Fragmented

Diary Entry March 20th 2011

So, I was called to Mrs Reta’s office today to discuss my “behavioural” problems. All I want is to sit quietly in my corner and write my stories but apparently, I’m a danger to myself and my surroundings. Anyhow, I’m not looking to cause trouble so I’m going to be a good little girl, swallow their pills and write in this stupid diary. Noting down my thoughts and current circumstances is supposed to keep my head all neat and tidy. So, just to keep principal Adolf happy here it goes. My name is Sydney Crawford, I am 17 years old and I’m in my final year in Weald of Kent Grammar school. I’ve been taking clozapine for two years now. My parents are Harry and Eloise Crawford. I have no friends, nobody to talk to and nobody to care for. Hopefully Uni will be better. I’m bound to enjoy astrophysics after all, since physics is my favourite subject. St. Andrews is known to be a perfect university for that, so academically I should flourish. As a side note, hopefully I’ll also meet the love of my life there.

Diary Entry March 26th 2020

James suggested that I start writing down each day’s events as I remember them. Since I can’t recall my damn Laptop’s password, I guess this old childhood diary I found will do. I’m not sure where to start… “What doesn’t make sense is simply my head playing games with me; there’s no reason to add fuel to the flames”, I remember Mark saying this to me back in high school. The thing is, I have no reason to doubt him. He’s always been there for me. He never leaves me alone. Except to pick up my meds of course. Since I’m not capable of doing it myself...why would I be? I’m the one who constantly panics when I get near a mirror. I’m the one who gets the visions of the old man in the white polo. Besides, why wouldn’t I trust him? He was the love of my life since the start of high school. He’s the one that grips my hand tight when I panic and he’s the one that consoles me when I get the “visions”. At any rate, his trip to the pharmacy should give me enough time to explain myself.

As I’ve been writing this down, I’m remembering a conversation I had with Mark two months ago. After failing to remember my Mother’s birthday all day I sat on top of the tiles leading to the entrance of my house. My face was drenched in tears. I hated myself for once again failing the people I love due to my foggy mind. I remember being pleasantly surprised by the sight of a silhouette in the fog.

It was Mark. In a strange way I felt as if we had met each other for the first time. He then whispered to me in a comforting voice after wrapping his left arm around me and sitting beside me.

“Everyone around you is a sum of their memories. What they’ve experienced and remember is all that they are. It’s why most people won’t change; their experiences define them for better or worse. You can change though; no matter what your experiences were, you aren’t shackled to them. If you wanted to, you could let them go and break free.” He then “jokingly” suggested that he could make all my problems disappear with a snap of his fingers.

Mark is my anchor. Everything about him is perfect. In fact, every time I think about him I automatically feel a yearning for him. The ginger wavy hair and his trusting smile is etched in my mind. What’s especially strange is that I feel saved by him. It doesn’t seem like there was ever anything in my life that needed saving. I aced all my tests and exams in high school and attended a Russel group Uni. I can’t remember the name but it’s not important. I’m slim, athletic, attractive and I now have the perfect guy. What do I have to complain about and why do I feel so empty? More importantly why did my best friend not recognize me in the street today? None of this makes sense.

Emily has been a close friend of Mark and I for 5 years now. As far as I can remember it’s been the three of us against the world. We survived tests, exams and bullies together; the three musketeers. So why is it that the one time I’m walking alone without Mark and see Emily down my street to Aldi, she doesn’t even recognise me? Is it because of Mark? James seems to think so.

The point is I can’t trust him anymore nor what he’s been giving me. In fact, I’ve been spitting out his pills for two weeks now and I intend to continue.

Diary Entry April 2nd 2020

I’m not even sure who I am anymore. I’m not even sure if my name is Sydney.

