The Phoenix's Journal

Chapter 7: December 7

-September 4- December 7

I looked back on my journal entries. I don't remember what Tape Man looked like. Did I remember at the time? How could my memory shift so quickly? From knowing who he is to not even recognizing a face... What else have I forgotten?

Tape Man came by just as I finished writing. I let him inside because it is FREEZING out there, and he seemed quite cold- his cheeks and nose were red! He seemed very polite excusing the many objects strewn about the house.

"You didn't have to do this for me, Agent," he said as he sat down on the couch. I sat next to him in the chair. I smiled and waved my hand, brushing it off.

His eyes wandered to the box of tapes on the floor next to the chair. "Have you been listening to those?" I nodded, going to dig through to grab the tapes I know. "Those are old tapes, heheh.. You've done a lot more things since. I should probably update them..."

I pulled out the first three tapes and splayed them to him like a hand of cards.

"Only these three...?" I nodded.

"...yeah, those tapes are pretty old. Way before the Death Engine, and DEFINITELY the... well. Never mind."

Journal, pray tell me this: what the FUCK is a DEATH ENGINE

"What... DO you remember? Iiif you don't mind me asking, that is..."

I couldn't do much in response besides hand him the journal. It is the only thing I can remember, of course.

He paged through the journal, and a part of me worried. This diary is very special to me- it was as if he stripped me of my bare essentials and read my heart, even if I don't remember all the passages. My face was hot- it was just a little too intimate of a moment. His expression shifting through confusion, worry, surprise. I hope he enjoyed the pages...

He eventually looked back up after what felt like an eternity, and his face flicked from curiosity to surprise.

"Oh- Agent! Your cheeks are red. Are you alright?" His comment didn't seem to help- I only felt warmer. I nodded my head furiously.

"Oh... okay." He then muttered to himself, "Tape Man, hehehehehe," while paging back through the journal. Please excuse my violating you, journal.

"This is very interesting, Agent. How long had you been keeping this?"

I shrugged. The date and time seemed completely nebulous to me.

"You weren't home between... hmmmm....."

An idea came to mind, and I left for my room where the calendar was. The beginning of this journal was when that first day was marked- a red circle around August 23, so I had reason to write that down as the date. But looking at the settings of the calendar and the pretty pictures on it, I think I have reason to assume it is NOT September.

I showed the calendar to him, and pointed to the circled August 23, then to the most recent day.

"Oh! Well, Agent, it.. isn't September." He smirked. "Here, I'll circle the correct one for you." He then flipped to the last page of the calendar- there was a pretty blueish picture at the top with these weird red hats in it- and circled one of the boxes with a pen from his pocket. I will go back now and check to make sure what the date is.

I wonder why no date beyond August 23 was marked. Was I gone for a while? Where did I go? Is it the same year? How have I been living without this journal?

He kept looking through the journal. "Are you consistent with your writing?"

Only gods could know that; I shrugged. How could I know?