Day 1
Posted by Drew | Filed under The Diary of Bobby Jones
January 5th, 2002. 3:45 a.m.
(…I think it’s the 5th, anyway.)
Dear Diary,
Probably not the best way to start this, but at this point I really don’t care. I woke up about an hour ago. Not sure where I am. It’s a small, dark room no more then maybe 12 by 12 feet. Whoever took me was nice enough to at least leave me a bed, desk and candles. Oh, and this stack of papers and pens, real creative. Ok, I need to stop for a minute.
My name is Robert Patrick Jones. Bobby to most. A few years ago I had some therapy and the dude said it’d help if I wrote down my thoughts every now and then. So I guess it’s either listen to the shrink or drew silly pictures to pass the time. I have to be honest, after my third picture I couldn’t draw anything that didn’t involve being dead. So maybe this will be a more positive solution to my boredom/paranoia.
So let’s take a step back and figure out how I got here. I was in gym class, my last class of the day. Stacey Montgomery winked at me. That was nice. Writing and retracing your steps is harder than I thought.
Ok. Gym, then changed, walking down the hall and… here. I guess I can rule out alien clowns. It’s probably the principal. Old bastard. Maybe not though, I’m sure he’d leave a textbook or something to torture me more. Or it could be Mary!! That’s my sister to whoever finds this… (wow and now we’re back to being negative). I doubt she’d do this either, she’s not crafty enough. Plus this place smells too much like ass.
So I guess what I’m thinking now is, how am I going to get out? I’ve checked the walls, there is no door or anything. Just a small vent on the ceiling so I don’t suffocate. How thoughtful. There isn’t any food though. I’m pretty sure that will become a problem later on. I think I’ll go take a walk or something. Walking in circles always seemed to help me in these situations. (The sarcasm… it burns!)
Your new best friend,
Bobby
January 5th, 2002. 5:00 a.m.
Dear Roomie,
I figure if I refer to the stack of papers I’m writing on as a living thing it will help me cope. Kind of like how Tom Hanks did with that volleyball. I’m not sure what to name my stack of papers though. Not really too familiar with paper brands. Maybe I’ll call you Dunder. Not as logical as Wilson but that’s fine.
My neck has been really sore since I woke up. But when I run my hand over it, there’s just numbness. Wish I had a mirror or something to take a look. Better lighting would help too. Am I too picky? I figure if I’m going to be held captive I’m entitled to a few things right? Probably not. I wonder what my parents are doing. I’m sure they must be worried about me by now. Mom is probably crying in the kitchen while Dad paces around, grumbling about how much of an idiot I am for not coming home. Ah, the good life.
I’ve tried to go back to sleep but it gets too warm in here. I’m hot as-is, and lying down just makes everything hotter. Maybe I’m getting a fever or something. Yippee. I’m sure puking in the corner is quite sanitary. I hope it is, because I’ve already done it twice. I don’t remember eating that much though.
I drew another silly picture. This time a bunch of insects flew down and ate me. Maybe they poisoned me first and numbed me. That would be cool but then I’d be conscious as they ate my body. Probably not good for the ol’ self esteem. I wonder what it would be like to die. Might have to start thinking about it more often… I really want to get out of here.
The bored and lonely and confused,
Bobby
Jan, 5, 02 10a.m.ish
Why are you killing me?
It hurts so bad. My sides feel like they are caving in. I spent the last hour screaming and crying. Hard to write while doing that. I’m sweating like crazy and I’m burning up. It just finally settled down enough for me to get out of bed. Though I don’t think I’ll be moving again for a while. I think the writing helps me calm down. Dunder is a shitty name.
I threw up again. The smell is horrible in here. I saw a little of it from the candle light. Looked red. Tasted metallic too. Probably a bad sign. I miss home. I miss Mom. I miss Dad. I miss the stupid brat who I would give anything to see. I miss the dog. I even miss him taking a crap all over the carpet. Looking back it was actually easier to clean then I complained about. I don’t want to die. It hurts so much but I still don’t want to die. Now my hand is shaking.