My head feels weird. I feel…foggy

I guess it’s better to start this off on a cheerier note. It’s 6am and I’m sitting with my night-gown on with my back pressed against the bathroom door and I’m enjoying the lovely warm weather. I don’t feel safe around him. My boyfriend I mean. James says that he’s alright with me writing about his involvement. He’s a police officer or something and he started working a case against Mark concerning stolen identity and kidnapping. Even though he hasn’t been able to convince the rest of his doughnut- munching brethren, I’m beginning to think he’s right about everything. He came to me for help because I was one of Mark’s latest victims... or his latest pet project as James puts it. A boy claiming to be the eldest grandson of the town’s chief general practitioner (can’t remember his name. Let’s call him Verxus. He’s the new character I’m writing about now in my novel. He overthrows God and becomes ruler of the galaxy) showed up along with the rest of his family. The crazy part is that Verxus denies being the boy’s grandfather. The family however had all the proper documents proving his involvement in their lives; from birth certificates to bank statements. It’s like he decided to just leave his family out of the blue and adopt a new one. Weirdly enough his new “family” also thought he was theirs. Despite having no biological connection to him. This sort of thing happens a lot in this town. Weird occurrences like this have been happening more and more. This is going to sound crazy, but I think this is Mark’s doing. In his eyes, we are all his toys. Meant to be played by him.

Is it possible that Mark can somehow change people’s minds? Can he change people’s memories and experiences? Does that explain the pictures I found in the brown paper box that James gave me yesterday? The pictures of me as a child in an old cottage with an older couple who James claims are my real parents? And if so, what possible reason could Mark have to make me think that Henry (or is it Harry? One of the two) and Ellen Crawford are my real parents?

Maybe this is why I’m scared of mirrors. What if Mark gave me the memory of those bullies throwing my face against the mirror. I can still feel the broken glass against my cheeks. What if Mark created that incident in my head? So that I wouldn’t look at my own reflection, my real self.

This seems like a good Segway into Mark’s ability to “make things happen”. Ever since we’ve been together he’s always been able to make my problems fly away like Tweety the bird from that cartoon. My favourite bugs and bunny show was the one with the coyote and the ostrich though. Actually, was that an Ostrich? Any negative thoughts I had about the way I looked would dissipate whenever he’d show up at my doorstep wearing his special polo. My bent nose would straighten, my oversized forehead would shrink and my chin would suddenly look more proportional when I would look again in the mirror. I wonder if I also appear different to all my friends when Mark is around... Is that why Emily didn’t recognise me?

All my high school friends hated Mark at first. They all thought he seemed fake and strange. Then, as if by magic they all suddenly loved him. When I asked them about their sudden change of heart, they had no idea what I was talking about. Apparently, they never said or felt that he was fake, they always thought he was a “lovely, charming and funny guy”.

James said that he uncovered more evidence that can help with his investigation and wants to see me tonight. Part of me doesn’t want to show up because I’m scared. I’m scared of what I might find out about Mark... but mainly myself. I just heard the bed creak so I think I’m just going to end it here.

Diary entry

Red, yellow, green and glass. That’s all I can remember.

I’m not sure if I can even write anymore as well as wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. I stupidly tried to wipe the blood off the diary and ended up smearing it all over the page. I haven’t the foggiest idea of what just happened. Let’s start with what I’m seeing in front of me. A diner painted in fiery red like the volcano that exploded in Pompeii some time ago. At least the people of Pompeii had a good life before it all went to shit. The stench of iron is really getting to me now. On the table I now find myself sitting on, the driver’s license of a good-looking dark-haired man in his 30s called James. There’s a heap of smashed plates and broken glass beneath my feet and four dead bodies lying next to my table. Who’s going to clean this mess up? Whoever is responsible for this must have shot everyone point blank using a gun. You can tell as much by smelling the rotten eggs in the air. As I’m writing this, I am now noticing that my left arm is blotched with ink. Have I been writing something on my wrist? I can make out some of the words. “My name is Sydney Crawford. I’m 27 years old. I live in Chester next to my parents, Harry and Eloise Crawford.” I can’t make sense of the rest although the name Mark keeps popping up. Who are these people?

Have I done this? Why? I must have had a reason. I now hear footsteps that sound strangely familiar from inside the diner’s kitchen. I can’t move…I think the glass must have punctured a major artery in my leg. Who is that old guy in the pollo?

Diary Entry June 12th 2020

My name is Sydney Crawford. I am 27 years old. My parents are Harry and Eloise Crawford. I was recently involved in a car crash rendering me immobile. This would have ruined my life had it not been for Mark. The love of my life.