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Maze

Prodigy

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Journal entry

March 31, 2009: 955AM, EST

I have been alive for 477,104,556 seconds at time of writing

Received request from psychiatrists today, requesting I begin keeping a journal. This marks the second time they have attempted to have me do this. First attempt met with failure, method of writing indecipherable. They had requested a desire to understand my thoughts, and So I had presented my thought process to the group as best I could. Of my former group of psychologists, 80% have quit, 10% had a nervous breakdown and now has retired, I sent him a apology card; and the remaining 10% abandoned the attempt after 167 hours of study. I felt sad for them, pouring so hard over the documents I’d provided, as if there were some great truth there. But there wasn’t, just a log of the days events. Upon telling them this, they gave up, disheartened.

When I was told today that they’d like for me to try again at a journal, I acted surprised. I knew that they would. Their naked greed as they watch me is so clear on their faces that at times it makes me feel ill. I do not trust them, as they care very little for my own well being, each of them to see me as a many faceted puzzle, one which they will not rest until they have solved. To my handlers, I am not a person. I do not like them for this.

This new journal came with the request of filtering it down to a more manageable form. Is that what I have become then? My own perspective so incomprehensible that I must grind it down to its most raw unformatted version in order to be understood? I know the answer to that question, even though I would wish otherwise.

Received news briefing today from Pentagon, confirming my earlier prediction regarding infiltration into classified records. Three men were captured, the fourth killed. They expressed there gratitude for the forewarning. I smile, telling them it was nothing, since the captured agents will be dead by 11 AM tomorrow morning and will not have revealed there employers identity by then. In doing so, I know I’ve arranged their own execution. Their interrogation will escalate rapidly, trying to get the information they don’t have out of them. Torture will be used, and ultimately result in there own deaths at 8:12, 8: 56 and 10:51 respectively. Some would call my choice heartless. Perhaps they are right. But I’ve granted these men a few additional hours of life. Had I said that they don’t know anything, they would have been executed. I am confident this is the case. The choice between a quick death and a few hours was not easy. I would like to tell them I am sorry, but I am not. This fact disturbs me greatly. I have shaped the course of four men’s lives and done so with a callous indifference. Perhaps in seeing the entire interconnected web of events, I’ve lost the ability to see the value of each component. I fear I am becoming something monstrous.

And I have no idea how to stop myself.

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