I guess I’m just hoping that after I die someone finds this and gives it to my family. I want them to know how much I miss them. How much I love them. Then again if my captor is still around then I doubt that will happen… I still hope though. Hope is a poison. But it’s all I have.
Your death wish,
Bobby
January 5th, 2002 4:13 p.m.
Dear Toilet Paper Monster,
Well that was a nice nap. Granted I probably just passed out from all the pain, but naps are still nice. Has the room gotten bigger? I got up and walked around a minute ago and just felt like there was more space to move around in. I measured it though, just about 12 by 12. That probably shouldn’t be my concern considering the fact the walls are waving back and forth. I’m finding it hard to stand so that’s probably just a hallucination. I always thought tripping would be kind of like this only I still have my right mind. At least that’s what I tell myself. It’s probably very unnatural that I keep digging my finger into my neck.
Oh yea, forgot to mention that part. I found two small holes right near my jugular. It’s not bleeding as much as you’d expect… it’s not bleeding at all. It’s a little odd, before I passed out I wanted nothing more then to die (except for all that crying I did about not dying), now I feel as if I don’t even belong here.
Maybe I was drugged! Yes, that has to be it. Maybe they stuck something into my neck and injected some kind of crazy LSD rip-off. And then did it again? Not likely. But nothing has made sense this whole time. Why imprison me and not even say anything? Don’t they need some information for ransom? Wait… ransom? No way, my parents aren’t that rich. Unless they are really secret agents secretly saving the world from secret evil. If so they must be doing a lousy job.
Your Melancholy Prince,
Bobby
January 5th, 2002 8:10 p.m.
(Why do I keep putting the year? Like a year is just going to magically go by? Oh great, now I’m arguing with myself, that’s healthy.)
Dear bestest buddy in the whole wide room,
Embarrassing story: I got enough strength to stand up again, only to find that I took a massive crap in my pants. I don’t know what’s more disturbing, the fact I didn’t feel it until now or the fact that it smells really really bad. Probably the smell. I think I feel good enough to go lie down. Probably won’t sleep much, but maybe tomorrow will bring new answers. Or a coma, that would be cool right about now. I wonder how cave people dealt with comas. Probably the same way they dealt with gnawed off limbs: “Take two leaves, see me tomorrow, your wife hot.” It’s fun to dream.
So concludes my first day in captivity. I think I’m doing okay… better than this morning, anyway. Maybe I can make whoever took me so bored he (or she… see, I’m no sexist) will let me go. I enjoy a good laugh. Goodnight faithful diary. I am off to fight Captain Terror and avenge the sea-people. (Really odd dream I had when I was 10). By the way, did it get colder in here?
Sweetest dreams from the Warrior of Ni,
Bobby
November 17th, 2008 at 2:12 pm
Interesting. I like. A little confused, but that’s the point right now I think
Definately attention catching. And I’m curious as hell to see what happens, who took him, what they did… what’s happening do him…
Will continue to check in and read!
<3<3
November 19th, 2008 at 1:02 pm
I think I caught the hints. Come on, Robin, I think it’s rather obvious.
Unless Drew is planting false leads.
DAMN YOU, DREW!
Awesome concept, though. It’s a good read. But do the editing thing some more - caught a few typos.
November 20th, 2008 at 1:18 am
I’ll take another pass—I did go through it pretty quickly. Some errors are intentional, though, and were left alone at Drew’s request. It’s a kid’s journal after all, and under all that posturing he’s pretty freaked out.
November 21st, 2008 at 1:09 am
Yea, I’m working on part 2. The whole reason for this is the give a detailed look at the transformation from human to vamp. I doubt any kid would write a journal in this situation lol.
November 21st, 2008 at 11:55 am
Eric is just OCD ignore any and all comments he makes about any kind of typos. I read through just find and understood it and got it =P
and yes… after i thought about it i got it Eric. It is a very cool idea to do this Drew <3
can’t wait to read more <3