"Diary thoughts given away to the wind" 3/18/104 PA I have floated across the briny sea and landed hard on my back against a tree. I don't remember how I got here or who I am, yet Pepecito rings clear in my head. I know that name and should know me, but the space has eaten away my memory. I can fight, I stand and fight and can beat those down. I know because I have. I have seen the moon rise and be devoured by the hungry mountains only to have the clouds spit it out again. The voice of the breeze cuddles coldly against my face, wheezing breath into my deflated lungs. I have seen the sandbar twinkie eat the rocket. I know I have. I can't remember who I am yet I know that the sun is shining on me. I was eaten and coughed up onto this land. I still have the bitter taste of death in my brain. My ears scream at me through the dark, straining to pick up the smallest sound of sanity. Reality. Normalcy. Me. 3/27/104 PA Ten days ago I walked into a trap. I knew it was going to go wrong, there just wasn't a way around the feeling. The twelve other guys all knew it as well. We hustled through the jungle, searching the thick canopy for signs. Clues to the presence of the quarry. Perhaps high in the trees he left a message for us. An unheeded warning to stay away. I felt that in my gut. We walked still when the rains came. The thunder that shattered the sky deafened us like none had before, an unnatural cracking of dreams and lives. The sound of some far off soul being ripped apart, breaking the very air around you. The lightning spilled from the angry clouds like hornets, stinging hornets venting rage on those who dared to intrude. I saw the shadow and knew the reaper before he swung. I knew he had come to harvest. 5/21/104 PA Blue goat cheese gets stuck in my throat. Momma always said that, I think. Momma had fifteen arms and one hand, all swinging away the open jar. Daddy would polish his stock; deep grained wood gleaming in the twilight. Dinner came late, always early for the day. Dried chicken bones torn apart by winged demons and my little brother. Dying cows baying like dogs at the sweeping clouds that had my blood moving like honey. Somehow I flew like the dodo birds of yore, days ago in the months to come. The clock melted like butter on the sidewalk in December, while the geese overhead spewed fire from their feet. The screaming vortex swirled around me, luring me in while standing idly by, pressing me into the damp madness of it all. The swamp rose above me and the muck filled my lungs. Unable to breathe through slatted gills, I took the knife and cut three more. The vacuum of my coffin gave way to a fading hillside and there upon the thorny bush I saw the scrapbook of my life in the future. Blue goat cheese always got stuck in my throat. 7/05/104 PA The Army trained me well, considering the advantages I was given. They had this project, the one hey offered me had incredible power attached with it. They said that it would have certain side effects on me, but I still accepted. I would be able to hunt the one thing that took everything away. Dragons. They promised me that I would be in the new unit. The special unit they created just for that purpose. The 109th Colombian. I knew just enough to sign my life away. I didn't know they were taking my sanity. The months afterwards were the hardest. I began to notice that past thoughts were re-emerging and the doctors told me to forget them, it was natural. I knew it wasn't, but I complied. I fought the dragons and prevailed. I knew that the other Pepecito's and me was the best. We were taught the ways of the military; we mastered the style of the leopard. They promised fighting machines and got the killing machines we were. We exceeded their expectations and surprised all, including the quarry. All dragons were named that. Quarry, quarry dragons. There was no differentiating between them. They all ended up in a pile of ash. That's what we did, we burned them. 9/14/104 PA The fire recoiled slightly against the pressing moon, offended slightly by the glaring light. The dying embers dance in the open eyes of the creature lying next to me. I guess the blue goat cheese gets stuck in his throat, too. He has died, mostly from me, but probably because his insect master wanted him back for duty. I can only guess that the heavy clouds want to spit on us, me and my companion. I don't like the rain, I think I hate it but can't remember why. And real big leaves. They make me shudder but I can't recall the reason. I think the throat has something to do with it. Or maybe it was the voice in my head. He keeps telling me that I am not going to see the sunrise or the apples ripen. But what are apples? Are they his twisted brood, a malignant blight curled deep within a banana? Monkeys eat bananas, so why would he hide there? Are the monkeys killing people? I can't remember what a monkey is. I think they must be apples. I will crush the monkeys and eat their brains if they kill the bananas. Oranges are harmless. They can live. 12/24/104 PA The sun is beating warmly against my skin. I can't remember how long I have been awake. My body is exhausted and I can't walk. I can barely find the energy to write into this book. I keep reading the previous passages and can't figure them out. I must be babbling into them again. I know that it happens, but how long have I been gone? I space out now and then, assuming a me that isn't. I wish that sometimes I could ask for everything to be taken away, to be scrapped, but I don't really. Mom and Dad would have to suffer for nothing if I did. They promised me a life of happiness and safety. I believed them until he came. The towering darkness that was the dragon. He beat upon our town ith a savage fury I have not seen equalled yet. I grew up destined to be a destroyer, but I didn't know it would be at the expense of my own sanity. I don't remember who I used to be. All I know is I am here and there are more things to kill. I have seen them flying, gliding on the currents with lazy satisfacion. They will all die. 2/06/105 PA If I find out who is writing in my book I will rip out his throat with a blue cheese hand. He reminds me of me when I was older. Was I ever older, wiser even? Who knows but the man who knows me? I think that it will rain again, the clouds want to hack a huge ball of wet on just me. Why do they hate me? I know the hurricane has blown around me and salted away the valley. The trees bend and die and only the tree-huggers know why. Pansies, daisies, tulips, oranges, kill the apples and squish the banana monkeys. Die maggot, die maggot. Malignant voided darkness swirling in color. Grey grey grey grey red. My blood ran grey. Grey blood and sharp teeth. Dull grey eyes. Blood eyes. Horns and crowns black as my insides. My cave that opens and closes, heals and closes. Hills and valleys, mountains and skies. I feel my brain rotting away like a dead fruit bat. He ate my brain and I will kill him for it. What is the furry tree that stands before me? Roar in defiance. 4/17/105 PA I dented his head, smashed it like a ripened melon bee. He shot me. I know he did because I burned burned burn burned. I was a pogo ball of fiery burn. I had stuff that I liked. He took it all. I took his nose, and his face. He has no sunglasses now. I think that I taught him a lesson. He burned me. I got better in half a millenia, burned for billions of years in a split second. I know he did it, I saw him smiling with wicked teeth in fruit bat gums. I want to drink his brain and spit it onto his face like sour milk. Blue goat cheese sounds real good right now.
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