Solitary Refinement Chapter 20

Dear Diary                                    January 11th 2017

Okay, peanut butter mystery solved holy shit. This guy named Phil who I’ve never spoken to before but the word is he said something about Trevor to somebody, something he ought not have. I don’t know how but Trevor has dirt on everybody, I wonder what he knows about me. Anyways Phil was eating his oatmeal at breakfast and got up to use the washroom, while he was gone one of Trevor’s pals stirred that peanut butter into the oatmeal quickly.

    Phil came back, had three quick spoonfuls and then was on the ground gasping for air, trying to scream for help but no sound came. His face went red, and then blue and nobody did a thing. After several minutes a guard, a new face, came and called for first aid and now I think he’s getting care in the hospital wing. He was without air for several minutes, I wonder if he has brain damage, and I wonder what he said about Trevor to deserve this. That guy worries me more and more, and I’m taking orders from him. Wonderful, just wonderful. I’m the guy who supplied that damn peanut butter. I’m an accomplice to this, will there be an investigation? I could have my sentence extended if I aided in this crime, he could have died, he may have brain damage. Yet if I don’t do what Trevor says who knows what he’ll do to me.

    This is the only place where I don’t have to hide feelings anymore. Where I can talk about how I’ve been feeling. It’s like I’m in the part of a movie where nothing could get worse, the enemy is closing in and the sky is dark. Right at the darkest moment the sun breaks through the clouds and somebody comes to the rescue, riding over the hill and cutting through the enemies army straight towards me. As if the hero were a compass finally finding true north. Right now I feel like I’m at that part of the story, but nobody comes. They just close in ever closer, I can see the flecks of black in their irises, the sweat dripping of the ends of noses, trickling in time with their steps.

    Is there a way out of this, can I be the hero? Do I have what it takes to save myself? I used to make up stories for Alister with brave and noble heroes, they could get out of any situation. They were as nimble with their tongues as they were with their swords, half the time stopping a conflict before it arose, winning enemies over to the cause of justice. Yet when they did fight boy could they fight, every blow finding home, not a stroke wasted and never was being outnumbered a cause to be distressed. I wonder now if Alister thought his daddy could be such a hero, that if he was stuck I might be able to save him in such a splendid display of courage and skill. I certainly know now that that’s not me, it feels like it’s all I know sometimes. I’m not enough, not enough muscle, not enough charm, not enough intelligence, not enough courage. Too much anxiety, too much idiocy, too much fear.

Still I wonder, with nobody to save me,

Can I save myself?