’ve gone crazy. Your father always told you it was bound to happen.
-you’re having a spiritual experience. Okay. No.
-elaborate hoax? (no, probably not.)
-an aneurysm burst inside your head. you’re lying under a tree and no one’s found you yet.
-you’re dead.
After considering my small list, writing ‘you’re dreaming’ a few more times, and then erasing it, I decided there was actually something I hadn’t written down, but I wasn’t /going/ to write it down. This actually /could/ be happening, and I’d just been magically transported to this platform prison. I didn’t like that one enough to write it down.
As it was, I was mostly in favor of the last item. Not in the ‘Oh boy, do I hope I’m dead!’ sort of way, but more because this felt way too real to just be inside my head. Maybe this was what came after death.
If it was, how had I died? Had a car hit me or something? Maybe it was a drive by shooting? Whatever it was, it had happened so fast I hadn’t even realized it had happened.
The more I thought about it, the more sure I was that this was all real, and that the only explanation was that I was dead.
The more I thought about /that/, the more I thought about how much I sure didn’t /feel/ dead.
When I thought the two together at the same time, it just made my head hurt, so I went on to Plan B. You are currently reading Plan B. I was hoping that by writing everything that happened to me today down, I’d figure out where something stopped making sense, or being linear, or something. I was hoping to find inconsistencies, and maybe add to my list.
I’ve got nothing.
I might write more if the situation changes. Or I might be dead.
Man. I hope I’m not dead.
-Syan
The sixth of June wasn’t anything special for me. The sixth of June has no special meaning for me either. Well, I guess 6+6=12, so there’s that. I’m not really that into math though, so I couldn’t tell you if that means something. I guess I’ll start now.
It was a Saturday, so I took a walk to the public library. I did this partially because I had nothing better to do, but mostly because my family is old fashioned (or just cheap, take your pick) and we don’t just have computers laying around. Or video games. Or CD players. Or /blenders/. But I digress.
I have this uncle on my mother’s side, who always picks on me. It’s seriously bordering bullying, or familial abuse or something, I’m telling you. I’m better at handling it now that I’m older, but the story goes that for as long as I can remember, my uncle has called me ‘Chuki’. No one knows what it means, (and no one cares, except me,) and I don’t much care for it. It’s not a pretty name. Chuki. Chuuu-ki. Bleh. But you know how families are, and mine is no different. So practically everyone I know calls me Chuki now. Some of my brother’s friends actually think my given name is Chuki.
So, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but what you have to understand is that when my uncle comes into town and starts calling me Chuki, everyone else follows suit. It dies down when he’s not around, but it just annoyed me that everyone calls me that, and /no one/ knows what it means.
Therefore, my trip to the library. The library has shiny, technical, fancy things. Like computers. The library also does not contain my family, and as much as I love them, when my uncle is in town, they’re all a bit overbearing.
I began my search as many searches begin: on google. Google told me Chuki wasn’t a word, and after a half hour or so of finagling, led me to names in weird languages meaning weird things. I clicked on something that brought me up a list of names meaning roughly the same thing as Chuki, and, after about a whole ten seconds of staring at this mass of information, I decided to just print it off. I logged off and went to fetch the freshly printed sheets and took them outside where I could stare at it under a tree or something. It was on my meander towards one of the more comfortable looking oaks that I saw it.
Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. I’m not the kind of girl who just goes around picking random objects off the ground. For whatever reason, this was different. Where normally, I wouldn’t have given a second glance to the muddy, oddly shaped brass object, this time, before I knew it, I had walked over towards it and bent down to pick it up before I even knew what it was.
When I tried to stand back up, my vision kind of sparked out, my chest seized, and my head spun in circles behind my eyes. If you’ve ever had low blood pressure, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You sit in one place too long, and then you go to stand up really fast and the whole world goes cold and out of whack. It takes alot to just hold onto reality and try and force your brain to go into standby until your eyesight decides to come back. If I would have been thinking (but I wasn’t, because standby mode, remember?) I would have realized that this didn’t make any sense, because nothing I had done could have triggered this. As it was, I just strengthened my stand and kind of stood awkwardly hunched over until the spinning stopped.
