[Untitled]

02.05.2011

My name is Clyde Michaels. I am 27 years old and from Detroit. I am in a small, square-shaped room. I have no idea where I am. Every single wall, including the ceiling and floor, is a mirror. There are no doors. There are no windows. Just my own reflection. Everywhere. I can see a digital clock on the ceiling. It also has the date, and shows if it is AM or PM. I am chained to the wall, but I can move around the room for the most part. I am not sure how long I have been here. I am given a water bottle and some bread every day. It's here when I wake up. Not much food, not much water. Bread is stale and the water tastes funny. I have to ration everything out otherwise I spend the rest of the day hungry and thirsty. I relieve myself in a corner. There is only hay, at least it's changed out often. I can't manage to stay awake long enough to see who is entering and how. All I can to do is look at the clock, look at myself, or write in this little black book.

02.06.2011

I don't have much energy to write, pretty sure my water is drugged to keep me sedated. Trapped. Held captive. Framed. That was months ago. Or weeks? I was tricked. I'll tell my story even if it's the last thing I do. This little book appeared on my work desk one afternoon. Inside, it offered me $20,000 in exchange for the completion of some small jobs. Once I registered the money was mine, but I couldn't cash it out until I did those jobs. Probably a scam, but it had contact information inside. Not to mention, my coworker Brett Kennedy said a friend of his came across the same thing a few years ago. He said it was something rich guys did to help out us regular folk. Not sure how it landed on my desk, but I registered on a library website. Apparently, that's how they operate. Getting tired, more tomorrow.

02.09.2011

The book, quill, and ink have been gone for two days. All I could do was stare at my reflection, and talk to myself. I think someone is reading what I write. I got a tiny bit more bread today. Water still tastes funny. They want me to write. I'm sure of it. I'm unaware of what they want, but they are not an organization of nice rich guys helping people.

I did three jobs for them. Three jobs and I ended up here.

1. I picked up two guys and dropped them off to a gun range.

2. I was instructed to drop off a cake at a kids birthday.

3. I was given a package and told to go to Henry Ford Hospital and deliver it to Mr. Bartholomew Kerrigan.

The rule was that my cell phone had to be turned off. I could only use the phone they provided me with after I registered. After I finished my easy tasks my employer put me up in a nice hotel as a thank you. I'm not going to say no to that. Besides, I live alone. They also gave me an envelope with the $20,000. I get into my room and turn on my phone. Calls. Texts. Emails. Tags. Links. My face. Me. Me. Me. Murderer. Serial Killer. Domestic Terrorist.

My home was on the news, they were there looking for me. I tried to call my mom. Calls won't go through. Tried to text my girlfriend. Texts won't send. Michigan was on high alert. 67 people were killed. 21 in critical condition. Dozens more wounded, missing, or the severity of their wounds unknown. My DNA and fingerprints were all found at the crime scenes. Security footage captured me in all locations.

There was a knock at my hotel door. I was panicking, but I opened it. I can't recall anything else after that.

02.14.2011

It's only been one day but the clock says it's the 14th. That can't be right. I wrote a journal entry yesterday, slept, and I'm writing today. They have to be messing with the clock.. or drugging me beyond comprehension. I have to finish proving my innocence. I'm probably not going to make it out of here alive.

Let's start at my first job. I was delivered a cell phone the day after I registered. It was my day off. I got a call and was given a few addresses to write down and go to. I was given the names of two guys, Bryan and Keith. I arrived to pick them up. Two regular looking dudes. Both White, looked my age. They said they needed to be dropped off at a gun range in Madison Heights. Easy enough. They had a big duffle bag; I assumed it was their guns they planned on shooting at the range. I tried to make small talk but not much was said to me.

When we arrived, Bryan got out the car immediately. Keith stayed behind. Stared at me for about a minute. It was so weird. Then he said that I would make a wonderful story and that "The branch will bleed soon." What branch? I asked him what he meant talking about branches. Trees? But he got out of the car leaving the bag behind, ignoring me. I rushed out to bring them their bag but the zipper was open and a few of the guns fell out. What do I look like, a black guy with a duffle bag full of guns. I didn't really care though, $20,000 was at stake. They watched me and did not offer any assistance. I quickly get them back in the bag and run them inside. There is a lady at the front desk. I told her two men, Bryan and Keith, just arrived and forgot their bag of personal guns. She told me you were not allowed to bring personal weapons and asked me to carry the bag to their backroom, as it was too heavy for her. Why bring all these guns without asking if it was approved first? Didn't cross my mind at the time. I left after that though. First task completed.

