IC: Director Notes/Playercest.
(( OOC: For a copy of the director notes without character comments in and out of them, click here. ))
CAMP
Occasionally, I worry if this is the appropriate venue. Would it have been a better policy to simply execute all new arrivals, rather than keep them for the alloted time? (Execute?) (Don’t worry; if she could’ve, she would’ve already.)
Would a small population have been easier to enforce as well? It would be more simple to properly confine the control groups, if that was the case. (What sort of control groups?) (A group, milady, where I can stay with you, look deeply into your eyes…) (Stick to your out-of-control group, dumbass.)
And would I be justified in killing the ones that present resistance, rather than continue to tolerate their unnecessary existence at camp? Their arguments are tedious and repititive. (It’s not our fault we’ve been here so long.)
Some of these children are no longer of use to me, but their removal would bring about more complications. I need to keep them busy, somehow, and the continuation of my genetic experiments has been bothering me for some time. (Genetic?) (I’ll bet she can’t even mess with DNA.) (Careful; she does have the purple gorillas.)
The amount of effort is becoming a frustration. Are these children that unable to handle the simplest of tasks? How difficult is it for this generation to think? (Perhaps we should be assigned a task.) (You mean… homework?) (…)
Perhaps the children could help? Though some part of my shattered morality is sickened by the thought. (It must be pretty awful, if she doesn’t want to make us do it.) (Yeah, “Perhaps the children could help me eat my way out of a jail made of chocolate.”) (Aha! My expertise in that area is unparalleled!) (A useful talent, I’m sure.)
The rampant homosexuality between the children here is -- disconcerting. I admit to being surprised. Jokingly, my brother suggested that there may be "something in the water," but I am becoming hardpressed to refute that. (But who’s left to press her against a wall if she thinks everyone is gay?) (No one would press anyone against anything if they were gay…) (Goodness. We’ve come to a misunderstanding.)
No, really. I have come to the conclusion that there is something in the water, because the percentage of homosexuality here is ridiculous. Was this Father's doing? ... could Father have truly been that unstable to bring about such a thing? (Father?) (That means - wait, her dad made the camp?) (The water, at least…) (And that means he made the camp! Or was around here, anyways.) (Aha! Or she imported it all by the bottle.) (Why are you still here?)
The experimentations have been going well, against all reason and doubt. The control groups remain difficult to secure, but the reactions continue to be positive. I believe some of the chemical research will even be finalized by December, 2005. (What happened in December 2005?) (Nothing chemical that I remember. Go ask someone.) (You ask. You were here, too.)
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste. (That’s… who’s sake is it?)
I find myself wanting to drown them. Shuffling them off from this plane of existence would bring me great joy, I think. (One presumes she means the animals.) (Hey, don’t be so sure about that.)
I can't let these children die. I can't. I can't. Father, there is a way. (Was he alive for this, or is this like writing to a diary?)
It no longer makes sense to me; there is no child here that fits the description or mental instability of the killer. Was it all a lie? Am I going mad? (There are people more unstable than the guys around here? No wonder she was weirded out enough to build camp.)
***
He mentioned this facility would be created a short time from now, but that is impossible.
In short, my brother now knows that I have stockpiled enough for us to escape the country and live in America. There, I will again resume my research. (Eh? That doesn’t make any sense… If her father had something to do with the water beforehand) (Yeah, escaping to your dad’s freak lab isn’t much of an escape.)
Still, I am undeterred. My resolve is absolute -- this facility will be built, whether the government supports it or not.
The only thing left is to reconstruct the facility the murderer described, breed it to fruition, and then find the culprit. It's insane, but with the context in mind, I believe in what I must perform.
My reasons are even unknown to our investors. I realize that I should feel an amount of guilt in this, but those men deserved to be robbed blind.
The effort from our resource facilities is phenominal, but even with my subsidary businesses, this research establishment remains taxing to maintain. (And the question remains whether this research establishment is the same as the camp…)
Am I the reason? Am I the reason behind everything, and this establishment, and his death? (Yeah, idiot.)
The government wishes to close the facility down. (Counselors? She did say the government made her have them…) (Or something totally different.)
***
I really must question the logic behind the gorillas. These remnants of Father's insanity continue to harass me daily, three years after the fact. (Right, there’s more proof that her dad started this camp research crap.) (I suppose insanity runs in the family.)
The animals are a nuisance, and I find myself wondering more by the day whether it would be pertinent to release them ahead of schedule, for my own sake.