When I came back into myself, I found I was standing in a room with six walls. I think if I had been anywhere else, I would have started noticing smells and sounds first, but there was no smell, and the only sound was a dull, monotonous ticking. I don’t think I noticed the ticking first, because I think it was always there. I don’t really know how to explain it. It wasn’t like my brain told me ‘oh, hey, there’s a weird ticking sound coming from somewhere’. No, it was more like my brain didn’t even bother registering it because it had always been there. That’s the best I can do for an explanation.
When I finally did notice the ticking and realized it had always been there, I think I kind of freaked out. First though, I took a look around the room I found myself in. I was standing on this strange, hexagonal platform that was an unearthly white. It was so white, it was almost glowing. On each corner of the platform, there was a pillar, with six sides, and the same white as the floor. Looking up, they went on so long you couldn’t see where they ended. They just faded into the blackness.
The blackness was all around me. At first, I thought it made up walls, but now looking again, the platform just dropped off. When I realized this, I hastily made my way closer to the center. At the base of each pillar was a weird cryptic outline of an image. Some I thought I recognized, like a cat, the number thirteen. Others I just had to guess at. One might have been an umbrella, and there was another that looked kind of like a hairbrush, and then one that I completely guessed on as being a spaceship on a tall docking station. The final image was also strange, but it looked so terribly familiar, in an unfamiliar way. That was when I remembered the thing I had picked up. I looked at it sitting in my palm and it was still muddy, so I wiped it off on my pants. When it was mostly clean it was easy to tell that it was some sort of pocket watch. I went to open it with my other hand, and that was when I realized I was still holding the papers with all the printed names.
I looked around for somewhere to put them, I saw a simple black binder on the floor next to the weird white stand thing in the middle of the room I had been trying to completely ignore. Still ignoring the stand, I walked over to the binder and sat down. After putting everything else down I picked it up and flipped through it. It was full of college ruled loose leaf paper, just like a binder should be. It was definitely more sturdy than most binders are, and seemed to be something other than just cardboard underneath it’s black skin. I slipped the papers with all the names in the back pocket of the binder, and that’s when I noticed something odd. On the lower right corner of the pocked were five indented silver words.
Property of Syandene S. Sarr.
I dropped the binder like a hot coal and kind of freaked out again. I’d rather not tell you what all that entailed.
After I was done with my little episode, I decided the stand I had been so pointedly ignoring really couldn’t be any worse than what I’d already seen, so I looked at it.
I called it a stand before, and in purpose, that’s what it was. The difference is that it was connected to the floor, and mostly just seemed like the floor had been molded by someone into a point, and then they had taken their thumb and made a rounded indent where the point would have been. Above this floated a greyish, glowing orb. I’m not talking, weirdly colored and plays tricks with your eyes, glowing. The orb was glowing, and it was what gave the room any light at all. As pretty as it was, levitation isn’t really something I’m comfortable with.
I sat down and thought about the situation I’d found myself in. I must have sat there for a few hours before I decided I was just driving myself insane. I leaned over and picked up the pocket watch, and put it in my pocket. Then I grabbed the binder and turned to the first page. From there I made a list. I even titled it.
Things That Could Possibly be Happening to me Right Now
-you’re dreaming.
-you’re hallucinating. That thing you picked up had toxic chemicals that went straight to your brain, and you’re not actually /here/, you’re in an ER somewhere.
-you’ve gone crazy. Your father always told you it was bound to happen.
-you’re having a spiritual experience. Okay. No.
-elaborate hoax? (no, probably not.)
-an aneurysm burst inside your head. you’re lying under a tree and no one’s found you yet.
-you’re dead.
After considering my small list, writing ‘you’re dreaming’ a few more times, and then erasing it, I decided there was actually something I hadn’t written down, but I wasn’t /going/ to write it down. This actually /could/ be happening, and I’d just been magically transported to this platform prison. I didn’t like that one enough to write it down.
