The Diary of Jason R. StevensToday is a bad day. Some days it's easy to get out of bed. Today it wasn't. Today started out a bad day. Some days, time flies by. Today it won't. Time's wings are broken, today. Some days I love myself. Today I don't. Not today. This has been life defined for as long as I can remember, though admittedly that isn't very long - neither on the cosmic scale nor recorded time. But, in my small, self-centered universe, it's an eternity. In this universe, my universe, I am God; reality is only what I perceive it to be and I'm at the mercy of no one. Nay, everyone is at mercy to me, for only I can banish them from my universe. Only I. But every man has a weakness -- a vulnerable heel. Every man. Mine, I've come to reason, lies in the very nature of what I am, which is what I can't help but perceive myself to be. Sentient. Apathetic. Homo sapien. As such, I'm unjustly governed by my emotions. I'm unpredictable. Erratic. Today is a bad day. Do the rocks realize their fortune? Can't they comprehend their luck? What are they? Not but rocks! But rocks. My idols; but idols of a god. Do they realize their fortune? Why can't they comprehend their luck? Do they live in fear; do they know that I've only to decide that they're nothing and nothing they will be? Irrelevancy aside, they do not know. And if they knew, they would not care. Happy rocks. Are they? Happy? No, they're only rocks. Nothing more. Rocks. Today is a bad day. O! To be a rock! Nothing more! Alas, here I sit. Rocks don't know where they are. And here I sit. My chair is cold. All chairs are cold. Perhaps that's some sort of cruel conspiracy by which to keep us awake. No one wants to be here, in this place. I've asked them. I asked them once about the rocks. They don't talk to me any more. They are banished - everyone except Liz. Liz spoke to me yesterday. Two words, was all. But she said them. Directly to me. For me. They think I'm special, my parents. So they sent me here. They don't exist anymore. God banished them. I'm not allowed near the rocks anymore. I'm sitting in a cold chair. Cold. There's a withered old fellow behind a desk at the head of this room. I'm not allowed to banish him, that's what Ms. Hamley said. Ms. Hamley is my friend, even though I know they pay her to talk to me. She doesn't laugh when I talk about the rocks. But I don't think she understands them, either. Not like I do. She smiles, she nods. She listens. Anyway, that old fellow is Mr. Müller, a physics professor in this prison. I know they pay him to be here, too. I find it impossible to be comfortable in this man's presence. He carries about him the most awful, grumpy manner. I can't wait to banish him. But I can't, said Ms. Hamley, until the end of the semester. I never really wanted to learn about quantum mechanics, anyway. I want to go back to the quarry, with the rocks. That's where they found me last time I escaped, and the time before that. My last few attempts, however, have been perilous, thanks to my useless legs. They're short. I'm short. That comes, though, generally with my age. So young. Everyone here is older than me. Even Liz. She's the youngest one, though, after me. Once I overheard her talking, that she's fifteen, and that's how I know that. Mrs. Hamley said that I need a release. That's why she asked me to start writing. So I am. Obviously. This is getting long, which surprises me; I don't know what this is supposed to do. Perhaps keep me from trying to escape again. That's a joke. Rocks cannot be oppressed. What's there to oppress; control? Nothing. Next week, I'll try again. Always try. Rocks don't try. Today is a bad day. "Watch out!" She said. To me. For me. Rocks can't talk. They can't hear, either. They're bad company in that way, I guess. Or, perhaps they can and do talk! And they can hear! But knowing I envy them so, won't. Two words. My words. Mr. Müller scowls at me. It's of his opinion that I should now be spitting out equations. Sometimes I think all the guy ever thinks about is physics. Oh dear, he approaches! January 3rd, 2001 I suppose one stupid diary entry wasn't enough, because Ms. Hamley insists that I keep writing. I read her part of it, all except for the part about escaping again. She asked me about my day, and I had to tell her all about those who don't exist, even though she knew about them already. But just because something doesn't exist doesn't mean it can't get to you… gnaw at you. Drive you mad I'm not mad. Today, paradoxically, isn't bad. It's not good, either. I wouldn't even call it balanced. It's just an entity, only here by force. It's much like me in that way, which is probably why I don't mind it. It's not bad in nature. It has no nature. Nor will. It simply is, or simply isn't, depending on how one looks at it. Or perhaps it's neither of those, as they're both a sort of fabrication of man's devices. "It" may not even be an it. A