The Land Of The Lost

Januray 10th, 1998

Crunch
Crunch
Crunch
The sound of my shoes sinking into the crisp, fresh, snow satisfies me like the sound of crushing bones. I walk for ages across the winter drizzle. My jeans stained, my shoes ripped apart, and my jacket covered in someone else's hair. This was an average night for me. The smell of alcohol, weed, and cheap cologne glues to me. I did it again, and no one caught me. I keep selecting my prey and no one knows. The thrill of getting away with something that an average character can't fills me with power. I have the power. I have what the rest don't, intelligence.

Many people do have the potential to be intelligent, but don't use it to their advantage like I do. I mean I get away with crimes that make these idiots go to jail for 25- life. I am the top dog while they are my pups. Using intelligence properly is important because you cannot expect to be the best if you don't push yourself. For example; I continuously push myself to the maximum I can handle by testing new things. Killing in the open, Stealing when it's broad day light, stalking with cameras, etc. Some may call this dumb, I call it entertainment. See you can do anything you want as long as you use your potential intelligence. You can do anything, anywhere as long as you are smart. Simple as cutting camera cables, limiting witnesses, and causing fear. It's a simple three step process.

Step one, always know your surroundings. Never, ever, go into a situation blind. Every time I commit a crime I only go to places I know better than anyone else. Knowing every corner of a facility gives you the lead, always. Step two, choose a target accordingly. Don't choose someone bigger than you or someone in a big friend group. You need a young, small, loner. These are best found in book stores, low key coffee shops, or anywhere else a hipster would be. Third step, never, and I mean never choose the same person more than once. You don't want a pattern or trail left behind. Follow these three steps and I can promise, you won't get caught. I never do. Since I live by these three steps and intelligence, I have gotten away with 34 crimes in the past three years. Nothing is ever impossible folks. Nothing.

Now, I don't want to continue explaining my intelligence without proof. An opinion with no proof is simply a story. I remember my first tap into my brain. I had figured out how to fully control my brain to its maximum. Testing the limits, I shut off my emotions. It wasn't too difficult. I just screamed at myself and talked to my little friend, Brian. I love Brian. He always encourages me and teaches me the ways of life. Whenever I need something, I signal Brian to come out and help. No one can see Brian except for me. I guess that's the beauty of it, Brian is all mine and no one else's. My own personal life guide.

I also love Brian because he is the only one who cares about me. Everyone in my life is after me, they chase me and yell at me and move my things. Brian helped me commit my first crime. It was three years ago, June 17th, 1995. I met Brian a few months prior and he became my best friend, my soul mate, my everything. Around 2:30 am Brian convinced me to go out tonight. It was a warm summer night, only the hottest and drunkest where out. The perfect time. I walk into town as Brian directs me to the best bars. Brian always helps me pick my prey. Brian knows best, or at least that's what i've always been told. I never question what Brian tells me, so when he says "that one" with his bony pointer finger extended, I know he's correct. Today his pick is a beautifully broken girl. She's young, no friends, no family, drinking alone. I can sense her depressive state from miles away. Severe Depressive Disorder, slight PTSD. She's the perfect one. Calming my nerves, I smoothly make my way over to her, Brian right by my side. I slip into the seat next to hers and order a drink. She looks over and cracks open a fake
smile, I smile back. "Why are you drinking alone tonight!" she asks me with pure curiosity.
"I could ask you the same thing sunshine."
she giggles lightly.
" Believe it or not I only drink alone when i'm in my moods."
Called it. Depression.
"You get depressive moods too? That annoying dark cloud with the never ending rain."
she stares in my eyes with understanding, "hell yeah i do. it's pure torture."
"yeah, something like that" I smile at her politely. Brian tells me to take her on a walk outside, so I do.
"hey, let's go get some air."
She smiles as if no one has ever invited her anywhere before, "of course."
We walk and talk for a while until finally Brian yells, "NOW" my ears ring but I do as he says. I grab her face as though I was to kiss her, She leans in and snap
Her limp neck rests in my hands and her head slips over my shoulders. She's dead. Without a sound. Without a peep. Just pure nothing.

Now it's June 10th. 34 kills later & now I play my guitar on a calm, sunday afternoon. I place my hands on the perfectly strung strings, ready to play my next melody. Then something felt funny. Brian adviced me to put the guitar down and check around the house. Nothing was broken into, but the strings, they where wrong. I informed Brian that I was anxious and furious. Who would want to mess with me? What did I ever do? Why can't I have a relaxing day? These thoughts rushed through my mind as Brian screamed at me, screeching in my bleeding ears. I run out my house and throw my guitar in the trunk of my car. Today is not the day someone messes with me.

After arriving at the music store, I speak to several men and women. All of them telling me that they no longer sell my old strings. My guess is they know who switched them. Or maybe it was them. Who knows. I tell them briefly that Brian knows best and I need new strings. They give me new strings for $16.99. I throw them in my car and drive off. Speeding down the highway I pass a small patch of land next to old run down train cars. Swerving off the interstate I rush towards the train cars full speed. RailRoad tracks approach me but I can't stop myself, Brian holds the gas petal down and calmly reminds me who is in control, him. I give him my trust and he takes the wheel. Before I could scream Brian kicks the car into 98 MPH and throws us over the railroad tracks. Twisting the wheel at 180 degrees we fly into the old train cars. The last words I hear are "We are okay now Jake, You and I are okay." Brian's words comfort me as I close my eyes and let impact take its course.

JANUARY 10TH, 1998
LOCAL SCHIZOPHRENIC CRASHES CAR INTO HIGHWAY 219's RUN DOWN TRAIN CARS.
REST IN PEACE JAKE PISKALI, YOU WILL BE MISSED.