As it was, I was mostly in favor of the last item. Not in the ‘Oh boy, do I hope I’m dead!’ sort of way, but more because this felt way too real to just be inside my head. Maybe this was what came after death.
If it was, how had I died? Had a car hit me or something? Maybe it was a drive by shooting? Whatever it was, it had happened so fast I hadn’t even realized it had happened.
The more I thought about it, the more sure I was that this was all real, and that the only explanation was that I was dead.
The more I thought about /that/, the more I thought about how much I sure didn’t /feel/ dead.
When I thought the two together at the same time, it just made my head hurt, so I went on to Plan B. You are currently reading Plan B. I was hoping that by writing everything that happened to me today down, I’d figure out where something stopped making sense, or being linear, or something. I was hoping to find inconsistencies, and maybe add to my list.
I’ve got nothing.
I might write more if the situation changes. Or I might be dead.
Man. I hope I’m not dead.
-Syan
6/4/12
4
In writing this journal/diary thing, I’ve run into a dilemma.
I think I kind of time travel.
Now, I could be wrong about this. Like, seriously, totally wrong. Or suffering from major brain damage or something. I only really getting some answers in the last few days, but they’re not exactly lining up nicely in my head.
The thing is, not only do I time travel, I’m not exactly in Kansas anymore. Not that I ever you know, lived in Kansas or anything. But even if I had, this place is /definitely/ not it. I’m not exactly what it is, or again, why I’m here, but I am.
Anyway, I wouldn’t even be writing any of this if I wasn’t completely totally bored out of my skull. There’s this weird lab coat scientist character who’s holding me in this architecturally strange castle against my better judgment and will. He’s got me in these clay manacles with some swirly runes on them, and I can’t get them off. They make me feel abnormally anxious, but I think they’re suppose to. Something about ‘redirecting my aberrant chronic galvanism’ or something like that. It feels really weird, and it makes me tired all the time, but I can’t sleep.
This kidnapper gives off an ‘evil mad scientist’ vibe, while still managing to look like he never really got out of the 80s. He has the weirdest clothes. He caught me originally because I popped in front of this castle thing, and the guards picked me up and brought me to him. He gave me a bored glance and I think he was about to wave them off to let me go, when I apparently set off one of his weird machines. And so he kept me to ‘further study the effects’ of my ‘aberrant chronic galvanism’.
I seriously do not think I can take much more of this guy’s language. Would it kill him to speak like a normal person?
So besides being bored out of my skull, I’m writing this for two reasons. One, because I think I’m going to be writing significantly more often (and not just because I have /absolutely nothing to do/), and two because I need an organizational method of keeping my journal binder together. Because I am so getting out of here the first chance I get. Scientist dude leaves himself way too open all the time, and this place isn’t all that secure. The only thing is that I’m so tired all the time, I haven’t thought up a proper plan yet.
The time travel thing is kind of wigging me out, but I plan on documenting it and am thinking the best way to do that is by date. I’m writing the number of entry this is up in the corner of the page I’m on, so if I ever change my mind, I’m set. For historical purposes though, it’s alot more useful to have it in this order.
Having said that, you might notice that this is in fact, the /second/ entry, and the date is previous to the one before it. This is because, while nothing really happened on June 6th, it’s still a good place to start. I think I said this in a ‘numeral’ entry or two back, but eventually I couldn’t think of what else to do and inspected the floating grey orb thing, right? And it sucked me in and spit me out in front of this giant pyramid. I wandered around for a while, but then I was magically transported away again by this time traveling madness.
After this, I’ll try to keep the journals as factual as possible, again, for reference sake. If I am, /actually/ time traveling, it might be useful to know what happened on certain days, you know?
Let’s start with the factual-ness now.
I arrived at this place probably a week or so ago, but I’ve been too out of it until recently to do anything about it. I have since learned that I arrived at “The Castle of Mourning”, that this place is weirder than I thought before (and kind of in the middle of a civil war), and that the date was /before/ the one I know myself to have arrived here.
