Unforgettable Memories/ Henry Creel

014

"Signed, Henry Creel."

———

   On my coffee table was all of the paints I bought a while back. There was a yellow and gray color that I knew I was going to use for my little project, but I was still having trouble choosing between the pink and the blue.

I fiddled with the ring on my thumb that I intended to give to Peter as a gift. I lift my hand up so I can look at the ring once more. Maybe it was stupid to get him something, but being stuck in the lab since he was a young boy he probably didn't get anything.

My eyes go to the coral color. The pink was pretty, but thinking about it now, it was too flamboyant.

With that thought, I decide on the blue. It was a nice azure that set this calming feeling across your body when you looked at it for a while. It made me feel safe.

I pull my hair back into a pony tail before grabbing the blue paint bottle and pouring the color all over the monstrosity hanging in my living room.

The radio was playing in the back ground. I have no idea what this song was, but it had me swaying and spinning around like a tween at their first homecoming.

"And if, you don't love me now, you will never love me again."

I was very underprepared for this project, not having picked out brushes or anything. Because of this I decided to use my hands, not caring about the mess. Instead only caring about getting this eyesore covered up.

By the time the chorus of the song came on again I began singing certain parts that stuck with me.

"I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain."

Something I know for sure is that I wasn't in a choir before my memory loss. I sounded like a dying animal, but that didn't stop me from belting it out.

Much to my dismay, the song came to an end. Another song came on that wasn't as good as the one before, but it was still enjoyable.

"Welcome to the hotel California."

I picked up the gray bottle, putting some onto my hands before smearing it next to the blue, blending it together.

After a while I finished the painting. It wasn't very good. It was blue and gray on the outside, leading to the center where there was a big yellow circle. Boring, maybe, but I was still proud of it none less.

I walked over to the kitchen sink, washing my paint covered hands.

The song came to an end, the artist singing, "You can check out any time you'd like, but you can never leave."

———

I was laying on my stomach atop my bed, about to delve into the young boys journal I picked up at that creepy house.

Opening the front cover, I scan over the name of the owner before continuing.

I flip the next page, finding the first entry.

It's hard for me to relate to people. I've always felt that I've been different from the rest of society, especially my family. On the outside, we are a happy family with a hard working father and a caring mother, but only I really know the truth about the happenings of the inside.
My father is a murderer. Maybe it was a misunderstanding, but the lives he took were too valuable to be summed up to something as innocent as a misunderstanding. My mother is insanely paranoid... she thinks I'm tearing this family apart from the inside out, she thinks I'm insane. They all deserve the worst, even my bystander sister for her obliviousness. I aim to teach them a lesson.
In normal circumstances that would be difficult considering I am but a boy, but I am no normal circumstance.
Moving to this hell hole of a house has awakened this ability in me. Let me rephrase... these abilities.
I'm not sure exactly what they are, or how I acquired them, but I believe that I was given them for a reason. That reason being to punish my family for their wrongdoings.
I've already begun this reckoning by planting these illusions into my parents brains, making them aware of what they have done. My mother, suspecting that I was the cause behind their visons, has been sending me to therapy. That is the reason I've been required to start this journal in the first place.
She think that I've gone crazy, harnessing the power of Satan, or some nonsense like that. Little does she know that I'm just as sane as she, except I've broken free of the prison the world has placed us in.
We are all born to die. Our only purpose is to reproduce. I refuse to conform to that narrative. I was put on this earth to do way more than die.

I was put here to reform the world.

There will not be a second entry to this journal because I find it stupid and a waste of time. The chances of anyone reading this is slim to none, but if someone by chance does end up reading this, think of it as a manifesto of sorts.

Signed,
Henry Creel.

I flip to the next page of the journal, finding it to be empty.

"What a fucked up kid." I said aloud to myself.

I close the journal, placing on my bedside table. I tuck myself beneath the comforter, not looking forward to having to work tomorrow.

———

i'm actually ok with this chapter. i think it's the best one i've written.

next chapter will be the last one in act one. soon after i post that chapter, updates will be every wednesday and saturday instead of everyday.