[Del]'s Diary

ENTRY THIRTY-SEVEN

I remember what the ceiling ocean is called now. It is a one way glass. Used in interrogation rooms. They are watching down on me. Like I’m a rat.

I’m actually writing this underneath the bed. I might as well stay here until Fill comes, if he does.

Last night I dreamt of monkeys in cages dying while I watch inside the wiry man's body that is always falling in my dreams. I know I should be proud of my accomplishment, getting monkeys to die effectively, but instead, I feel full of deep regret. And fear. I try to connect my suspicious suicide from the other dream with the monkeycide in this one but it seems to be a stretch. I don’t feel suicidal at all. Only: like my conscience is being pricked by this on some level that doesn’t have anything to do with monkeys in cages.

Perhaps these aren’t dreams or memories at all. Perhaps, the four people I dream of every night — Sugar, Hunter, the student, and this man who falls and lies on the pavement — are all imprisoned in my mind for crimes they have committed. And I am their jail.

And maybe they are my prison as well.

[Deleted]