The birds have become unbearable. Gregory has suggested a roast, and despite being my resolution to become vegan, I think that I am very eager to agree. (Dreadful. I quite like them.)
If the research is ever completed, I think I will surprise myself and mourn when I will need authorize the removal of these creatures. Last night, my brother found a pair making a nest inside his shoes using sanitary supplies; thus he took it upon himself to ban tampons from the grounds. (I don’t remember that…) (You wouldn’t.)
Disgusting, loathsome -- this is not science, I cannot stress that enough. These creatures are not human and as such they will never have any impact on the health of true humanity. (She wants to… help people? “Health”?)
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste. (That’s it! She wants to research! For something good…) (… you’re new.)
Apparently the undead prefer brains. It was here that Stephan finally proved himself useful, much to his chagrin. (HA.)
STEPHAN
I will never marry Charles. (Me neither.) (You’re not helping.) (But… but what’s wrong with Charles?)
We had met through my father in an attempt to sooth the the fears of his weak fellows, those who doubted my ability to run the company without the guidance of a man. I wanted to kill him. (… fathers…)
Stephan thinks perusing my journal is hilarious. I believe I may have security remove both him and his family from the manor in revenge, diary.
Stephan has taken it upon himself to woo my very soul through shoddy writing. Today, he passed this note to me during lecture:
Her eyes
HER EYES
they make me think of chicken pies
of mother-made cake
and zombie surprise (… a man after my own heart!) (It’s quite clear that he was after hers.)
Stephan has decided that it is much more simple to simply steal classic poetry and use it as a guide for his intent on me.
I love thee, as I love the calm
Of sweet, star-lighted hours!
I love thee, as I love the balm
Of early jes'mine flow'rs.
I love thee, as I love the last
Rich smile of fading day,
Which lingereth, like the look we cast,
On rapture pass'd away.
I love thee as I love the tone
Of some soft-breathing flute
Whose soul is wak'd for me alone,
When all beside is mute.
"My rocket to the moon." Stephan is insane; because I tolerate him, does that make me unstable as well? (I’d rather take a shuttle to the moon.) (Why, when you could fly me to the moon?)
Dear Diary,
I think I've fallen in love with the twit. (Uh-oh.)
I love him, I love him. I hate him, I hate him. If he quotes another terrible horror movie at me, it will be easy to reach a decision.
Will any of the officers be able to understand? I certainly don't. These feelings are ludicrous and unwelcome, diary.
It's degrading, disgusting, disconcerting, and leaves me demanding for more. Juvenile though it is, I will never grow tired of the look on his face when confronted with corderoys.
I think it will take the workers some time to remove the all traces of blood. Tonight, Stephan kissed me. (Blood?) (Whose?) (Her father’s.) (That’s - you don’t have any proof…) (He’s the only other guy who gets mentioned anywhere near as much as Stephen, and she dislikes his murdering and experiments. And that stuff about the manor later - he’d be in the manor, right?) (You’re forgetting Charles.)(If I’m forgetting him, he’s not important to kill, right?)(I’m not sure it works that way…)
He says he loves me -- he's always said that he loves me -- but more and more I find myself trusting in those words to a powerful extent. Stephan frightens me. (Me too.)
Tonight was EXHILIRATING. It was INCREDIBLE. I have lost all respect for men and the human race in general, but I LOVED EVERY MOMENT OF IT. (How romantic…) (I think we may need to have a talk about romance.)
I dreamed of destroying the empire again last night. Stephan blamed it on "too many cookies," and so I continue to think him mad. (That’s familiar…)(A business empire?) (More about dear old dad, probably.)
I have not been made a victim. Part of me appreciates Stephan's attempts to remove Charles' eyes, but it was unnecessary; Father wished for me to display my business assets, so I did. (B-but not until marriage!)
It's been three days. I've called Father, his sister... if Stephan lost the tickets, I may murder him before the others have the chance. (This is it.)
I haven't been sleeping. Finals are approaching at the university and I find myself unable to give a flying damn. Stephan is missing; do they not understand what this means? (A student?) (Stephan is only 23.)
I'm still unsure why I was able to tolerate Stephan, much less be able to consciously admit an attraction to him that went beyond school girl fantasies, not that I continued to experience such daydreams by that age. (Pst-tense. After the fact.)
Apparently the undead prefer brains. It was here that Stephan finally proved himself useful, much to his chagrin.
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste.
Do I miss him? Of course I miss him. I can't -- the feeling of being alone is unbearable, these past few months.
The idea that Stephan is still alive is impossible. I saw him -- I saw the blood. I saw the remains. He is not here.