she or a he or both or neither? Nothing my mind could grasp, I'm sure if it. I am only me if me is an only, and I live only in the boundaries of me. Of my universe, where I'm in control. I try to escape and bend my thoughts over jagged concepts, but a ruler cannot escape his domain. Today, my domain is confined within this nature-less day, the source of my immediate discontent. Regardless, the quarry calls to me. It wields no nature, either. It's honest, like the raw, solid masses of rocks dotting it are honest. My friends, if friends I could have! Meanwhile I plan my escape. I cannot stay at the quarry this time. They know to look there. But I shall visit. Where, then, to go? My guide is myself and I have no guide. But where would a guide guide me, anyway, if there is no path? This is my dilemma. And quickly the question becomes not where to go but why. Why? Perhaps another kind of escape is what I need, now. The kind that no one can drag me back from. I'll think about it. January 5th, 2001 Liz's eyes met mine. Naught but for a brief moment, but meet they did. 'Twas a real connection, a dance of two kismet gazes I'll never forget. Oh, who could forget those eyes? I'm accustomed to glances of contempt. Even from complete strangers. Ms. Hamley suggested that better hygiene would detour negative attitudes about me. She said that I should cut my hair. Change my clothes. I changed my clothes last Wednesday! Rocks don't wear clothes. Liz has never looked at me like that, though. Not once. Her eyes are sharp, but her gaze is soft. I'd kill myself before harming those eyes; that sweet gaze. It was mine. For me. Ms. Hamley gave me a lecture today, trying to convince me to pay more attention to my, you know, exterior orifices. Basically it was the puberty lecture. As if I didn't know all that stuff already. I appreciate what she's trying to do for me. She still doesn't understand the rocks, though. That's probably why she tries so hard. Rocks don't try. They just don't. There's nothing more to it, and that's what I like. I never liked that dry film that soap lives on your skin, anyway. And I'm still thinking about it. January 6th, 2001 I'm sitting in another cold chair. In addition to being cold, all of the chairs here are oversized - to me, anyway. Have I mentioned yet my stature? Probably. I don't much mind the cold, though. Not on Saturdays. Saturdays, I have a study period with Liz. She sits on the other side of the room, with those who're banished. Everyone sits on the other side of the room. Sometimes I look at her. She reminds me of an animal that by all rights should be free. And, of course, what is a rock to the fairest of does? I understand the balance of things. Nature. The principles of Taoism. Thus a rock I remain, watching. Naught but. Today is an odd day. I say this only because I can't decide what sort of day it is. But, what else is new? Something's in the air. Unrest. Infinite discontent. And yet nothing's happened. Nothing worth mentioning, anyway. I spilled some milk on my pants in the mess today, but it's not as if that's any rare occurrence. With the odd day, I don't really know what to say. What can I say? I feel devoid of direction (whilst longing not to feel at all!) How frustrating. I can't even think about it, about anything. January 7th, 2001 I wrote a poem. It's ok I guess.
My mentors Sort of off-putting. I like that. Not that I'm much of a writer. But, I was inspired. January 9th, 2001 I'm still thinking about it. I know it's a weakness, but it's also a condition of what I am. I second-guess myself. I'm indecisive. Rocks aren't. Then again, what've they to be decisive about? O! To be a rock! But a rock! Strong in stature and peacefully unaware. The things to have seen! To see! To have not; to not! I envy and I long. But rocks. But rocks. I remember going to a museum once. There were colossal fossils there, and the guide said that they were once living, but now they're rocks. I was mystified by that, then. Of course, I was no where near as mature or learned as I am now. I know that the rocks are minerals in the shape of the living things, and that they took millions of years to create. Still, it's quite a thing. They are preservations, stronger than the images which they preserve. They keep memories alive of those who have died. And they only exist because of the death, for what rocks would they be without the mold? Such, with the passing of one life, many stronger ones are formed. One for each bone. It is a beautiful thing. I've only ever seen fossils in museums. I'm sure they are everywhere, though. So many things have died! Surely, there must be more than have been found. So what of those left un-disturbed? If I were a fossil, I'd want to be one of those. Passing silently and discreetly, but wielding a sort of apathetic content in just being and carrying on a fragile legacy of something inferior and unable. Really, it