02.21.2011

The book was gone for a few days. It's been back for awhile now, but I didn't have energy to write. Less food. Stronger sedation. I don't know if they are trying to make it harder for me to write, or are just killing me slowly. I'm just entertainment to them. But I'll keep writing.

Next was job number two. The second task was easy and short. I had to pick up a cake from Basket Kase, a popular bakery in Detroit. The cake was the "BK Special." Simple name but seemed to be their number one menu item. The man at the counter said they have been expecting me, and was sure this cake would be a knockout. I delivered the cake to the kids party shortly after. The dad, Bart, said that his wife Karen and himself wanted to surprise all of the other parents with a cake that was only for the adults. Cool, nothing out of the ordinary.

I drove home after that. On my porch was a package. It needed to be delivered to Henry Ford Hospital and I was finished! $20,000 for one easy day of work, besides all the driving around. Traffic was unusually bad today. Tons of police and ambulance sirens after my first job. I wondered what was going on, but stayed focused. I arrived at the hospital and, as instructed, left the package at the front desk of the Guest Housing on the Hospital Campus. Mr. Kerrigan was a current long time resident who stayed in that housing. That was all that I needed to know. After I got back in my car, I received a text from my generous employer that "All tasks have been completed. Would you like your money wired, or do you prefer cash?" I chose cash. They offered the hotel room for a job well done. Great. I should have questioned how they were aware I dropped off the package so immediately.

03.02.2011

They took the book away for a longer time. I hardly get food or water. The room is cold now. I know I'm dying. They are keeping me alive to finish this journal. Why? Why do you want me to write my story!? You used me for murders. People were slaughtered like Cattle at the gun range. Any new customers that entered were killed as well. Those parents at the party were poisoned! That package... that package was a bomb. You murdered families just trying to stay close with loved ones checked into the hospital... monsters. YOU'RE ALL MONSTERS!!! I'm done. Kill me.

03.03.2011

I have nothing else to add. Kill me.

03.04.2011

I have nothing else to add. Kill me.

03.05.2011

I have nothing else to add. Kill me.

03.06.2011

I won't eat or drink anymore. I'm on an IV now. I can't remove it.

03.12.2011

I'M LOSING MY MIND. All I see is myself.

03.14.2011

Please kill me.

03.17.2011

I CAN'T LOOK AT MYSELF ANYMORE!

04.01.2011.

Okay. Enough. In 2007 my best friend Robin mercilessly beat two people after a concert. He left their bodies to be discovered but the girls weren't dead, just unconscious. Nobody was ever convicted for the crime. I didn't stop him. I didn't do anything. We promised to never talk about it. I promised to never ask him why. That's why I'm here. Please, just kill me now. I'm sorry to those two ladies that I listened to cry for help while I sat, and did nothing. I'm a monster too.

"Wake up!" Clyde looked around to find a masked, cloaked man standing over him. He could not speak, he could not move, only listen.

"Oh, Clyde. We have been waiting a very long time for you to come to this realization. You're despicable. It's not your fault. We were made monsters, with flawed ideologies of independence. Our greatest joke was introducing concepts like good and evil. What a great plot twist. Is there such a thing as morality among beasts? Free will? Look at what has come of free will. Look what has come of independence. No. Man is not free, and man is not good. The beasts that live within shall raze this world ten times over.

Clyde, struggling to speak, attempted to stand but found he could only move his neck, while he lie at the mercy of the masked man.

"Don't try to speak Clyde. Your time is almost up. You see, Clyde, you were only able to find Peace once you accepted truth. The truth, is you are all branches of the same tree, the same monster. But the branches, believe they are all trees themselves. Isn't it funny, Clyde? The branches, think they are life itself. No, the tree is life. I am that tree Clyde. You branches, each branch has its own vile speciality. We will guide you to proper destruction, before you bleed out and die."

"I am the Book Keeper, the tree that will give the world new life. But not before taking what lives remain, and reading what tales come of it. I'm a monster, yes. But the only thing better than a monster, is a good monster story."

"Clyde, your story has ended. Pity, you left it untitled."

The Book Keeper held the little black book in one hand, and a gun in the other. He aimed it at Clyde. There was a loud gunshot, then silence.

"The end."