I feel so very stupid for wanting to believe otherwise. (For once, it’s probably not stupid.)
Am I the reason? Am I the reason behind everything, and this establishment, and his death?
"For thirteen years," I was told, "you drove me to madness." Whether that was the truth will haunt me for years to come. (Tragic, really.) (…)
FAMILY/BUSINESS.
I really must question the logic behind the gorillas. These remnants of Father's insanity continue to harass me daily, three years after the fact.
No, really. I have come to the conclusion that there is something in the water, because the percentage of homosexuality here is ridiculous. Was this Father's doing? ... could Father have truly been that unstable to bring about such a thing?
Father advises me to use my fairer sex as an advantage, but if the business world were that simple, Mother would not have had such a difficult time of it. (Sad, that “mother” is always in the past tense…) (Dead. Probably.)
How can he stand it? How is he able to look a man in the eye and go through with it, regardless of the amount of human emotion that he must surely see? Killing is reprehensible, Father. I cannot believe what you have become. (See?) (Of course; we’ve all read it a dozen times.)
I have not been made a victim. Part of me appreciates Stephan's attempts to remove Charles' eyes, but it was unnecessary; Father wished for me to display my business assets, so I did.
The manor is burning to the ground and I find myself unable to care. He is dead, and I think Mother would be proud.
I think it will take the workers some time to remove the all traces of blood. Tonight, Stephan kissed me. (Why did you even put those together? If it’s burning, they won’t need to get rid of blood.) (Hush, it’s thematic destruction.)
I dreamed of destroying the empire again last night. Stephan blamed it on "too many cookies," and so I continue to think him mad.
The effort from our resource facilities is phenominal, but even with my subsidary businesses, this research establishment remains taxing to maintain.
The debts are rising. I am unsure where to turn. I feel like I am losing my grasp on reality, and am dragging down the others with me. (Oh really?)
My reasons are even unknown to our investors. I realize that I should feel an amount of guilt in this, but those men deserved to be robbed blind.
Will any of the officers be able to understand? I certainly don't. These feelings are ludicrous and unwelcome, diary.
The birds have become unbearable. Gregory has suggested a roast, and despite being my resolution to become vegan, I think that I am very eager to agree.
The rampant homosexuality between the children here is -- disconcerting. I admit to being surprised. Jokingly, my brother suggested that there may be "something in the water," but I am becoming hardpressed to refute that.
If the research is ever completed, I think I will surprise myself and mourn when I will need authorize the removal of these creatures. Last night, my brother found a pair making a nest inside his shoes using sanitary supplies; thus he took it upon himself to ban tampons from the grounds.
In short, my brother now knows that I have stockpiled enough for us to escape the country and live in America. There, I will again resume my research.
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste.
I will never marry Charles. (Nope, apparently you didn’t. Congrats.) (That’s not funny.)
MISC.
So, so desperately. (Concurred!)
To imply anything more without further evidence would be underhanded; I cannot allow myself to sink to such a depth. I will continue my studies until I am able to discern a more appropriate reason.
Blood was everywhere. I could not stand it. I will continue not to stand it. Death by disembowelment is only deserved by absolute fiends. (I still say that goes with the bits about Stephen…) (Or her father, or someone who he disemboweled. You can’t be sure.)
I think it will take the workers some time to remove the all traces of blood. Tonight, Stephan kissed me. (That one again?) (It fits the spirit of miscellany)
He begged the man to slap his ass harder and harder, begging for a release that would not come
Dear Diary,
My brother finds it hilarious to steal my notes and make a mockery of them. (…)(…)(…)(…)(… but why didn’t he just let the donkey go?)
It was so hot, the feel of the donkey beneath his (See, I was right about the donkey!)
Once. It was one time, and it will never happen again. I do not believe murder is a solution. (It’s her father-) (We already know that’s your favorite theory!)
Do you believe in miracles, diary? Neither do I.
Tonight was EXHILIRATING. It was INCREDIBLE. I have lost all respect for men and the human race in general, but I LOVED EVERY MOMENT OF IT.
I have decided to hate myself. A valiable solution, I think. (Milady, you should never turn down that dark and dangerous path! It-) (Give it a rest; half the camp would agree with her.)(And, well, the other half is probably new.)
The idea that Stephan is still alive is impossible. I saw him -- I saw the blood. I saw the remains. He is not here.
I feel so very stupid for wanting to believe otherwise. (Yeah. Some mystery.)
