KAMIDE V. THE BOOK

[The case of Kenneth Kamide has finally been made open to the public for their viewing. The following is a recount of Kamide’s experiences, per his personal journal entries, that we feel are contextual to his current trial. These were extracted from his home as use of evidence. ]

February 14, 2014

The world lacks righteousness. It demands change. I’m stuck in a stagnant cycle, looped on end like a washing cycle that’s jutting my brain to escape. Escape. High school doesn’t help dissuade this feeling.

February 15, 2014

Alright. Maybe I was a little melodramatic yesterday. I was walking around during lunch today, moping around. You see, yesterday I asked out a crush of mine that looked remarkably similar to Alanis Morissette (I’m a huge fan). She also smelled citrus-y, like bubbling Sprite. I had to ask her out.

She said no. At first, I thought that was my catalyst to change the world, but no, I was wrong. Instead, it was a catalyst to walk through the school courtyard and find this little black book.

It was just there in the grass. No one around. The book itself was very inviting with its soft, pristine leather.

I wasn’t disappointed. Beyond that. Elated. Truthfully, I would dispel the contents, but I’m awful at reciting stories. It’s the very reason why my friends never watch the movies I recommend to them.

Abhorrent, short-sighted, and very lacking in cohesion.

I suggested to my friend Parasite by Bong Joon Ho. Even after it won Best Picture at the Oscars, he refused to watch it.

And if I re-wrote what’s in the book? I’m not an advocate for plagiarism, thank you.

But this. This is world-changing. I don’t know how to tell one that this isn’t fiction. I’m usually a skeptic. I’d even check the contents of a plate of food at the most luxurious Michelin star restaurant to see if it was mishandled.

Safe to say, the contents left me spellbound to not second-guess it. It was the absolute truth.

If someone had this, if someone could apply the contents with the knowledge they knew very well at hand, they could make a fortune. The world would be at their fingertips.

February 16, 2014

Visited an investor’s firm. The owner, a friend of my dad’s, always rambled about how much money he made. Money I could get with this book.

As Dad’s away, I had to take this into my own hands and visit his friend.

His name was Mr. Bo, if I recalled from the plaque. Few dark brown spots scattered on his bald head and naturally tense brow.

I slammed the book down on the desk, grasping Bo’s full attention.

He flipped through the pages rapidly after I explained myself to calm his irritancy. The hyperactive page-flipping slowed towards the middle half. The numbers must’ve grasped his attention, relating to stocks and all (I guess).

He turned back to the beginning. His eyes that were once zigzagging now bobbed back and forth like the laser of a scanning machine. He shot his attention back to me and asked if it was true. “You better not be shitting me” were more accurate words.

I assured him with such confidence as if I did everything in the book already.

Bo didn’t question it. I could tell he too was entranced, becoming more convinced with each new page. It wasn’t hypnosis. It was the truth everyone wished they had.

“How much?” he asked.

“1 million dollars.”

He agreed immediately, sending me $20,000 per month for the next 50 months.

As soon as I arrived home, $20,000 flashed onto my bank account.

IT WORKED! My knees were shaking. No, they’re shaking even if I stood up on these toothpick pieces of flesh now.

I’m relishing this euphoria. Truly. I’m gonna get WASTED, and then Alanis Morissette will fall in love with me.

[February 17 thru March 15 have been redacted from this report due to having little to no relation with Mr. Kamide’s trial. This includes his painstaking, unrequited love for the Alanis Morissette crush, apartment-hunting, partying with his alleged friends, and traveling to Bangladesh. ]

March 16, 2014

Just take me back to Bangladesh already. Especially after what transpired today…

I didn’t get my other 20K yet, so I called the firm. Bo is dead. Of natural causes.

…Natural causes, MY ASS! I should’ve known that book was connected to something as batshit crazy as the Illuminati. Who else would be aware of that kind of bullshit?! Here I was excusing it as mysticism.

I’m pathetic. Stupid. But, most of all, paranoid. This is all I can work up for today. For the love of God, I hope this doesn’t bring my family into this. What’s worse is all that money I was expecting is kaput.

March 17, 2014

It’s nighttime now. Thinking. I pondered a lot last night as well. Planning to pass out right after this as I only slept for 4 hours…

I decided to put my expenses into hiring a detective. I can’t shake off the fear that there’s someone in every dark corner, lurking behind every shadow, my shadow particularly, to wait until I’m isolated enough to die. Or maybe they’re enjoying as I squirm around in this mindset.

The detective’s name is Cons. She’s tall and extremely fit. Or she knows her choice of clothing to make that illusion. I digress, but I explained to her my situation.

Her breath reeked of wine as she asked all the clarifying questions to make the mental math equating to her custom quote.

Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned how much I made (or at least lie about it), as Cons charged me $14,500. I tried begging, pleading, seducing, nothing worked.

She knew I was at an emotional high. I needed help, and Cons was there to do it. I agreed to her terms. She proceeded to detail all the technical blah blah etc. etc. and showed me photos of the rest of her team involved with this.

I just don’t wanna die. The least I can do with the rest of the money is buy a gun for self-protection.

