Dearest Diary

*Story contains self harm, gore, violence, and abuse*

November 18, 1941

Dearest,

They found out about me today.  There are others too.  I didn't know that? Did you? They say that we are different from others, well of course we know that.  What other people can do what we do? The people who took us put us in a truck. It's dark here, there aren't any windows.  They tell us though, to not worry.  They say that they won't hurt us, but I'm not so sure. There's a little girl here, oh she's so tiny.  She started crying for her mama and papa, she said she didn't want to go.  I felt so badly for her when they, well I don't really want to talk about it.  It was terrible.  After that happened, they put her somewhere, I don't know where, but I know I'm stuck here with about 20 other people, all of them have the same power as me.  I’m very scared, and I want to go home.  I don’t know if I’m going to take you with me when I arrive at wherever they’re taking us.  They said that they are taking up all of our belongings. This might be the last time you hear from me. 

                                                                       Goodbye, Emeline

November 19th, 1941,

Dearest,

We are still in the truck, and we are cold and hungry.  We haven’t eaten in one day, an old man on the truck hasn’t eaten in two, we are afraid he won’t make it.  They put the little girl back with us, oh the bruises and scratches! She won’t speak to us and tell us what has happened to her.  She just huddles in the corner of the truck and cries.  We have only seen the sun twice throughout this treacherous journey, they keep bringing in more people. There are about 40 people now, and we’re all crammed together. It's very strange, and our trait seems to not work  here, almost as if our minds are being blocked off from seeing the beyond.  Oh, I’m so scared. They claim to take us to a nice sanctuary, but the treatment we have received is nothing to how they describe it at the sanctuary. There’s been talk around the truck, that they’re taking us away to hurt us.  Or worse.  I don’t know what to believe, I hope that we go somewhere nice though.  I have to go, I hear a sound out of the truck, it must be more delivery of people.  

                                                            Goodbye, Emeline

November 19th, 1941,

Dearest,

It’s late, and my legs ache like fire.  Our kidnappers have made us get out of the truck and walk through the wilderness in a straight line.  They tell us that we will be arriving at a nice, warm place soon where we will have nice clothes and a meal waiting for us.    I hope so, I am ravenous.  I almost want to pluck the grass out of the ground and devour it.   There have been three deaths so far, surprisingly, the old man is not one of them, but we don’t know how much longer he has left, for he staggers and vomits until he just gags because there is nothing left.  I can tell everybody wants to help him, but anytime somebody tries to carry him or let his balance on their shoulders, they get a sharp kick in the crook of their knee.  I cringe everytime they do so.  I must go, I’m afraid that they will catch me doing this.  

                                                             Goodbye, Emeline

November 20, 1941,

Dearest,

As I write this, I am trapped in a cell.  It’s cold, possibly colder than the truck.  When I got here, they made us strip down our warm clothes, and they gave us thin, nightgown-like outfits for the women, and long, thin trousers and shirts for men.  They let us keep any belongings that had no value, they saw none in you, but you truly were the most valuable thing to me.  I find myself flipping through pages at past entries, reading old memories.  They make me happy.  Once I put you away though, I feel the emotion no longer. I have only been here for a day, yet the effects are already boring on me.  I am in a room with 5 other women, and our meal was sparse.  It was a mash of who-knows-what and a dirty cup of water. They tell us once we start our training that we will get heavier servings.  I don’t know what they mean by training, though.  I don’t know if it’s physical or academics. I hope it’s academics, though.  Maybe when I’m done with this I can apply my knowledge and go to college like mama and papa had planned out for me. I have to go, they are calling for us. 

                                                                                                      Goodbye, Emeline

November 20, 1941,

I am in so much agony right now.  My head feels too heavy to lift up, everything is spinning.  I want to scream, but we’re not allowed.  The women around me are sobbing and holding their heads, banging them against the thin pillows on their beds, praying to their gods to make the pain stop.  My vision feels blurry and my hands are shaking.  I can’t see into the future right now, I wish I could so I could see where this was going.  They want my power, they use every single one of us to see into the future.  They took our heads and put them in metal holds, and there was a metal trough under our heads. Then those wretched people injected something into us from our feet.  We became still, unable to move! They ran water in the trough, until it was up to our eyes, almost to our mouths. After that, they did the unthinkable! They put some sort of electric shock into the water, oh the screaming, the yelling, the crying.  I cried hard and begged for the release from this place, but a wet rag was shoved up my mouth, all of our mouths, until all you heard was the muffled screaming of everybody.  Even as my voice went hoarse, I still cried.  After the shock, they put wet earmuffs on us and shocked those, then, we all had to watch as something that came from our brains shot through a tube and into a cup.  The people there said it was the future, our telling of it, anyways.  I need to go, I no longer have the strength to pick up a pencil and let it scrawl across the paper.  

December 2, 1941

Dearest,

I haven’t been able to write in you for a while.  It’s too painful.  They’ve been sucking the future out from us now 4 days a week.  My power is starting to fade, as is everybody else's.  Well, the ones that have survived the ‘treatment’.  It’s gotten worse as our power has diminished.  They do the shock harder, the vacuum effect harder, the pain is sometimes too intense.  The people who work here have had to remove the rusty nails from the beds because people have tried to give themselves tetanus through it.  They had to throw away the loose metal bars around the sanctuary because the captures have tried to make eachother pass out..forever. I miss home so much, and I know people have been looking for us.  They’ll never find us though, we’re stuck on this mountain, and even if they found us, we would be unrecognizable.  I got a glimpse of myself in a puddle this morning, and my oh my, I look different! My hair has been burnt off from the shocks, and we haven’t been allowed to bathe,  so my skin is gray with dirt.  I also have red scratches all over my arms, I don’t know what from, though.  I’m afraid it might be from a lady in my cell, who has gone crazy.  Understandably, though.  I am very surprised that I have not yet gone mad like so many others.  I cry every night, and pray, but the Lord has not yet answered.  Mama says never lose hope though, so I don’t stop saying the Lord’s prayer, no matter how badly in pain I’m in. ‘Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, thy will be done.  On Earth as it is in Heaven, give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil’.  The last line gives me the most hope. 

June , 1942

I don’t know how much longer that I’ll be here.  My power is almost completely gone, and I can barely see into the future.  I am the only one left in the dark little cell now.  The rest of the girls lost their memories, and they got taken away,  never seen again.  It’s hot now, too hot.  The mountain also gets warm rain, and when the rain is done, it’s steamy and humid in our building.  I think it’s June, I don’t know the day, though.  I know that this is where my story ends, so I have chosen you to carry on evidence once this terrible, terrible, thing ends. This will be my last entry, I saw my name on the death row list, but I’m not afraid of death.  Not anymore, at least.  Death is just a quick way to ease long-term pain. I wouldn’t normally say such a thing, but I’ve been through far worse, and Heaven always sounds better than hell. That is why I laugh silently to myself, when our captures think that they are doing something to us, that we want to keep living.  My legacy will live, my writings will live, my pain won’t, though, because I will be in my father’s house eternally, forever.  Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

                                                                            Emeline.