I keep wondering if I’m going to run into myself on the 6th, but I keep thinking that if I do, I would have remembered it, but does time travel work that way? But even if it does, what if I come back to this time later or something, and- /darn it, I was not cut out for this/. Time travel /seriously/ messes with your head. I’m trying not to worry about the whole thing until I for sure know more, but what if I /do/ run into myself? Will I disappear if we touch? Am I not allowed to be in the same time as myself, ever? I switch when I switched to somewhere else in the present? So I’m /always/ here, but I’m always a completely different age? Or does age come into a factor when you’re time traveling all the time? Do I technically get any older? When the heck do I celebrate my birthday?
As exciting as it all is, mostly it just makes my brain shut down and my stomach hungry. I don’t like thinking about it, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Another paradox.
Factual-ness. Right.
I arrived, I was confiscated, I was taken to mister Scientist, and then after deeming me on some crazy scale of importance as worth something, he slapped these annoying clay wrist cuffs on me. The time travel thing makes me a bit tired anyway, but I’ve been so tired recently I think it must be mostly their fault. As far as I can tell, I can’t time travel with these things on. I use to feel this... energy thing, inside of me. It starts out at a really small level, but as time goes on it feels like it’s getting filled or something, like it’s a cup. You know that feeling when you’re five and it’s christmas eve, and you’re just so excited you can’t even sleep? It feels /exactly/ like that, right before it overflows or something and I get whisked away to another place, and then it starts all over. I’ve never really liked that feeling. It’s not the worst thing to feel though, I guess.
I haven’t felt any of that energy inside of me since that guy put these things on my wrists.
For the next few days I mostly slept.
You know, eventually, it hits you how terribly boring sleeping really is, so I got up to explore. Explore, scope out your surroundings for any weak points at which you might make your magical escape, what’s the difference, really?
I got up off of the lumpy couch I had been laying on for some unknown period of time, and made my way slowly out the only door. Then I examined my surroundings to make sure I could recognize this place, and headed left. I payed attention to everything, but only opened the doors on my left, and when I came across forks in my path, took left ones. See, you eventually run into a dead end, and then you have to turn around. When you do, all the doors you haven’t opened are on your left. It took me about a half hour to traverse the left side of my cage. Many of the rooms were similarly fashioned, and it seemed I had initially chosen one of the only ones not including a bed. The rooms were of varying degrees of fancy-ness, and most of them had windows. Which someone had taken to obsessively boarding over. There goes Plan A.
Also, eerily enough, most of them looked rather... lived in. Paintings, pictures of family, little trinkets, messy closets. There was no sign of struggle, but I couldn’t help but wonder where the original residents had gone.
The right side of the hallway started out much the same, and then just got creepier. I didn’t spend as long in those rooms, but I still went in to check on them. I think Mr. Mad Scientist had a major role in most of those rooms. Some of them had dead animals, others had large broken contraptions, and some just had terribly decorating.
I made note of the ones with large broken contraptions, just in case I ran into an exit that needed a little coercion.
I think I was about half-way through with the right side of the place when I opened a door and saw a man inside.
He was sitting on a fancy cream colored sofa and looked like he’d just finished pouring something into a fancy petal colored cup. For the instance after I’d opened the door, we just stared blankly at each other. Then he smiled like I was Santa Claus and his eyes brimmed with tears. He’d just stood up and bumped the coffee table, knocking over his cup, and opened his mouth, when I slammed the door. It didn’t even take me a full two seconds to gather my wits, and then I ran into the room across the hall, seized a wooden chair, and stuffed it under the door where the man lurked. I stood there for a moment, but after he started twisting the door handle and trying to talk to me through the door, I decided to finish my expedition.
That didn’t take me very long. Eventually, I had nothing else to do, and I found myself back at the door with the crazy man. I called him this (and still call him this) to make myself feel better about the situation, but it didn’t really work. So there I found myself, and he hadn’t gotten out, and it didn’t seem like he was really trying to get out or anything.
Unless he was some sort of criminal mastermind, and he got out, and then he set up the door like I had it so I would enter and he would /eat me/.