CAMP
Occasionally, I worry if this is the appropriate venue. Would it have been a better policy to simply execute all new arrivals, rather than keep them for the alloted time? (Execute?) (Don’t worry; if she could’ve, she would’ve already.)
Would a small population have been easier to enforce as well? It would be more simple to properly confine the control groups, if that was the case. (What sort of control groups?) (A group, milady, where I can stay with you, look deeply into your eyes…) (Stick to your out-of-control group, dumbass.)
And would I be justified in killing the ones that present resistance, rather than continue to tolerate their unnecessary existence at camp? Their arguments are tedious and repititive. (It’s not our fault we’ve been here so long.)
Some of these children are no longer of use to me, but their removal would bring about more complications. I need to keep them busy, somehow, and the continuation of my genetic experiments has been bothering me for some time. (Genetic?) (I’ll bet she can’t even mess with DNA.) (Careful; she does have the purple gorillas.)
The amount of effort is becoming a frustration. Are these children that unable to handle the simplest of tasks? How difficult is it for this generation to think? (Perhaps we should be assigned a task.) (You mean… homework?) (…)
Perhaps the children could help? Though some part of my shattered morality is sickened by the thought. (It must be pretty awful, if she doesn’t want to make us do it.) (Yeah, “Perhaps the children could help me eat my way out of a jail made of chocolate.”) (Aha! My expertise in that area is unparalleled!) (A useful talent, I’m sure.)
The rampant homosexuality between the children here is -- disconcerting. I admit to being surprised. Jokingly, my brother suggested that there may be "something in the water," but I am becoming hardpressed to refute that. (But who’s left to press her against a wall if she thinks everyone is gay?) (No one would press anyone against anything if they were gay…) (Goodness. We’ve come to a misunderstanding.)
No, really. I have come to the conclusion that there is something in the water, because the percentage of homosexuality here is ridiculous. Was this Father's doing? ... could Father have truly been that unstable to bring about such a thing? (Father?) (That means - wait, her dad made the camp?) (The water, at least…) (And that means he made the camp! Or was around here, anyways.) (Aha! Or she imported it all by the bottle.) (Why are you still here?)
The experimentations have been going well, against all reason and doubt. The control groups remain difficult to secure, but the reactions continue to be positive. I believe some of the chemical research will even be finalized by December, 2005. (What happened in December 2005?) (Nothing chemical that I remember. Go ask someone.) (You ask. You were here, too.)
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste. (That’s… who’s sake is it?)
I find myself wanting to drown them. Shuffling them off from this plane of existence would bring me great joy, I think. (One presumes she means the animals.) (Hey, don’t be so sure about that.)
I can't let these children die. I can't. I can't. Father, there is a way. (Was he alive for this, or is this like writing to a diary?)
It no longer makes sense to me; there is no child here that fits the description or mental instability of the killer. Was it all a lie? Am I going mad? (There are people more unstable than the guys around here? No wonder she was weirded out enough to build camp.)
***
He mentioned this facility would be created a short time from now, but that is impossible.
In short, my brother now knows that I have stockpiled enough for us to escape the country and live in America. There, I will again resume my research. (Eh? That doesn’t make any sense… If her father had something to do with the water beforehand) (Yeah, escaping to your dad’s freak lab isn’t much of an escape.)
Still, I am undeterred. My resolve is absolute -- this facility will be built, whether the government supports it or not.
The only thing left is to reconstruct the facility the murderer described, breed it to fruition, and then find the culprit. It's insane, but with the context in mind, I believe in what I must perform.
My reasons are even unknown to our investors. I realize that I should feel an amount of guilt in this, but those men deserved to be robbed blind.
The effort from our resource facilities is phenominal, but even with my subsidary businesses, this research establishment remains taxing to maintain. (And the question remains whether this research establishment is the same as the camp…)
Am I the reason? Am I the reason behind everything, and this establishment, and his death? (Yeah, idiot.)
The government wishes to close the facility down. (Counselors? She did say the government made her have them…) (Or something totally different.)
***
I really must question the logic behind the gorillas. These remnants of Father's insanity continue to harass me daily, three years after the fact. (Right, there’s more proof that her dad started this camp research crap.) (I suppose insanity runs in the family.)
The animals are a nuisance, and I find myself wondering more by the day whether it would be pertinent to release them ahead of schedule, for my own sake.
The birds have become unbearable. Gregory has suggested a roast, and despite being my resolution to become vegan, I think that I am very eager to agree. (Dreadful. I quite like them.)