is a beautiful thing. And still I consider. January 14th, 2001 Day of bad days! Even Ms. Hamley is mad. I don't see why. I didn't actually do anything; merely mentioned the rocks. And out of nowhere, I'm struck! Those banished are not allowed in. They must be punished. Stink bombs are naught more than a mix of a few select chemicals. One or two down the pants and the victim will smell of eggs for weeks. I can't write any more today. January 17th, 2001 Emotions. What silly creatures, to creep up on you and snatch confidence away! I'm a blithering fool, and I hate myself. I have a hiding place in the boys' washroom on the third floor. Not many use this one; it wasn't renovated when the rest of the building was. I don't know why. Perhaps it was just the way of the cosmos to guarantee me a hiding place. This is where I sit now. In the third stall, next to the radiator. No one can here see my tears. No one. Rocks don't cry. I remember a story about a man who squeezed a rock and produced water, but it turned out that the rock was actually a hunk of cheese. It must not have been very good cheese, though, for water to come out of it. Eaw. I tried to speak to Liz this morning, but I don't think she noticed, because she just kept walking by. Oh well. Had a dream about her last night, too. She and I, and no one else. We were outside and the sun shone down upon her crown, and she smiled at me, and the entire universe seemed to bend with that smile, amplifying it like none could imagine. And that was mine, and she meant it for me. She tried to grab my hand, but… I was a rock. Rocks have no hands and feel no pain. They cannot be hurt and they cannot be loved. But oh, heavens, they can be smiled at. And they can see, and I do long. They are strong alone. I long. I long… I live for my solitude. Without this place, I'd surely have died ages ago. Ages and Ages. Months and Ages. Months ago. I hide here, then, away from everyone. It's not running away. It's not running at all. 'Tis merely being, lest in a different place. 'Tis merely what I loathe. I ought to here quote Shakespeare, because that's certainly how I feel. To be or not to be, yes? No! To be beyond comprehension of the question! Such is my longing. Ignorance is bliss, they say. How I envy the rocks. How I hate them and envy them, longing always. Naught but rocks, objects of my affixation. But rocks. And do they comprehend their luck? I'm still thinking about it. January 18th, 2001 I’ve decided to do it. January 21st, 2001 When? How? My thought pattern as of late. It will come. Meanwhile days go by. And by and by. They feel like years. Faces of ghosts cloud my vision and I see no one. Liz, even, is blurred. Blurred. Until she smiles. Such a radiant smile, with such honest eyes. No fog could ever mask them. I only laugh at college prep courses, now. I always found them easy, even when I was going Turner Junior High School last year, and they had to ship me over to the high school every day. I don't know why they didn't just enroll me in the damn high school. I don't know why most people do most things. Luckily that only lasted half a year. Then my parents were banished and my universe was flipped upside down. Since then it's been shrinking… smaller and smaller. Sometimes I now question even whether my reality exists to anyone else. Besides Liz. I know it does to her. She must understand. The Rocks. She must. She wouldn't smile like that if she didn't. They call to me in my sleep. Not just the quarry now but all rocks. They taunt me as I long for them. They taunt me with their solitude. I hear their silent soliloquies, those which don't exist. They echo inside of me. To be a rock! To be but again among them! Bliss! Bliss and heaven! My heaven for I am God. God, here, is a rock and a rock shall he be! January 22nd, 2001 The cold chairs. I shan't miss them, when I see them no more. Such brutal subjection. Rocks don't feel cold. Nor hot. Not good, nor bad, nor love. Love? What word is this, which I do not know? 'Tis pain. 'Tis sorrow. 'Tis to which an alien have I been. And shall I be, for rocks feel it not. Rocks feel not. I feel. Sentient. Apathetic yet incurably empathetic! I feel. Homo sapien. I feel. A rock do I long to be. But a rock, and nothing but. Among the rocks, within a quarry, blessedly comatose. The cold chairs. Chairs in which I sit. In which I ponder and in which I wish. No attention's paid to the fool at the head, for he is banished and a ghost. Soft whispers of lecture sometimes fight to my ears. "The American Revolution was…. Economic disruption… French and Indian…" My chair is cold. My butt is numb. To be numb! Feel nothing! But not cold. Rocks feel not. I try to sleep, but my mind pants and pleads with me to let it wander. Ultimately, I have no say. It does what it pleases. The cold chair keeps me awake, anyway. Blasted scheme. At least I have my writing to keep me occupied. Ms. Hamley