The pages I write now are not in order, nor structured well. They are NOT REAL. This is FICTION. So.
PART III
ONE
5 January, 2013
There’s a notebook on my pillow. I don’t know what’s going on... I don’t remember anything. Who am I, and where did I come from? I don’t know anything. I think I’m real... I mean, anyone with a name is real, right? At least I know my name.... It’s Dinah. Dinah Langford Cohen.
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I read the notebook. There are pages missing, but it seems to me that I have a very strange past I’m a person, but I used to be a collective consciousness of four people. There was some sort of conflict, and one of them pressed a big red threatening button. Honestly, I’m not sure how a big button even got inside somebody’s head, but whatever. I’m pretty impossible either way.
There is an envelope next to the notebook. I think that might be where the missing pages are. The envelope has a name on it - Malcolm. I was told in the notebook that I have to find this boy and give him his letters. If I don’t... I’m not sure what will happen, but I have a feeling that it won’t be good.
The four people who created me - my “mothers” - were very young. I may only be a few hours old, but they were fourteen years old. I haven’t the faintest idea of how they dealt with the problem of being intellectual and mental freaks. I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.My main problrm now is getting out of this asylum I’ve been forced into. These people believe I am schizophrenic, that there are voices in my head. But there aren’t, not in my head. I keep telling the doctors, but they won’t listen.
I honestly don’t know why the doctors won’t listen to me... they keep saying I can’t b trusted. But whyever not? I was just born, it’s not like I’d make a very good liar. They have no reason not to trust me.
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It just occured to me why the doctor’s don’t trust me. They have no reason to trust me in the first place. If they don’t believe that I’m new to this life, how will they know I can be trusted? The answer is that they can’t.
I wish Malcolm would come to see me. He knows what is going on, and I’m absolutely positive he could pull enough strings to get me the hell out of here. So why doesn’t he? Does he think I’m still the way I used to be? I’m not. There is nothing that can compare me to my mothers except genetics and history.
As far I know, Malcolm was a love and a lover to my mothers. He was an accomplice and a frenemy, he was a follower and an innovator, he was a thinker and a doer, and he was a blood-brother and a traitor. He was everything to them, their hearts broke, and yada yada yada. It doesn’t matter, truly. I’m here now, and damn it if I’m not going to break out of this place and take over the world with the future love of my life.
Mrs. Dinah Regado
Mrs. Dinah Cohen-Regado
Mrs. Malcolm Regado
Mrs. Regado
Oh, what am I doing? You can’t fall in love with someone you don’t know, can you? No, of course not. So why on earth should I fall in love? I won’t even be able to get out of this joint and tell it to his face.
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I have a plan. I am good with numbers, and I have a few ideas of what the combination could be. All I have to do is hack into the asylum system and type them in, and they’ll never know it was me if I replace my memory drive... did I mention that I’m rather good with computers? It’s something my mother learned from Malcolm. He may be an ass for not breaking out of this place, but he did show me the way unintentionally, so I might forgive him someday.
Now, if I could only pull up the program...
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I’m backing out. I can’t do it. It finally occurred to me that, well, maybe there’s an actual reason for why malcolm isn’t getting me out. I think he wants me to find the ingenuity to trick them into letting me out. So that’s what I have to do. Learn the people to learn the place, and learn the place to escape it. That should be relatively easy shouldn’t it?
My only dilemma is taking myself out of the system. I don’t believe in hypnotism, so I can’t brainwash these people into actually believing that I’m sane, but I might be able to create a false record and forge a doctor’s signature onto it. In case anyone asks questions, I’ll have to find a doctor who I can easily convince to help me “pursue my dreams of immersion” in a something something -or-other thing. I’ll figure it out when the time comes. I really hope I’m a good liar.
I have a lot more, but it's all in a random order and there are parts missing. Enjoy this while you can. It might be finished soon, and who knows where we'll be then?
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