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Unknown Soldier · (12-28-2013)

The Journal of Justice

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Dear JJ (6),

Why am I so lonely? More importantly, why do I feel the urge to separate so severely? Why is it that on Christmas Day I find myself locked away from the ones I'm supposed to cherish most? I have secluded myself inside my own room, which is a naturally reoccurring event in my life. Solitude is my solidarity and where I hide what's left of the sanctity of my sanity. I feel my mind has become connected to something inherently evil and abnormally manipulative. The source lay deep within this feeling of loneliness, that is coupled with immense curiosity. Drawing me closer within it's sadistic spell to a place where I can hide. The inquisitive nature that drew me closer to it's temptation seemed to be infused with a lust for loneliness. Tranquility within my own pastoral fantasy apart from the reality of my world. I knew a world existed outside the structural barricades that kept my tranquil temple from toppling.

Because I sit and watch the world vicariously unfold in front of my eyes through the mind manipulating device. My only true friend and the formulator of my fantasies. Today it was full of cheer and family unity and that's why I dismissed it on this day and come to you now, JJ. Finally, someone who will listen and not talk back. A confidant who won't tell me things I wish not hear. I have full control. I sometimes believe that this curiosity in my own solitude is an infatuation with control. The only way out of this spell may be of my own accord, as I believe I am too far gone to give in to my inner desires and the yearning hunger of my fantasies. Curiosity for control will keep me coming back for more as.......

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...."BORIS!"

The young boy tears the page out viciously from his notepad and hides it's contents underneath the padded mattress of his bed that was directly behind his wooden desk. His mother hasn't found the numerous other secrets he kept hiding underneath a wooden baseboard and a Sealy for years now. For now this was his hiding place as it was for most naive young boys. If Mrs. Zaslavasky were smart enough like most mother's of teenage boys who find pornography hiding in the most obvious places, then I wouldn't be telling you this story today. Needless to say, here we are as Boris' unfit and abuse mother comes tromping up the stairs. The entire room vibrates as two huge knocks shake the walls holding the door upon it's foundation. It's not long after that the door comes flying off its hinges and a dent the size of a doorknob is etched in the wall adjacent to the doorway.

Mrs. Zaslavasky: "I thought I told you to get downstairs so we could leave hours ago!"

The sense of anger was showing in the back of her eyes as they twitched trying to hold back her abusive ambitions.

Mrs. Zaslavasky: "You're lucky it's Christmas day or I'd wipe that smirk right off your face faster than Santa Claus can eat a plate of cookies!"

There was in fact no smirk, but yet the boy made no movement of fear or argumentative stance against it. He simply attempts to walk past her slowly, but is abruptly stopped as she reaches out to lash his arm and maliciously yank him towards her to insist he get a better listen this time.

Mrs. Zaslavasky: "I know you hate me and I hate you too! That's why you've been giving me the silent treatment ever since you were born! But you'll sure talk to that senile grandfather of yours won's you? Won't you!"

She shakes him furiously but is unable to force an answer out of him.

Mrs. Zaslavasky: "Get in the fucking car!"

She pushes him with immense force that sends him stumbling to the ground. The ailing child twitches slightly in pain, but rebounds to his feet and makes a hasty exit out the doorway. Before exiting herself, the fierce woman balls up her fists in anger staring directly at a fold in his mattress where he had just hidden the piece of paper he was scribbling on minutes before. Her eyes penetrating through the mattress like the rage was penetrating through her pores as sweat.

Mrs. Zaslavasky: "I thought I told you that creases were a sign of laziness!"

She bends down to fix the crease before following her son out the exit to a closed door that extinguishes our scene.

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Dear JJ (66),

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas again as my teacher sits waiting anxiously to accommodate my questions that have progressively became more interesting to him over the years. I have little knowledge of the calendar in question, but have some sort of telekinetic bond that I feel encompassed by when this time of season rolls around. For some reason, the voices inside my head cease to exit on this particular day. Probably in lieu of my curiosity that is ignited in our discussions. Which then gives me the ability to tune them out . Although, the answers I receive from him become the infrastructure for these voices to preclude in the remaining 364 days of the year. I still feel drawn to them and the allure is notwithstanding.

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