Dark Dream || An E'Last Fanfic

DAY 1

DAY 1

Date: Feb 3

Emotion: Neutral?

Dear diary,

Ummm.

I've never done this sort of thing before.

And to be honest, I'm not entirely sure where to start. How do people go about writing in diaries? Does this come naturally to people? It certainly isn't coming naturally to me. I'm not usually someone who's.. Open. Like this. I don't even know how I should format this, how I should word what I write?

Should I write like I talk?

Should it be more formal?

Should I speak as if I'm talking directly to The Man? Directly to you? No, that sounds weird.

I was given a pen. I can't erase anything if I make a mistake, or change my mind on what to say. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Usually, The Man has a purpose for everything he does though, so I bet giving me a pen instead of a pencil was on purpose too. He thinks too hard about that sort of thing.

I guess I should start this by explaining why I'm doing it in the first place, right? That would make the most sense..

Um, okay. So today, I had to see The Man. The Man is someone I see on a regular basis, but I tend to lose track of the days in between each visit. All I know is that he's the only person I see, the only face I've familiarized myself with ever since coming here.

And I've been here a long time.

The Man is about my height, with a really thin frame and tired eyes that sit behind round rimmed glasses. His glasses sit so far down his nose that I'm almost always thinking they'll fall off. They never do, though. The Man is too professional to let anything like that happen.

He wears a coat sometimes. Not all the time, but every once in a while I'll see him in a long, white coat that reaches his knees. It's thin and has pockets that sit low, about where the pockets of his pants would be. It doesn't have a hood, or a zipper, and he never wears it buttoned up. It also doesn't look very warm, so I don't know why he wears it in the first place.

The room that he stays in is very different from mine. It's in the same building, so I don't have to go outside to see him, (not that I'd be allowed to anyways,) but the inside is so different that it doesn't feel like the two rooms should be as close as they are. He has a desk that sits in one corner of the room, but he almost never uses it, from what I've seen. There's a short table in the middle, and a couch in front of it. On the other side of the table are 2 arm chairs. It doesn't make sense for there to be 2 chairs, especially when he always takes up one of them, the same one, and I sit on the couch. The other one is always empty. A couple potted plants and paintings decorate the room, and it all feels very.. Comfortable. Homey. It has nice windows, and a door with a handle.

I'm not used to that. My room has no windows, no handle on the door.

But anyways, this morning I had to see The Man, so I entered his room, sitting on the same spot on the couch that I always do. I remember the first thing he said to me.

"You need help."

Uhhh, duh. As if I don't already know that. That's why I'm here in the first place, why I have to see him.

When I didn't say anything, he took it as his sign to continue.

He talked about things I barely understand. Told me that he thinks I've been getting worse. Talked about how he's concerned about my health, especially concerning my condition. It has a long name that I don't remember, but I guess that doesn't matter. No one will be reading this outside of The Man anyways, and he already knows.. These are all things I've heard before though, so to be honest, I didn't pay much attention to any of it.

But I did start paying attention when he showed me a book.

A small red notebook with too many lined pages and a blank cover. I don't like the color red. I wish it was blue instead. But he handed me the book, then a matching red pen that writes in dark black ink. He told me he wanted to "try something." It sounded like he was referring to me as some sort of lab rat, or guinea pig for an experiment. Who knows, maybe he was trying to make it sound that way.

The Man said that he'd noticed "mood swings" and "trouble distinguishing reality" from me lately, so he wanted to "see where they came from." He also mentioned something about "episodes." I didn't think his latest TV show had anything to do with me..

I really don't know what any of this means. I'm just quoting what he told me.

So he gave me this assignment. "Write in this book every day, once per day." He said, and pointed to the red book he had given me. "Treat it as your diary." And then he asked if I'd ever kept a diary before. I said no, which made him smile because "it's never too late to start."

"You have 20 days." He said. "20 days to write down everything. Then you'll be done."

He mentioned my honesty. One of my greatest traits, he called it. He told me to be honest with everything I wrote, to let out any emotion I was currently feeling.

That was the whole point of the thing.

Apparently, he really wants me to write down my feelings.

After telling me about the diary, and asking 123456789 too many times if I understood, he finally let me go. It was a nice time to see him, because I didn't have to be with him for very long, and he didn't berate me on everything I'm doing wrong. It was very different from how things normally go when I see him.

And then he let me go.

Book and pen in my hand, he let me go.

I haven't been allowed to hold a book, let alone a pen, for so long.

I'm sorry if my handwriting is hard to read. I'm still getting used to writing again.

There are rules to this, though. I can't have the book and pen all the time. When I do, there's someone watching me from outside my room. I think he's watching me closely, but I can barely see him through the bars in the door. And once I finish with the book, I have to return both materials to him. I can't leave my room, and I especially can't leave the building. Not that that's anything new, I've never been able to leave. And even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to. Ever since getting here, I've never left. Not once.  ̶T̶r̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶e̶s̶c̶a̶p̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶a̶n̶s̶ ̶d̶y̶i̶n̶g̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶I̶'̶d̶ ̶r̶a̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶m̶y̶s̶e̶l̶f̶.̶  Wait. Maybe I shouldn't say that. Stupid pen..

The one outside my door will let me write any time I want, for as long as I want. As long as he's watching me do it.

Maybe in the next 20 days, I'll do something with it other than just writing. We'll see.  ̶T̶h̶e̶ ̶p̶e̶n̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶g̶o̶o̶d̶ ̶s̶c̶a̶r̶.̶

But I guess the red book brings some color into my otherwise all white room, which is interesting. And it's nice to uncross my arms, to be able to hold something in my hands. Though my sleeves are so long they make it a little bit difficult.

Maybe this won't be so bad.

Or maybe that's just me "losing track of reality."

Whatever that means.

Signed,

Me.