The Utterly False Diaries of a Totally Real Human

03/31/2022 - Day One

Dear Diary,

This feels so weird, but the doctors recommended writing everything down so that maybe things will get better. I don't know what I'm supposed to put down here but I guess I can try my best, maybe it will get me out of here earlier. So...diary...no, you deserve a name. I have a name, which makes me feel more real when people use it, so you should have one too. Iggy? No too peppy. Marcus? Maybe, you are labeled Roman. Ok. Marcus. We'll give it a try.

Dearest Marcus. You are approximately 100 sheets of blank paper and I am supposed to fill you up with my thoughts. That sounds...less than appealing. What do they even mean by thoughts? Wait, was that a thought? Is this? Am I? Stop. Too much. Try again.

Lovely Marcus. My name is Bianca. It's a pleasure to meet you. Or...well never mind, you get it. I am twenty-six. I am 5' 10''. I am...already bored of writing like this. The clock insists that I have twenty more minutes of 'journal' time. Ok.

Marcus. You were given to me by Dr. Andrew Krintin at Trinity Hospital in Pickin, Wyoming. You are my favorite color of blue, the deep shade just before the moon rises in the nighttime sky. You even have little flecks of silver on you, like the stars. I've even begun to imagine the names of the constellations the warehouse printed on you. None of them are real of course. Just like none of this is real, but you are still the most solid thing I've been given in a while. Your pages rustles like the fallen leaves of autumn and I miss the way the wind would tickle my cheeks. The scent of decay mixing with sunshine and wrapping me in a blanket of comfort as the seasons turned over. I used to dance through the piles, kicking the leaves back towards their places on the tree branches in the hopes that maybe time could turn back just a little bit.

I know that Dr. Krintin will read you, which is why I have made a promise to myself that I will not tell a single truth in your pages. He knows who I actually am, what I actually am. And I, in turn, know what he is. He is cruel and vicious and beyond a doubt the worst human I have ever met. Did you know his eyes glow red in the dark, Marcus? Bright red. Evil red. If we were in a movie he'd be the villain for sure. He also likes applesauce. With bananas in it. Bananas and applesauce should not go together. I tried it. It was gross.

I wonder how many contradictions I can put in your pages, Marcus. How many before you implode from the mini black holes I've stabbed into your thin sheets? I bet at least twelve. The clock says twelve as well.

I think we'll be great friends dearest Marcus, but only if you promise to lie to Dr. Krintin as well. Remember he's the villain here. I've only been given the task to write in you. Lunch today appears to be chicken of some sort. I like chickens, they're funny creatures. The way they cluck and wander around and bob their heads from front to back, side to side, front to back, side to side, front to side, backtofrontbacksidesidebackfrontsidebackside. They taste good too, not that you'll ever get to taste one. You are, after all, a bunch of pages bound together.

Brilliant Marcus. I think this arrangement is going to work out just fine. I hope you're good at keeping secrets.

With Love,

I.