5/1/13: JOURNAL ENTRY ONE
They told me I should write in this journal to help clear my mind. So here goes.
I'm walking along the ocean, for the first time in what seems like forever. I can smell the air, but can't really feel the wind or water on my face. Not any more. Never again, I think. Still, the smell is nice. I'm glad to be outside again.
I don't remember much of the before times. I also have no idea what will happen from here on. The in-between time, I remember. Each drill bit; each thing forced down my throat; each burning drop of acid, I remember. And the lasers... the lasers were the worst. I wish I could get the smell of my own burning flesh out of my mind. They tell me that will go away eventually. They tell me as long as I stay with their program I'll be clear-headed from now on. They tell me I'm ok to be walking around. I've got no restrictions any more. I never thought that would happen. I just hope I can keep myself moving, and keep the stillness out of me. I don't want to be trapped inside my own skin, ever again. I'd almost prefer the lasers to that.
They told me my name is Rex, but I've been calling myself... "Ironic." Nut much of a name, I know. But I like the word. It seems to fit me, in a number of ways. It was something one of the technicians said once during one of my sessions. He was laughing about how powerful I am, compared to what it does to me inside each time I use my so-called gifts. It also seems to describe me physically, since I look like I'm made of iron. Anyway, they said "Iron Man" was taken. I don't think I'll need Rex any more. I can't ever walk around without the burden of these powers -- without the stares and gasps and stupid admiration or scorn -- any more. I can't hide what I am now. No "secret identity" can give me a normal life. And I don't remember much of who Rex was, even if I wanted to hide behind him. Rex is, for all practical purposes, dead. Parts of him are probably still locked in my brain, but if they are, they are still hiding, and I don't know if I want to find them. So the world can just call me Ironic, for now. That way maybe I can get the joke, too.
At least I remember the ocean. I feel this place I have come to is familiar. I know I've been here before now. I even think I've been out on the ocean here, in a boat... or something. I think I've come to the place I was seeking. That mansion up there on the cliff.
They gave me back this little telephone thing along with the blue spandex outfit (ha) when I finally walked away. They told me I used to wear that uniform and carry this device, even in the dark times. It doesn't work any more (of course). It broke long ago, because of what I emit by way of energy. I guess I'll have to try to be more careful with myself now. Like me, this little device is powerful, but so fragile. Even without functioning, though, it still led me to this place.
I'm up the hill now, and standing on the front veranda. That garage and other building over there are familiar to me. But wasn't there security? Why hasn't it stopped me?
I think the people here might be able to help me. I think I was part of what they do here once. They told me I was a hero, but I don't remember how. I do know one thing -- I must do good again. I will do good again. I need to balance the scales before this thing that's eating me from the outside in finishes the job. I hope they can show me what I need.
I have nowhere else to turn.
There was security here. I can feel the cameras on me now. The urge to destroy them for what they are seeing is awakening in me. I should stop writing now and knock on the door.
May 1, 2013
I'm walking along the ocean, for the first time in what seems like forever. I can smell the air, but can't really feel the wind or water on my face. Not any more. Never again, I think. Still, the smell is nice. I'm glad to be outside again.
I don't remember much of the before times. I also have no idea what will happen from here on. The in-between time, I remember. Each drill bit; each thing forced down my throat; each burning drop of acid, I remember. And the lasers... the lasers were the worst. I wish I could get the smell of my own burning flesh out of my mind. They tell me that will go away eventually. They tell me as long as I stay with their program I'll be clear-headed from now on. They tell me I'm ok to be walking around. I've got no restrictions any more. I never thought that would happen. I just hope I can keep myself moving, and keep the stillness out of me. I don't want to be trapped inside my own skin, ever again. I'd almost prefer the lasers to that.
They told me my name is Rex, but I've been calling myself... "Ironic." Nut much of a name, I know. But I like the word. It seems to fit me, in a number of ways. It was something one of the technicians said once during one of my sessions. He was laughing about how powerful I am, compared to what it does to me inside each time I use my so-called gifts. It also seems to describe me physically, since I look like I'm made of iron. Anyway, they said "Iron Man" was taken. I don't think I'll need Rex any more. I can't ever walk around without the burden of these powers -- without the stares and gasps and stupid admiration or scorn -- any more. I can't hide what I am now. No "secret identity" can give me a normal life. And I don't remember much of who Rex was, even if I wanted to hide behind him. Rex is, for all practical purposes, dead. Parts of him are probably still locked in my brain, but if they are, they are still hiding, and I don't know if I want to find them. So the world can just call me Ironic, for now. That way maybe I can get the joke, too.
At least I remember the ocean. I feel this place I have come to is familiar. I know I've been here before now. I even think I've been out on the ocean here, in a boat... or something. I think I've come to the place I was seeking. That mansion up there on the cliff.
They gave me back this little telephone thing along with the blue spandex outfit (ha) when I finally walked away. They told me I used to wear that uniform and carry this device, even in the dark times. It doesn't work any more (of course). It broke long ago, because of what I emit by way of energy. I guess I'll have to try to be more careful with myself now. Like me, this little device is powerful, but so fragile. Even without functioning, though, it still led me to this place.
I'm up the hill now, and standing on the front veranda. That garage and other building over there are familiar to me. But wasn't there security? Why hasn't it stopped me?
I think the people here might be able to help me. I think I was part of what they do here once. They told me I was a hero, but I don't remember how. I do know one thing -- I must do good again. I will do good again. I need to balance the scales before this thing that's eating me from the outside in finishes the job. I hope they can show me what I need.
I have nowhere else to turn.
There was security here. I can feel the cameras on me now. The urge to destroy them for what they are seeing is awakening in me. I should stop writing now and knock on the door.
May 1, 2013
posted by C. Cicconi at 9:43 PM
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