12/21/1991

16:20

Baby, this place is suffocating me, I don't want to be afraid, but I am. People here are threatening me, forcing me to move from cell to cell, is this the hell that you always spoke about? I want to come home to you, I want to see you... Look, I'll even tape my photo for you to hang on our walls.

Does that make you happy? To see me this way? In the depression that you left me in? I would enjoy watching you tape this on our walls in your lonesome, and watch as your sins take away the one thing you once loved, and now have wronged. - Brendon

The guards open the cells, as inmates pour out of empty voids of misery, but Brendon didn't move. He wasn't hungry, he just wanted to write down more of the words he would say to her when he left this miserable place. A patrolling guard stops when he sees Brendon still sitting on his metal bed, he forces Brendon off the bed by his shirt collar, making him choke out a small surprised whimper at the sudden action. "Hey, get out to lunch, you lazy fuck." The guard stated harshly, Brendon sighs but doesn't get up and closes his eyes tightly, the guard slams him into the ground and punches him in the eye causing bruising, his lip causing thick red blood to stream down where it had busted. Brendon quickly scrambled to get up and limps out the door and downstairs after throwing his journal on the bed. He walks to the cafeteria, all the inmates staring at him, "Hey guys! Brendon got a beating from one of the guards!" One of the inmates yells out, laughing at his disfigured face from the guard's brutality, Brendon sighs deeply and sits at one of the tables, "Soft hearts electric souls, Heart to heart and eyes to eyes, Is this taboo?" He sings softly to himself as he watches the other inmates stuffing their faces like a bunch of pigs. After what felt like an hour, they were allowed 12 minutes of outdoor time, Brendon runs outside, once he gets outside he is met with the cold December air, snow crunching under his feet, "I think of you from time to time, More than I thought I would, You were just too kind, And I was too young to know..." He started softly singing once again, looking down at the snow, a black figure lay motionless in the snow, crimson blood seeping out of each wound it held. Brendon laid beside it, looking up at the clouds, the clouds forming around them to make walls, small faint pictures appeared on the walls, "Baby we built this house, On memories, And when your fantasies, Become your legacy, Promise me a place, In your house of memories." Brendon sings as he stands and motions to look at the 'house' that surrounded them, he grabbed the black figure by the waist lifting them up, but once he did, the house was gone, the black figure, just a pile of snow in his hands. A guard stormed over to him, before Brendon could react, the butt of the gun was met with his lip, busting it even more. He fell back into the snow, tears falling from his eyes mixing with the blood to make an orange type color, before finally dripping in the snow. "You've lost outdoor privileges, you fucking psycho." The guard growls out, picking him up by his shirt collar and pulling him back to his cell. The cell door slid open, causing a loud shrieking sound, once it flooded Brendon's ears he runs inside and jumped onto the bed, his knees slamming into the metal core, and there he sat, in his lonesome, he wrote.

012/22/1991

00:30

I've been beaten down by two guards, blood is dripping everywhere... But that doesn't matter, is my picture still on the wall? Are you enjoying watching my motionless face? Do you turn it in hopes of it facing you? Do you need me back, dear? Do you miss me?

He wrote as the sun decayed and the Moon blossomed high in the sky, he didn't mind though, he felt like this time he had felt farther from this place than he had before. It had to be midnight, the darkness seeping through the steel bars, he was woken up by light shining through the halls, Brendon groans and sits up, "Get up! It's time for work!" A patrol guard yells, slamming the barrel of the rifle into the iron bars of their cells, "NO!" A prisoner yells out, the guard stops opening Bredon's cell, and snaps his attention back to the prisoner who yelled. "Son of a bitch, are you talking back to me?" The guard threatens, "I'M NOT WORKING!" The prisoner yells back, the guard forces the prisoner from the cell and throws him on the ground, then ruthlessly slammed the butt of the rifle into his head, the wailing, the cries, the banging of the butt of the rifle against his head. It was a long moment of torture as Brendon and fellow prisoners watch this man's death. The crimson red blood flinging off the butt of the rifle.