If the research is ever completed, I think I will surprise myself and mourn when I will need authorize the removal of these creatures. Last night, my brother found a pair making a nest inside his shoes using sanitary supplies; thus he took it upon himself to ban tampons from the grounds. (I don’t remember that…) (You wouldn’t.)
Disgusting, loathsome -- this is not science, I cannot stress that enough. These creatures are not human and as such they will never have any impact on the health of true humanity. (She wants to… help people? “Health”?)
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste. (That’s it! She wants to research! For something good…) (… you’re new.)
Apparently the undead prefer brains. It was here that Stephan finally proved himself useful, much to his chagrin. (HA.)
STEPHAN
I will never marry Charles. (Me neither.) (You’re not helping.) (But… but what’s wrong with Charles?)
We had met through my father in an attempt to sooth the the fears of his weak fellows, those who doubted my ability to run the company without the guidance of a man. I wanted to kill him. (… fathers…)
Stephan thinks perusing my journal is hilarious. I believe I may have security remove both him and his family from the manor in revenge, diary.
Stephan has taken it upon himself to woo my very soul through shoddy writing. Today, he passed this note to me during lecture:
Her eyes
HER EYES
they make me think of chicken pies
of mother-made cake
and zombie surprise (… a man after my own heart!) (It’s quite clear that he was after hers.)
Stephan has decided that it is much more simple to simply steal classic poetry and use it as a guide for his intent on me.
I love thee, as I love the calm
Of sweet, star-lighted hours!
I love thee, as I love the balm
Of early jes'mine flow'rs.
I love thee, as I love the last
Rich smile of fading day,
Which lingereth, like the look we cast,
On rapture pass'd away.
I love thee as I love the tone
Of some soft-breathing flute
Whose soul is wak'd for me alone,
When all beside is mute.
"My rocket to the moon." Stephan is insane; because I tolerate him, does that make me unstable as well? (I’d rather take a shuttle to the moon.) (Why, when you could fly me to the moon?)
Dear Diary,
I think I've fallen in love with the twit. (Uh-oh.)
I love him, I love him. I hate him, I hate him. If he quotes another terrible horror movie at me, it will be easy to reach a decision.
Will any of the officers be able to understand? I certainly don't. These feelings are ludicrous and unwelcome, diary.
It's degrading, disgusting, disconcerting, and leaves me demanding for more. Juvenile though it is, I will never grow tired of the look on his face when confronted with corderoys.
I think it will take the workers some time to remove the all traces of blood. Tonight, Stephan kissed me. (Blood?) (Whose?) (Her father’s.) (That’s - you don’t have any proof…) (He’s the only other guy who gets mentioned anywhere near as much as Stephen, and she dislikes his murdering and experiments. And that stuff about the manor later - he’d be in the manor, right?) (You’re forgetting Charles.)(If I’m forgetting him, he’s not important to kill, right?)(I’m not sure it works that way…)
He says he loves me -- he's always said that he loves me -- but more and more I find myself trusting in those words to a powerful extent. Stephan frightens me. (Me too.)
Tonight was EXHILIRATING. It was INCREDIBLE. I have lost all respect for men and the human race in general, but I LOVED EVERY MOMENT OF IT. (How romantic…) (I think we may need to have a talk about romance.)
I dreamed of destroying the empire again last night. Stephan blamed it on "too many cookies," and so I continue to think him mad. (That’s familiar…)(A business empire?) (More about dear old dad, probably.)
I have not been made a victim. Part of me appreciates Stephan's attempts to remove Charles' eyes, but it was unnecessary; Father wished for me to display my business assets, so I did. (B-but not until marriage!)
It's been three days. I've called Father, his sister... if Stephan lost the tickets, I may murder him before the others have the chance. (This is it.)
I haven't been sleeping. Finals are approaching at the university and I find myself unable to give a flying damn. Stephan is missing; do they not understand what this means? (A student?) (Stephan is only 23.)
I'm still unsure why I was able to tolerate Stephan, much less be able to consciously admit an attraction to him that went beyond school girl fantasies, not that I continued to experience such daydreams by that age. (Pst-tense. After the fact.)
Apparently the undead prefer brains. It was here that Stephan finally proved himself useful, much to his chagrin.
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste.
Do I miss him? Of course I miss him. I can't -- the feeling of being alone is unbearable, these past few months.
The idea that Stephan is still alive is impossible. I saw him -- I saw the blood. I saw the remains. He is not here.
I feel so very stupid for wanting to believe otherwise. (For once, it’s probably not stupid.)
