Crimson Journal

1-1-1

I don't remember much. I just remember that we had to stay in the light. Be it natural or artificial. Out of the shadows, out of the dark, out of the night.

There was speculation about what would happen if we went into the darkness. Everyone said we would die. That's all anyone can say about it. The lights have never gone out before. Not even when we go to sleep. So how would we know? That's what they told us as we came here. The ones in white clothing and white masks.

Everyone here is more or less resigned to this life. No one actually gets into an argument or fight. We all have our individual rooms and trinkets. Which I guess is nice.

I don't remember where I got my trinkets from. They're just toy army soldiers, jacks, and dice. Others can remember where they got theirs from. But they only remember vague locations like amusement parks, carnivals, stores, parties, or just miscellaneous objects that they just found somewhere. My friend, Aubrey, has so many that they extend into her bathroom and closet. My other friend, Bryan, I think his actual name is pronounced Bri-san but everyone just calls him Bryan, has sporty trinkets. Like trophy's, medals, soccer balls, footballs, baseballs. Some are autographed but I don't know who the people that have signed them are. There are also jerseys, padding, a helmet, even a wooden and metal baseball bat. The wooden one is also autographed but by someone, who even if we did know, we can't read because it's like looking at chicken scratch. Impossible.

I guess the only reason we have our trinkets is to give us some personal identity. Give us a glimpse into who we used to be and what we liked. Mostly they just leave us confused and frustrated. A reminder that there was a before that we can't fully remember, a person that was us but is not us. I know about some people who just stare at them, the trinkets, for hours on end. Trying to make sense of them. Trying but failing.

Bryan used to do that a lot before taking his frustration out on them. Getting his metal bat and smashing the trophies, there's a lot of them, until he's all spent out and shoves them into the depths of his closet, along with the medals, so that he doesn't have to look at achievements he never remembered winning. Aubrey says she doesn't remember where she got her trinkets from or what they mean at all either. Though when I see her with her trinkets she always has an expression of attachment but none at all. Just smiling as she plays or messes around with them without complete understanding of what they are.

Myself...I just leave my trinkets where they are. Sometimes I fiddle with them, but mostly I just leave them alone. Except for this one.

To the extent of my knowledge, I am the only one with a journal or a book for that matter. So I have taken it upon myself to write in this whatever I see fit to write.

I have a journal for a reason, and I may not remember what that reason is particularly, but I will use it for its purpose and write.