The Pinecone Killer

Entry 1: The Cedar Child

March 16th, 1963

It doesn't take long to fall fifty-six feet. For some, it takes an even shorter amount of time to fall six feet under.  Pessimism can often times be as overwhelming as the empty bottle of wine on your desk that you swore at least had a few drops left in it. Optimism? It looks great on a self-help book, but you wouldn't catch my fingerprints anywhere near that section of the library. 

I'm the kind of writer who can gaze off into the distance, observing people at a cafe, jotting down notes, describing things that would melt your mind and suck sleep from your lungs and lips. I might smile at a passer by, while writing about my cleanup chemicals of choice. The best part is the illusion that they might think for a second that we are similar.

We most definitely are not similar. You and I are most definitely not similar. I digress, shall we get started?

Imagine the aesthetically pleasing pine forest, the kind you see in art and photography.  Vast, green in the front, dark in the distance. Beautiful during the day, terrifying at night. Smell the cedar with me. As a child, I had the luxury of a forest like this as my back yard. My folks were quite wealthy, and so it was never anything special to me when I had nice things. I did have nice things. When you have nice things, you don't have an idea of desire, you only really have nice things you replace. You only fill a void that's never full. It's lonely having everything you want because it's nothing you can really complain about. I found my satisfaction in venturing into the forest of my parent's estate, getting lost, and climbing trees. It was the thrill of wondering if I would ever find my way back, and if my parents would ever care if I didn't. 

It was always about the thrill. It was about actually having nothing for once. I enjoyed picking a spot in the horizon and going towards it until I felt like I was there. Sometimes this was 30 minutes, sometimes it was a few hours. Eventually, I became familiar with areas of the forest, favoring some spots more than others. One particular spot, which I nicknamed Glade 9, was my absolute favorite spot. The grass was so soft, I could lay without a blanket and observe the canopy so high above. It was similar to how you look at the clouds, and they look absurdly close, but at the same time, very distant. 

I always liked the idea of going to places I know I shouldn't. I wanted to be in that canopy. For once, I wanted to look down and see what life looked like. Everyday, I imagined seeing myself looking back up from below, locking eyes with the better, more superior me. Nobody was there to stop me from climbing the tallest tree there. In fact, I could hear the wind and the birds of the trees cheering me on, each time climbing, a little bit higher than the previous day, seeing the canopy open more and more as I got closer. Once, I remember Frederic Chopin playing in my head as I neared the top. I recall looking down and seeing a smaller version of everything. My heart jumped and my palms were sweaty, as I immediately clung onto the tree. I felt overwhelming fear like never before, and for the first time, I wanted nothing more than to be back in the now, greener grass. I began desperately attempting to climb back down, now intoxicated by fear and panic.

"Congrats fuck-face." I whispered under my breath to try and calm myself down. A nervous laugh. I looked down again. It's when my hand lost grip, my weight pulling me as I fell a good 10 feet, chest first into the branch below. It knocked the wind out of me as the impact flipped me back first on the remainder of the way down. Hitting and crunching branches that I couldn't see, I could feel my parts of my body breaking. I can't forget how loud it was when my head smacked into unbreakable branches.  It felt like forever, because there's no feeling like falling.

I always liked the idea of going to places I know I shouldn't. For the first time, I couldn't feel the grass beneath me. I couldn't feel or move anything. My brain wasn't really functioning, as much as it was just...observing. I could see myself up in the canopy looking down at the now, inferior version of myself. It didn't take long before I realized that I could no longer breathe. Things get so dark when you can't breathe.

It doesn't take long to fall fifty-six feet. For some, it takes even shorter amount of time to fall six feet under. Nobody told me that it would feel like forever to accept the fact that I was dying.