was right, there. The writing has helped. It's helped me organize my thoughts, and realize my deep desires. It's even brought me to the solution I've yearned for since the day they sent me to this place. Since my first escape. Since every moment I've lived in unrest. I'd like to thank her for that. Maybe some day I will. But not yet. Honestly, I think she still thinks I'm crazy. Simple rationalizations for a feeble mind. I cannot blame her for that, though. I only hope that the rocks find her one day, too. She's good-natured and she deserves it. Otherwise I'd have banished her. January 25th, 2001 In my bathroom again. Mine. The bell has rung and here I remain. I remember the quarry. I read about it first in a paper that someone'd left on a table in the library. I looked it up in the phone book. Found the address. Went at night, when no one was watching. Steep cliffs of limestone shoot up from the hillside. Solid. Strong. Peaceful. I could not leave. I could not leave and come back here. Dragged back, against my will. Dragged! Four more times, I returned, and many more attempts. Now they have a night watchman. Heh, I did that. The ventilation system's just started up. It makes the worst sound imaginable. It's sort of a low hum with constant crackling. Good thing you can only hear it on the third floor. There isn't much up here that it'd really disturb. Some art classrooms, as if they really matter. I went into one of them once. There is so much clay! But I know what clay is -- wronged rocks brutally mixed with the most foul of organic material. I couldn't bear to remain there. I saw the paints, too, and some other things. Papers, pencils, and all manner of other completely useless things. I never saw a point in going back. Oh well. I'm not there, now. I'm in my own bathroom stall, listening to the stupid vent. I close my eyes and picture the quarry. Cool to the touch, I remember my fingers against the massive rock walls. I run my fingers along the bathroom tile, the blue trim. Tile is strong, like rocks, and cool too, but not free. This tile, for instance, has to deal with bathroom smells, and knows not the sun. I would free the tile if I could. January 26th, 2001 Today Ms. Hamley asked me why I'd been missing so many classes. I told her that as long as I maintain straight A's on every test I shouldn't have to go to class. She requested my permanent record from administration, and got it. Read it. Now she's hell-bent on getting me promoted to some even higher-level classes. No one ever asks me what I want. They tell me what's good for me. They laugh when I try to explain rocks. They laugh and they scorn. Except for Liz. I told her about them once, and she just looked at me. At first I thought she looked blank and confused, but I know now that it was a look of understanding. I could see it in her eyes. She understands. I can see it in her smiles. She understands. She might not be looking my way, but when she smiles, it's for me. It's her way of telling me she understands. When she looks in my direction, albeit for brief moments, she's telling me she understands. Her eyes say what her voice cannot and could never. Not even Ms. Hamley understands. January 30th, 2001 They cut my hair today. They said that if I wasn't going to comb or wash it, they'd cut it all off, lest there be a gigantic, unsightly rat's nest on my head. All's for the better, though, I suppose. At least my head isn't itchy anymore. Ms. Hamley has had her way and gotten me into some slightly more advanced classes. Psychology 201. I find that very ironic; I'm definitely the sanest person in this whole place, and perhaps even the world, and now some schmuck is going to "teach" me about psychology. Yeah, right. I ended up testing out of most of the History and English classes. So now my days consist mainly of advanced math and science. Calculus. Biochem. Astrophysics. Bla, bla, bla. At least this won't be for long. Not long at all, now. I'll be free. Just like a rock. Among them. February 3rd, 2001 Astrophysics is mildly amusing, surprisingly. Space is full of rocks. Enormous rocks. I'd never thought about that before. I mean, I knew all about space, but never really thought of any heavenly bodies as rocks. Rocks to me have always been earthy. But apparently they're also celestial. I wouldn't want to be a space rock, though. I….just wouldn't. It's so cold, there. And the rocks are so far apart. And there's little light. And no liquid water. What's a rock without dampness in the morning, and the splash of raindrops on its back? Such beautiful images! Yet space rocks are barren. No, I just wouldn't. Psychology, however, is a joke. I mean, I gave it a chance, initially. But 'twasn't long before the professor was banished. Now I just sit in that class and think. Think and think. Sometimes I think about those whom God has banished, whom exist not and therefore are mere figments