March 19, 2014

Fucking. Hell.

I was in such a shock yesterday that I couldn’t write. There goes my streak.

The ride home from school was tedious since I ended up making an excuse to buy myself a gun. I had to take the city bus back home, where the closest stop still gave me a couple of miles to trek.

I got off my stop, stepping into a crowded sidewalk. Dense, I maneuvered through every crevice to others trudged through like clockwork.

A pull from the back of my head urged me to turn around. An instinct that felt like someone was watching me, only it wasn’t fun and groovy like the Michael Jackson song.

I saw nothing. The urge lingered. Maybe it was the sudden beat of boots knocking against the concrete that kept me alert. My memory of the crowd surrounding me remained crisp in detail.

The boots started knocking again, and that’s when I saw him. He wore a dark blazer over his broad physique and blue denim jeans of proportional stature, ending down to black boots that overlapped the washed denim. His eyes shrouded by triangular shades.

He was the only one there before and now, in the same stance. I know it. Not walking but standing by the edge of the sidewalk. Checking his wristwatch, staring across the street.

I’m an overthinking fool, but I know well enough to notice this man darting his eye to the corner for a millisecond. This fraction seems like a blur from so many feet away. His eyes were set on me.

It was the assassin. I was certain.

I decided to end it before I arrived home.

Eventually, the sidewalk connects to a shopping plaza with very few passersby. It was my only chance to sneak around to the vacant lot in the back and use the gun.

I just got this gun. Shit, the most practice I’ve had was Time Crisis 2 at the arcades. I suck at that game. Then again, so do most people.

Played the scenario in my head multiple times, tried to hype myself and get into character like all of those method actors, y’kno? But when I turned into the lot, deafened by those boots stomping against the pavement, I froze.

There was this awful grasp around my neck, forcing my breath shallow. The man’s shadow cast over me.

‘I’m gonna die.’ Instinct flooded me like overpowering headlights.

My eyes were closed, but I recall hearing 5 shots through my ringing eardrums. One flew through his cheek that I first thought was a birthmark.

His face rung the feeling of Déjà vu when I removed his shades.

It was one of Con’s detectives.

Unbelievable. Maybe it’ll blow over. But I’ll be stuck with this, this memory imprinted, for the rest of my life, a part of my lexicon’s subtext.

What would Alanis Morissette think about this? Fuck.

[The remaining transcript is from Mr. Kamide’s testimonial per interrogation.

Allegedly, Ms. Cons contacted Mr. Kamide on the status of his case on March 20th. Ms. Cons stated that she and her team, sans one member, confirmed getting closer to a lead, even receiving the original book itself. She acknowledged that her group was astonished by the book’s contents.

On March 21st, Mr. Kamide arrived home from school to be confronted by a man in his bedroom wearing a black suit blotched with pink ink, resembling bleach stains.

The man introduced himself as Hyde Rose. Research confirmed he was working with the CIA on Mr. Bo and his co-workers’ death once details of the book emerged.

Allegedly, the book was a [REDACTED] that Mr. Rose dropped out of the helicopter. Mr. Rose, per Mr. Kamide, lamented that this led him to a penalty that canceled his trip to Bangladesh.

Mr. Kamide assured Mr. Rose that Bangladesh was refreshing around this time of year.

Allegedly (once again), Mr. Rose confirmed to Mr. Kamide there was no assassin. Mr. Rose held on to only one page: the instructions. This page stated that ‘whoever speaks about the writings of the book aloud will die in 10 minutes.’ (Mr. Kamide refused to say it out loud)

Mr. Hyde allegedly explained to Mr. Kamide that he provided Ms. Cons the book in exchange for Mr. Kamide’s whereabouts.

Mr. Hyde explicitly stated not to read the text aloud.

Mr. Kamide confirmed that Ms. Cons confirmed yesterday that she confirmed discussing the contents of the book with her team. Mr. Rose was instantly irate, terrifying Mr. Kamide.

A gunshot fired from Mr. Rose, hitting Mr. Kamide in the shoulder. Mr. Kamide hysterically begged for his life (allegedly). Mr. Rose remarked on his contempt for killing, but ‘cleaning the slate’ was necessary for his job position, and most importantly, his dream vacation to Bangladesh.

Mr. Kamide presumed his following words were his last and that he was very adamant he said this. He allegedly told Mr. Hyde to think of him as he got “food poisoning in Bangladesh, motherfucker.”

Before Mr. Hyde could pull the trigger, the agent suddenly went limp, and his eyes slowly rolled to the back of his head. Mr. Kamide deduced that the instructions also had the same effect as the rest of the book, leading to Mr. Hyde’s death.

Simultaneously, police found the investigator’s body after a 911 call over a rotten smell, followed by finding Mr. Kamide’s fingerprints at the crime scene. Within 30 minutes, Mr. Kamide was raided at his household.

As of 2021, the book’s effects resulted in a death count of 56,861 people (still counting), all dying from symptoms similar to the initial deaths. Mr. Kamide has been very apologetic and has asked if Alanis Morissette will see this.

He awaits final sentencing. ]