Tag Archives: meta

Journal Entry 4: Official Prognosis

2 Aug

I escaped and woo-wee, heavens help me it was a rush. I’ve never felt as alive as I did last night, my gun sounding loudly into the night as the beautiful thudding sounds of bodies hitting the ground greeted my ears. The minions of darkness, or hell monsters as I call them, had charged forward while I tried to escape last evening. I fought valiantly but I had feared that my time was up. But that was when he appeared, a wealthy beneficiary from my blog. He knew the blight I had discovered and came driving in guns ablazing, friends hooting and hollering out of the back of his truck. They chased the monsters away with their high beams while pulling me up by my armpits into the bed. I have never felt more alive.

I write now from one of his spare rooms, with all of the assurances that him and his compadres will keep me safe. After their showing from last night, I have no reason to believe they will not uphold that promise. So now, as requested by my wealthy beneficiary, I have done extensive research this following evening into the threats to our existence. I was more than happy to oblige as well to his request for me to share my findings with you as well. Listed below is where I believe each of these 11 ancient abominations last attacked our beautiful planet.

I believe one of them was in control of Russia seizing Crimea.

Another had been in charge of the war in Syria. Rumors say that it is ending, and if that’s the case, it would uphold my theory that they’ve moved into the Russian or United States military.

The third I was wrong about. I no longer believe they are located in Flint, Michigan, but rather Yemen.

I believe the fourth I was wrong about as well, and he currently resides at the heart of this movement.

As for the others, well lets be clear, they have a strong foothold in our society. Pride, Greed, Anger, Envy, Sloth, Gluttony, and Lust are all at the forefront of this battle for mankind. Just look at the history of the world. These seven horrible creatures have always ran with their 4 leaders, it is only now that we have begun to see their attack out in the light of day. Woe is me, one of the few that can see the atrocities they are responsible for in day to day life.

However, this will come to an end. I have a mission, and a powerful one sent from the very top. I will reveal the names of those I believe are lying about being human, because as I see it, sins and horsemen cannot be human. Not after they hefted their evil frames from the meteor that destroyed the dinosaurs. Not when they have brought so much pain and suffering to our world.

I must end this post now, just thinking of these hideous creatures has led to my blood pressure rising and my old bones can no longer handle that like they used to. Hopefully my wealthy beneficiary will appreciate this post and let me stay for one more evening. He claims to sleep during the day and be awake through the night. Perhaps I shall take up that schedule as well, if only for my own safety.

Expect to hear from me tomorrow. I have a lot to share and I plan on needing you to help me.

Goodnight and sweet dreams.

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Journal Entry 3: Who Am I?

1 Aug

I apologize for the delay of this post. I’m being hunted on this dreary night.

I have shed the damned laptop and am now beginning to create these posts on a smartphone. I am still shut off from the outside world, constantly on the run from the powers that work to strike me down. I can feel them, lurking over my shoulder, watching from the shadows. They run through every piece of data I touch, it feels as if they’re trying to read my very fingertips as I write. Maybe they can, maybe that technology has been embedded in our smartphones. I’m now wary of this piece of junk in my hands just thinking about it.

People keep asking who I am in the comments of these posts. Why is that of importance? Is there a reason to care for a loss soul like myself? I don’t believe there is. But who am I to judge them for caring or determining my own self worth? I’m just a man, no, much more than a man, trying to stop the evil forces at work. The 11 are still out there. The 11 must be stopped.

But the question remains: who am I? Should I share? I am on the run now and I’m sure these haunted figures know who I am, so maybe my loyal followers should as well. I could become a martyr if they catch me that way. I could be a man worthy of creating a crusade. I could die a legend. So be it, you ask, and so you shall receive.

I am a teacher. I am an educator. I am a writer. I’m an academic and a dreamer. I am a peace bringer and the end bringer. I am lost. I will never be found. I am a man, yet not a man. I am an unstoppable force. I am a sharpened weapon against the terrors. I am many things. I have been reduced to nothing. I am Joel.

There, I’ve exposed myself to them and the world. Now I must run again, This dampened road, slick from the rain, has the sounds of pitter patters echoing over my shoulder. I wish that it was just the sound of water slapping against the black top. I know it is not. I wish it was the sound of an animal scurrying across the road and up a tree, yet I know it is not. The lights behind me fade to black, which means I may have been found. Hopefully the weapon I’ve holstered can provide me the safety I need. I must run. I have no choice. If there is no post tomorrow then you must fear the worst for me.

