[Del]'s Diary

ENTRY SIXTY-FIVE

Fill came in today, swinging the door wide open, and saying, “Come on, Del, up and at ‘em.”

I looked up at him and said, “What did you call me?”

He looked around both ways, and said, “Nothing.”

“You did, you called me Del.”

“Yeah, short for Deleted. That’s your name isn’t it?”

I thought about this for a moment, and I could feel the rat twitching its tail in my stomach. “Yes, it is now.” I replied and I got up and followed him to the Doc.

The Doc made me do more paper and pencil tests. He even vacated the room at one point. On the desk, he left the notebook he always wrote in. I stood up quickly and peered down. The top half of the page was just general comments on the answers I had given. A paragraph at the end of the page stated: “Subject demonstrates extraordinary echo memory capabilities. Short and long term memory functions are inhibited, most likely from...” I went to turn the page to read the rest, but I could hear the Doc returning so I quickly sat down again.

On the way back to my room, I asked Fill, “Does the Doc know you read my journal?”

Fill smiled and said, “I suppose he does.”

“He’s instructed you to read it?”

“No.”

“But he lets you.”

“The Doc turns a blind eye to a lot of things, lest of all me reading somebody’s precious diary.”

I pursed my lips at that. He regarded me with one eyebrow raised. “Do you want me to stop?” he wistfully inquired.

“Oh, what do I care,” I replied sullenly.

“Good. Because I wasn’t going to regardless,” he said as he swung my door open.

I stepped inside. The door closed. I got Logos out and my pen and wrote this down: Eat Shit, Fill.

[Deleted]