Am I the reason? Am I the reason behind everything, and this establishment, and his death?
"For thirteen years," I was told, "you drove me to madness." Whether that was the truth will haunt me for years to come. (Tragic, really.) (…)
FAMILY/BUSINESS.
I really must question the logic behind the gorillas. These remnants of Father's insanity continue to harass me daily, three years after the fact.
No, really. I have come to the conclusion that there is something in the water, because the percentage of homosexuality here is ridiculous. Was this Father's doing? ... could Father have truly been that unstable to bring about such a thing?
Father advises me to use my fairer sex as an advantage, but if the business world were that simple, Mother would not have had such a difficult time of it. (Sad, that “mother” is always in the past tense…) (Dead. Probably.)
How can he stand it? How is he able to look a man in the eye and go through with it, regardless of the amount of human emotion that he must surely see? Killing is reprehensible, Father. I cannot believe what you have become. (See?) (Of course; we’ve all read it a dozen times.)
I have not been made a victim. Part of me appreciates Stephan's attempts to remove Charles' eyes, but it was unnecessary; Father wished for me to display my business assets, so I did.
The manor is burning to the ground and I find myself unable to care. He is dead, and I think Mother would be proud.
I think it will take the workers some time to remove the all traces of blood. Tonight, Stephan kissed me. (Why did you even put those together? If it’s burning, they won’t need to get rid of blood.) (Hush, it’s thematic destruction.)
I dreamed of destroying the empire again last night. Stephan blamed it on "too many cookies," and so I continue to think him mad.
The effort from our resource facilities is phenominal, but even with my subsidary businesses, this research establishment remains taxing to maintain.
The debts are rising. I am unsure where to turn. I feel like I am losing my grasp on reality, and am dragging down the others with me. (Oh really?)
My reasons are even unknown to our investors. I realize that I should feel an amount of guilt in this, but those men deserved to be robbed blind.
Will any of the officers be able to understand? I certainly don't. These feelings are ludicrous and unwelcome, diary.
The birds have become unbearable. Gregory has suggested a roast, and despite being my resolution to become vegan, I think that I am very eager to agree.
The rampant homosexuality between the children here is -- disconcerting. I admit to being surprised. Jokingly, my brother suggested that there may be "something in the water," but I am becoming hardpressed to refute that.
If the research is ever completed, I think I will surprise myself and mourn when I will need authorize the removal of these creatures. Last night, my brother found a pair making a nest inside his shoes using sanitary supplies; thus he took it upon himself to ban tampons from the grounds.
In short, my brother now knows that I have stockpiled enough for us to escape the country and live in America. There, I will again resume my research.
Brother's attempts to comfort me -- I will do him the service of not recording them and his subsequent punishment. It was not because I was worried for their sake, but for Stephan's. Without the research reaching fruition, these eight years will have been a waste.
I will never marry Charles. (Nope, apparently you didn’t. Congrats.) (That’s not funny.)
MISC.
So, so desperately. (Concurred!)
To imply anything more without further evidence would be underhanded; I cannot allow myself to sink to such a depth. I will continue my studies until I am able to discern a more appropriate reason.
Blood was everywhere. I could not stand it. I will continue not to stand it. Death by disembowelment is only deserved by absolute fiends. (I still say that goes with the bits about Stephen…) (Or her father, or someone who he disemboweled. You can’t be sure.)
I think it will take the workers some time to remove the all traces of blood. Tonight, Stephan kissed me. (That one again?) (It fits the spirit of miscellany)
He begged the man to slap his ass harder and harder, begging for a release that would not come
Dear Diary,
My brother finds it hilarious to steal my notes and make a mockery of them. (…)(…)(…)(…)(… but why didn’t he just let the donkey go?)
It was so hot, the feel of the donkey beneath his (See, I was right about the donkey!)
Once. It was one time, and it will never happen again. I do not believe murder is a solution. (It’s her father-) (We already know that’s your favorite theory!)
Do you believe in miracles, diary? Neither do I.
Tonight was EXHILIRATING. It was INCREDIBLE. I have lost all respect for men and the human race in general, but I LOVED EVERY MOMENT OF IT.
I have decided to hate myself. A valiable solution, I think. (Milady, you should never turn down that dark and dangerous path! It-) (Give it a rest; half the camp would agree with her.)(And, well, the other half is probably new.)
The idea that Stephan is still alive is impossible. I saw him -- I saw the blood. I saw the remains. He is not here.
I feel so very stupid for wanting to believe otherwise. (Yeah. Some mystery.)