Let’s hope I post tomorrow.

A message is hidden down below. But for you. Only you.

They are the horsemen. Their minions, the deadliest of our sins. They shall not win. They shall not prevail.

The Ghost Writer

26 Jul

When I went to school to become a writer, I had no ambition to be a ghost writer. I wanted to be able to go out and create my own work. Something fun and exciting for people to love. Throughout my classes people talked about how ghost writing was a great way to build up a resume, and maybe it was, but it was still something I had no ambition to do.

And yet, here I am. I sit patiently in my office while my client, a Mr. Johnson, droned on and on. I should be taking notes on whatever part of his life he’s on, but instead I sit here and blog about it instead. I think I’m writing this because maybe it will be a way to reach out of my comfort zone, to not write what my office requires me to write.

“So then in ’92, that’s when things got really hot and heavy between me and my third wife,” Mr. Johnson says. Awesome, is all I can think. This man, like so many others that come to me to help write their autobiography, believe that it clearly needs a steamy sex story. Pro-tip, it doesn’t. Sex mainly sells in advertising, where your audience can SEE the sex.

I nod my head for the benefit of Mr. Johnson while I continue to clack, clack, clack, away on my keyboard writing this. I wished my bosses gave me a better office. Here, let me paint a picture for you:

The office is maybe 186 square feet, give or take. In a most basic sense, it is set up just like a therapist’s office. I personally believe this is done intentionally so that our customer’s feel inclined to share their feelings. Anyway. You open the door to my office, and it’s a worn down oak if anyone cares about such things, and the handle is pretty much broken. On the east wall is a couch that somehow still looks to be in mint condition. On the west wall is red chairs that match the couch. It’s where I’m suppose to sit. In between the couch and chair? You guessed it, a coffee table. On the north side of the room is a large window looking out into the city. In front of it is my glass desk. That’s where I actually sit.

“Are you even listening to me,” Mr. Johnson says with a moan. I look up from my laptop and give him a smiling nod. “Well if you are,” he continues, “what did I just talk about?”

I look back down at my computer and read the paragraph that I just wrote on the description of the room. I forgot to mention the ceiling and walls are an off-colored white and the carpeting is a worn down beige. I should also mention that the office is cold, always so damn cold. I blame Mr. Johnson in my head but for now I need to give him some kind of answer.

“You were talking about how you and your third wife were having intercourse,” I say. Mr. Johnson stares back at me, a lost look in his eye. I wait for him to tell me that I’m right. Instead, he reaches for the flask that was set on the table for him when he arrived.

“No,” he said. “Maybe I chose the wrong person to talk to. I was told you were the best in the business, but I guess that was just old news.” I watch as he inches closer to the flask and I try to decide on if I want to stop him.

“Look Mr. Johnson,” I begin, “I’m sorry, today is just an off day for me.” I feel this is a harmless excuse everyone buys, and sure enough, Mr. Johnson does. “I have my notes right here. How about you just tell me what you said after sex with your wife and we’ll move on from there.” Mr. Johnson stares at me again with lifeless eyes before giving his response.

“No, I think I’m done with today and with working with you,” he says. “If you can’t bother to listen to how my wife murdered me that evening, why should I bother confiding anything else in you?” Mr. Johnson had a great point so I did the only thing I could, I shrugged. “That’s what I thought.”

With that, Mr. Johnson flew up into the air and I watched as his flask stood on end and he dived headfirst into it. This was the only part of the job that always amazed me. It never got old watching the ghosts re-attach themselves to the item their soul couldn’t break free from. They always did it with such pizazz, almost as if they were trying to show you why you should care about what they had to say and to question the importance of the item. I sighed with relief as the room warmed up. In a minute, a custodian would be in to collect Mr. Johnson and store him with the rest of the ghosts.

As I sit here and wait, I struggle to come up with anything more to write. It’s horrible, because I know I have more to say, more to create. Sadly though, all I can think of is Mr. Johnson and the stories him and his ghost pals have. Maybe I’ll wait to leave this job after all. The bosses won’t mind if I haunt this office until a better job comes along.