June 8, 2018
Journal, I can't even begin to tell you how many tragedies happened in the past day. I wish I actually could. After Jeremiah awoke he did as I suspected. He beat me to a lump on the cold floor of my prison cell and even more. The pain from his razor that cut my left foot open was too much for this sack of flesh and bone to bear. I slipped into unconsciousness. After I awoke I called out for what day it was and the time. Anthony, one of my guards taking his shift, called out and said it was June 8, 2017 and that the time was 4:45 p.m. This was tragedy for me. I had been told that my session was to take place today and that it was to be around the time of 4:30 p.m. They were late and impatient when they entered my cell. The Hooded Man asked me about Ellen again. "How did you two meet, Mark?", he asked. "What was it that drew you to her, Mark?", he also asked. I stayed as silent as ever as they brought in a very familiar and gruesome item. A whip lined with glass and covered in blood. I am sure they do not wash it for they like to see the infections taking root inside a man's flesh. They flogged me senselessly and without mercy till I felt the blood run down my back in what felt like a river. Then they left without a word or a glance backwards. Those demons do not care what happens to me. They only care for me because of my plea I made to them five years ago. To spare Ellen and to take me and keep me alive so that I may suffer at their hands in her place. But I had no idea the tortures would be this straining. I once had the idea of escaping my prison cell at the beginning of my sentence. I planned and waited for the moments I had thought out inside my head. But those moments and opportunities never arose and I quietly let those thoughts slip from my mind. Another tragedy that occurred today Journal was this. The lock is to deep. A mere fork prong, even if bent to resemble a key, could not reach inside and unlock my door. It would merely slip inside the lock and become lost. A foolish thought from a foolish man. Though maybe I could use the old trick of a bobby pin. Though all of my guards are men... they have no need for them. My cell smells rancid, for my wastes have not been collected in the past week. Samuel, who comes to collect my wastes and dispose of them properly, is a good little lad. He doesn't say much but smiles very often. If only he came when I was not sleeping or more often I would speak with him. Though I do not know what thoughts run through the mind of a young boy these days and times. He might be smiling because he enjoys my suffering as much as the Hooded Man does. Maybe he will come today to dispose of my wastes. Oh Hell! Here I go rambling again Journal. Your page is filled with my scribbles. But you do not care for you are a paper piece and I am a man alive. More dead than alive I would imagine by now. Thank you for listening again friend. My supper will be here soon and with that a new guard. I heard this time it was to be Simon. With him around all I can do is sit in my cell on my bug infested bed and try to sleep. He is worse than Jeremiah at times but I am lucky he does not have that mans temper. Until I may write to you again Journal.