I found this the only like solution until I actually bothered thinking about it, and then I told myself I was crazy, took a deep breath, and unjammed the door. I took another deep breath before opening the door again.
Again, I found the man sitting at the cream colored chair, but this time he looked dejected. Again, we looked at each other blankly, and again, he smiled like I was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and his eyes teared up.
“You came back,” he said, almost reverently.
And then he began to cry like a little baby.
Being supremely uncomfortable with tears, but deciding he was probably not any kind of threat, I took what seemed like hours talking him down from his uncalled for depression. After a while, he smiled through his tears and offered me some tea.
I really don’t like tea.
Then I thought about what might happen if I refused, like another crying fit, and accepted his tea offer very, very quickly.
Anyway, I really don’t have a way to make anything else that came out of his mouth sound intelligent, (because he was still kind of crying, and he lost his train of thought every few seconds, plus he stuttered, so it was kind of hard to understand what he was trying to convey in the first place) so I’ll just sum it up.
Apparently there’s three of him, but he doesn’t have any siblings, and he’s locked up because of some precautionary measures, but they can’t kill him because there’s three of him.
Yeah. Even in summary, that didn’t make any sense.
As we conversed, (if you can call what we were doing ‘conversing’) I got that at least one of the ‘three of him’ that he was talking about, was the guy who had me locked up here. When I understood this, I looked at the guy again. Indeed, they had the same color hair, an almost white blond, and the same skin tone, an unhealthy pale that told me they both spent way too much time indoors, and they were the same height and build... but without his saying so, I never would have thought they looked anything alike. I can’t really say why. They were just so... different. It’s not really important to the story why I thought so, so I’ll just move on.
He’s the one who told me we were in the Castle of Mourning, being kept in the upper west wing, and that there was no escape.
I looked at him real hard after he said that. I couldn’t imagine this guy trying very hard.
He told me more about the state of his world, or wherever we were. I believed him for the most part. Or you know, what I could make out. I told him he could call my Syan, when he asked. He told me his name was Vincent M. Yamsy. He said it exactly like this:
(well, after standing up, closing his eyes, and /bowing/, the freak.)
“It is such an honor to meet you, Miss Syan. My name, as given to me by my beloved mother, is Vincent M. Yamsy.”
(Did I mention this was by far his most intelligible moment? By /far/?)
I thought about Vincent. As you know, a name. I thought about Yamsy.
I decided I didn’t really like either of them, especially after learning Mr. Mad called himself nearly the same thing.
“What’s the ‘m’ stand for?” I asked.
“W-well, i-it’s for-”
“Does it stand for Miles?” I interrupted.
“N-no, rather-”
“I like Miles.”
“W-well, th-that’s-”
“Miles.” I smiled threateningly. Miles shrunk back in his chair.
I’m not usually this mean, but people this timid and weak just annoy the heck out of me. I can’t help but tease them a little. It’s for the greater good, you know? Help them toughen up a bit. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see if I could get away with giving someone a nickname they didn’t want.
Anyway, that’s really all that’s important. The guards cycle through every so often, to give us food and water, and to prod us with stuff, and I can hear them making rounds out side of the only locked door I found in the entire wing. I don’t expect I’ll have anything to say, until I toughen up Miles enough to have a decent conversation, or I memorize the guard’s rounds. Of course, maybe all I have to do is figure out how to get these things off my wrists, and then maybe I’d just time warp on out of here. Eh. Whatever pans out first.
Later.
-Syan.
6/8/12
5
Hey. It’s me again. Though that’s pretty obvious at this point.
I honestly thought about writing an entry on the 6th, but then I thought that would be way too weird. I don’t know why, but it just makes me shudder. Besides, think about the book keeping. Where would I put that entry? Seriously?
Nothing much is happening. Well, nothing exciting. Tomorrow will be the exciting day. Or at least, it better be, because I’m getting bored out of my skull. Can you die of boredom? Because I think I’m about to.