of my imagination. But I imagine, for I am not stone. And I imagine the things they've done to me. I imagine my mother; the things she used to tell me. I am special. They only treat me badly because they're jealous. I'm more normal than I know… Yeah, I'm normal. She never understood. But I never needed her anyway. I don't need anyone. I am strong. Right now I'm sitting in my bed, writing and thinking and writing. I have a bunk bed, but no one sleeps below me. No one will. I don't know why. Everyone else in the dorm is asleep. It must be eleven o'clock P.M. or so. Sleep has always come hard to me, so I sleep rarely. Rocks don't sleep, either, though. In a strange way it makes me feel closer to them, despite being restrained. Tonight, however, I have a mission. I'm watching the watchman. He who watches the watched watchers. Heh. I want to learn his routine, so that I know when it's safe for me to make my break. I've been doing this for the last few days. It seems that he disappears for roughly fifteen minutes every night around twelve thirty. I don't know where he goes. I don't really care. I just want to make sure that he leaves. So far, though, so good. He's done it every night that I've watched. I wonder whether Liz is over in the girl's dormitory watching him, too, with those lovely sharp eyes. Planning an escape. She probably is. She understands the rocks. Maybe we can escape together. February 10th, 2001 I spent another solid week watching the watchman. He does, indeed, disappear every night at the same time. I may also have discovered where he goes. You see, upon his departure one night he dropped a spoon and a lighter. I'd love to see the administrator's face if he ever found out that he hired a smack addict to stand watch over dormitories. Ha. I also am more confident, now, that I'll get away. I mean, if he's not away getting high, he might just be too out of it to even notice me. Ms. Hamley asked me today how my writing was coming along. I told her I was writing a romance novel. I don't think she could tell whether I was being sarcastic or not. But I'm fine with that. Liz would be able to tell, though. Liz understands me, and in turn I understand her. We understand each other. I can see it in those beautiful eyes of hers, and in her smile - in that smile, that day when we were alone in the sun, when she smiled for me and the world bent. She understands me. Now that I think about it in retrospect, I could even hear it in the couple words exchanged between us. But I see the most in her eyes, which must exist only for me; so beautiful and so honest, and soft. They're understanding. They tell me she understands. Every day my remembrance of the quarry becomes more vivid. The majesty of its boulders more and more real. My tolerance for tedious, every day life wanes. I want again to be among those whom I'm betrothed to. The granite and limestone, calling me in their peaceful slumber. How I long to see them again. How lucky they are, to be rocks! But rocks! Don't they know? And I a lowly homo sapien. Flawed. Damaged. If only they could be told. February 12th, 2001 Tonight's the night. Soon I take my leave. I've decided that I'll miss Ms. Hamley. She's always had good intentions. And she always listened to me, even if she didn't comprehend the words. I can respect that. And she remains the only person in my universe who shall be left behind. God never banished her. Never. The watchman's just left. I have to go get Liz now.
February 18th- Two frozen bodies were found yesterday at an abandoned quarry just outside of Appleton, WI. They are confirmed to be the bodies of Jason R. Stevens and Elisabeth A. Richards, who were reported missing last week. Both were students at Witherford School for the Gifted, which is located less than a mile from the quarry. The couple apparently plunged to their deaths from atop the tall limestone walls, landing on a pile of jagged rocks. Forensics reports reveal that the Elisabeth, 15, was unconscious at time of death, despite her eyes being gauged out. The security cameras of the school show Jason, who recently turned 13, headed to the Girls' dormitory carrying a bottle of ether, which teachers believe he stole from the school's chemistry classrooms. The boy's councilor, Laura Hamley, tells reporters that neither she nor any other members of faculty saw this coming. "Jason was a very bright young man," she said, "I honestly don't know what got into him." The security cameras also revealed Michael Thompson, the night watchman at Witherford School, leaving his post just before Jason struck. An investigation is pending and Thompson may be charged. Memorial Services will be held on Sunday, February 24th. A teacher suggested to me that if this story is ever made into a movie, "I Am A Rock" by Simon & Garfunkel should be its theme song. CLICK HERE to download it. |
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