Trigger Warning: Violence, murder, body horror, manipulation, and sexual assault
ENTRY XII:
I’ve been found out. My shed has been burned to the ground and everything lost… that is, except my hidden writings. I can’t prove it was Ego, but I can’t fathom another explanation. It had to be her. And the fact that my journals are still safe gives me at least a semblance of comfort. I’ve still got a shot of finding out who I was before Ego.
And yet, I find myself at another strange crossroads. Today, I saw her use her research to create the most magnificent serum: a cure for everything. She explained to me that releasing such an invention would make the world’s economic structure implode, but that she would find another solution. I’m starting to question what her intentions are. Is she a practitioner of chaos, or does she have a noble cause she’s striving to fulfill? Does she see her experiments in life and death as inherently good or evil? Would she even care?
ENTRY XIII:
How long have I been here?
I have no idea.
ENTRY XIV:
I don’t like the medicine she keeps feeding me.
ENTRY XV:
I wish I could go home.
ENTRY XVI:
I don’t have a home.
ENTRY XVII:
My memory of the past few months is fleeting. I’m trying to piece things together from the anecdotes I was able to jot down, but I’m not making any sense. My recent writings are all gibberish. I returned to my earliest entries, reading through my recollections about my brother and a life I don’t know. It stands to reason that I’m further than ever from recovering my past, now that I have more recent and pressing matters to remember.
Alter Ego has me in a strange limbo between love and hate, though admittedly, I can’t figure out why. My feelings have always eluded common sense, but what I feel toward Ego is particularly baffling. Her studies are becoming less and less repulsive to me, and in turn, so is she.
I know the direction I’m being pulled in, and I know it’s not for the right reasons. I don’t want to love her. She will kill me.
But I can’t stop myself.
ENTRY XVIII:
We drove out into the neon city at night, letting the colors glide over the gloss of the Trigger. Ego drove, slowly and tensely, as rain pelted the windshield. The car started to make a low and ominous hum, causing Ego to grow frustrated. She pulled the car into a dark alley, and motioned for me to stay inside as she got out to check out the noise. Comforted by being alone for the first time in ages, I drifted off to sleep.
The walls smelled like mildew and the floor was sticky with beer. An awesome sound radiated; a stack of Marshall speakers started to make the whole room shake. I pointed my fingers out to the small crowd of about seven people—a completely captive audience—and shouted into a mic.
“We’re the Fuck Objects, and we shoot motherfuckers like you!”
A cataclysmic sound of rock ‘n’ roll permeated a New York basement. The heavy vibrations shook me down to my core, as I felt a song pour out of me. It was next to impossible to hear the lyrics over the speakers, but some did come through.
“...And I, I know a place
Where no-one is likely to pass!
...Oh, you look so tired…
And if it’s the last thing I ever do
I’m gonna get you!”
I started to recall these words from somewhere before, and I was violently swept out of my vision. When I woke up, I felt my whole body shaking. Ego was still outside in the beating rain, pouring a strange metallic liquid into her car. I curled back up, embraced by the heat of the interior, and drifted into a dreamless sleep.
I have new information to look into, and am finally making progress again.
ENTRY XIX:
I found some time away from Ego, and returned to New Jersey. At the record shop, Boogie’s, I started a conversation with the shop owner. He was an older gentleman with a bit of a hunch, but moved quickly and lively through the store, carrying a crate of records he was stocking.
“Would you be able to help me find a song?”
“Sure, kiddo, what artist are we talking about?”
“I have no idea, I only have lyrics.” I took out my journal to show him.
“Ah, that’s a Morrisey song. Didn’t you used to cover that before you got signed?”
“Signed?”
The man stopped in his tracks, and looked me over. He frowned slightly, with a distant sadness in his eyes.
“You’re not Gary Gaa, are you?”
“Sorry, I don’t know who that is.”
He set his records down.
“Part of me was hopeful that I was seeing him again. Gary was such a great kid, but I suppose it has been almost a decade since he’d gone...you look just as I remember him.”
The man sifted through a row of records, and pulled out a 7” vinyl with a beat-up sleeve. He told me to “take this into the back and listen to side-B. You’ll find Gary’s vision.”
I put headphones on and placed the needle down. There was a thunderous sound, and a sickly-sweet voice came over the speakers. His voice was a vision in white and gold: an angel with a jagged-edge dagger. I sobbed, even after the track ended and the ambient sound of static took over. I felt someone stand in the doorway, and heard the old man speak to me.
“You can come here and listen to that any time, kid. You won’t find that kind of sound on any other single in the world.”
ENTRY XX:
I’ve been returning to the creatures in Creation Forest during some of my free time. My favorite place to go is the lake at night, when it glows fluorescently against the dark of the woods. I wonder if Ego’s creations find it as cathartic as I do.
Recently, I’ve watched Ego do a lot more experiments on aliens than humans. I’m not exactly sure how she obtains a lot of these creatures, but she works on them just the same. She is most often dissecting them to store their different body parts and organs in her massive walk-in freezer. I can’t say I’m particularly looking forward to our next inventory, with all of these new items to document.
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