In the past four days, I’ve alternated between moping, plotting, and attempting to converse with Miles. Miles and I have become great friends, don’t you know. At least we can hold an entire conversation without him breaking down now. That guy is totally enamored of me. I know it’s probably because I’m the only human contact he’s had in who knows how long, but it’s kind of sweet and totally creepy at the same time. I’m getting over it though. Apparently before this, he was locked up in the dungeon, but now the locals are all in the dungeon, so they kicked him out.
If you ask me, I think this place is probably a step up from where he probably was before.
Miles doesn’t know what ‘chronic galvanism’ or whatever is, no matter how many times I ask him. Apparently even though Mr. Mad is one of him, Miles isn’t the smart one. I’m not saying he’s stupid or anything, but he’s definitely not the sharpest crayon in the tool shed. For one thing, he’s way too trusting. But whatever. I guess it’s nice to have someone to talk to.
I know I’m being all ‘non-factual’ again, but I’m so booooooorreeeeeed. You know what Miles does for fun? Builds jigsaw puzzles. He thinks they’re a blast. He would. I need to get that man out of here. He needs to go to a raging party or something. And then I’ll just leave him there for a couple of days. I think it’d make him a more exciting person, and over all, give him a higher quality of life.
I digress. The guards that bring us food come at terrible times. I use to think it was on purpose, but they seem to be on some sort of wonky schedule. They try to never let Miles or me see them, and just leave food in random places they think we’ll find it, or something. Sometimes we get three meals a day, and sometimes we don’t, which is how I figured out what their schedule is. Sort of. See, I have this handy dandy pocket watch now. That seems to keep no time whatsoever. The back doesn’t even pop off, so I can’t try and charge the batteries or anything.
Miles has some sort of device that keeps time in a way I don’t really understand, but it lines up with itself at what seems to be every ten hours. The days are different here, so it’s hard to tell, but the guards seem to come every seven hours, almost on the dot. They’re a little off, but it’s every time, so I think for whatever they’re doing, they’re exactly on time. There are only two locked doors in this entire wing, so it’s a possibility that they enter from one of those. I wouldn’t bet on it though.
I think there are all sorts of secret passages all over the place. It gives off that kind of vibe. Miles thinks so too, but if he knows about them, then so does Mr. Mad, and so I think most of them are probably all sealed off. It was a pain, but I eventually enlisted Miles help. I’ve limited the area where the secret passage is to three of the creepy rooms. Actually, I’m pretty sure I know which one it is, because I took the three rooms I thought had passages, and blocked them with wooden chairs. When I came by the next morning, all the chairs were knocked over, but only one had nicks and dents in it, which leads me to believe it was the door it was in front of that the guards came through. As soon as I muster up the effort, I’m going to drag Miles down there with me. I’ll be back once we find something.
______
We found something. Oh, did we find something. There’s definately a door, but it only opens from the other side. I’m gonna go check it out at the next seven hour marker. I’ve told Miles he’s on lookout duty, but he’s kind of freaking out about that, so I’ve got to go and work on him.
______
Okay, so, Miles is the biggest wimp I have ever met in my life, but he sort of has a point.
He thinks being lookout will do no good because he has no way to tell me when they’re coming back, or whatever. We haven’t really worked out the details. I’m more of a ‘act now, think later’ type girl, but I can see where that might concern Miles, with our lives possibly being at stake and all. I think he’s overreacting, because if they were going to kill us, they probably would have just done it already. But he’s right, we don’t want to make them mad.
Right now, he’s working on some fancy little doohickey so we can send really simple messages. I’m thinking it’s like morse code, but apparently they don’t have morse code here, because Miles has absolutely no idea what I’m talking about.
In the meantime, I’m really bored. We’ve still got like, four hours until the next food guard comes, and I’m not allowed to touch Miles’ fancy spy equipment anymore.
I guess I’ll just go build a puzzle.
Bleh. Puzzles.
-Syan
I honestly thought about writing an entry on the 6th, but then I thought that would be way too weird. I don’t know why, but it just makes me shudder. Besides, think about the book keeping. Where would I put that entry? Seriously?
Nothing much is happening. Well, nothing exciting. Tomorrow will be the exciting day. Or at least, it better be, because I’m getting bored out of my skull. Can you die of boredom? Because I think I’m about to.
In the past four days, I’ve alternated between moping, plotting, and attempting to converse with Miles. Miles and I have become great friends, don’t you know. At least we can hold an entire conversation without him breaking down now. That guy is totally enamored of me. I know it’s probably because I’m the only human contact he’s had in who knows how long, but it’s kind of sweet and totally creepy at the same time. I’m getting over it though. Apparently before this, he was locked up in the dungeon, but now the locals are all in the dungeon, so they kicked him out.
If you ask me, I think this place is probably a step up from where he probably was before.
Miles doesn’t know what ‘chronic galvanism’ or whatever is, no matter how many times I ask him. Apparently even though Mr. Mad is one of him, Miles isn’t the smart one. I’m not saying he’s stupid or anything, but he’s definitely not the sharpest crayon in the tool shed. For one thing, he’s way too trusting. But whatever. I guess it’s nice to have someone to talk to.
I know I’m being all ‘non-factual’ again, but I’m so booooooorreeeeeed. You know what Miles does for fun? Builds jigsaw puzzles. He thinks they’re a blast. He would. I need to get that man out of here. He needs to go to a raging party or something. And then I’ll just leave him there for a couple of days. I think it’d make him a more exciting person, and over all, give him a higher quality of life.
I digress. The guards that bring us food come at terrible times. I use to think it was on purpose, but they seem to be on some sort of wonky schedule. They try to never let Miles or me see them, and just leave food in random places they think we’ll find it, or something. Sometimes we get three meals a day, and sometimes we don’t, which is how I figured out what their schedule is. Sort of. See, I have this handy dandy pocket watch now. That seems to keep no time whatsoever. The back doesn’t even pop off, so I can’t try and charge the batteries or anything.
Miles has some sort of device that keeps time in a way I don’t really understand, but it lines up with itself at what seems to be every ten hours. The days are different here, so it’s hard to tell, but the guards seem to come every seven hours, almost on the dot. They’re a little off, but it’s every time, so I think for whatever they’re doing, they’re exactly on time. There are only two locked doors in this entire wing, so it’s a possibility that they enter from one of those. I wouldn’t bet on it though.
I think there are all sorts of secret passages all over the place. It gives off that kind of vibe. Miles thinks so too, but if he knows about them, then so does Mr. Mad, and so I think most of them are probably all sealed off. It was a pain, but I eventually enlisted Miles help. I’ve limited the area where the secret passage is to three of the creepy rooms. Actually, I’m pretty sure I know which one it is, because I took the three rooms I thought had passages, and blocked them with wooden chairs. When I came by the next morning, all the chairs were knocked over, but only one had nicks and dents in it, which leads me to believe it was the door it was in front of that the guards came through. As soon as I muster up the effort, I’m going to drag Miles down there with me. I’ll be back once we find something.
______
We found something. Oh, did we find something. There’s definately a door, but it only opens from the other side. I’m gonna go check it out at the next seven hour marker. I’ve told Miles he’s on lookout duty, but he’s kind of freaking out about that, so I’ve got to go and work on him.
______
Okay, so, Miles is the biggest wimp I have ever met in my life, but he sort of has a point.
He thinks being lookout will do no good because he has no way to tell me when they’re coming back, or whatever. We haven’t really worked out the details. I’m more of a ‘act now, think later’ type girl, but I can see where that might concern Miles, with our lives possibly being at stake and all. I think he’s overreacting, because if they were going to kill us, they probably would have just done it already. But he’s right, we don’t want to make them mad.
Right now, he’s working on some fancy little doohickey so we can send really simple messages. I’m thinking it’s like morse code, but apparently they don’t have morse code here, because Miles has absolutely no idea what I’m talking about.
In the meantime, I’m really bored. We’ve still got like, four hours until the next food guard comes, and I’m not allowed to touch Miles’ fancy spy equipment anymore.
I guess I’ll just go build a puzzle.
Bleh. Puzzles.
-Syan