Want a peek inside the heads of some of the characters from The Fourth Piece? Yikes! Why? Lol, just kidding. I have a series of journal entries to share. These entries were written by the characters close to the end of The Fourth Piece. I won’t tell the circumstances, no spoilers here ;D…but, if you’re brave, dive in!
From the Journal of Lyle Ladreth
September 7, 2022
I’m writing because the doctor says I have to. He didn’t say I have to be profound, though. He said write whatever comes to mind. I’m not a writer. I draw. But I’m not an artist. I don’t think I am. A lot of people sketch stuff they see, doesn’t make them artists. So, maybe they’re like me. We aren’t authors, we’re not good with words, so we make pictures.
Are my drawings symbolic? Why would they be? They’re just random crap. Things I see, and sometimes, no, a lot of the time, it’s things other people see. I can’t keep it all out. Gives me a headache to try, so I have to let a little of it in.
The doctor says it’s why I’m going crazy. He didn’t say it like that, but that’s what he meant. He thinks he’s really good at shielding his mind from me, blocking his thoughts. But he’s not. Nobody really is. But he’s not so loud. And I don’t have to hear him, if I don’t want to. That’s what makes him better. Makes everyone in this house better. Visitors aren’t like humans. They keep their thoughts to themselves. I have to touch their minds to hear them.
Humans, their thoughts run all over the place. Crazy. Insane. Loud. ADHD on pixie stix and cotton candy. But the thoughts, the words, feelings, images, they’re not strange. It’s all normal stuff really. Grocery lists. Annoying spouses. Homework. Heartbreak. Bad neighbors. Just mundane running commentary. But try mashing it all together and then cut chunks out of every random sentence.
Pick up laundry at damn dog got bastard went calculus sucks tree in yard milk eggs sugar want to die blouse hole C.S Lewis can potholes again with the music flour butter cheese
That’s what I hear. I can make it quieter, but it doesn’t really go away, unless I…
But I can’t do that anymore.
I want to call her. But she’s gone. What would I even say anyway? Words are useless. I could show her, but I’ll never touch her mind again. Not after how I hurt her. I can’t trust myself. No one should trust me. I don’t know what to do.
Devon wants to talk about it. He wants a lot of things from me lately. He’s so… lost. There’s no other way to put it. He doesn’t know what he’s doing and he thinks that reconnecting with me will help. Reconnecting. He wants to be like we were. He was who I depended on, but he broke that bond. I want…
I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I guess, maybe, I wish we could go back and just be brothers like when we were kids. I have other brothers, older and younger, but he’s my twin. And no, it’s not like TV where there’s this otherworldly, freaky connection between us, but… our relationship was always different. I love Lawrie, and maybe I love Evan too, but Dev… it’s just different. If he disappeared or died, I think I would too. I really think it’d rip me apart, and I’d bleed to death. Even when he’s an asshat and pretending I’m not there because I’m a brother who won’t even try to make people like him… even then. I’d bleed if he died. I’d want to go first.
Wonder if it’s like that for him.
I’m reading this now. Hell, maybe I am profound. Or maybe I’m just good at rambling coherently. Wish I felt coherent. I just feel present. I’m here, but that’s all I am. I take up space in this chair. I’m wasting paper with my words.
Because words are useless.
I should go back to talking about drawing. That’s where I started. But my drawings are stupid. Things I see, things other people see…that I also see, through their eyes. Tire swings. Midnight skies. A brother I don’t know waking up in a foreign place.
Sometimes I shade them. If I’m in the mood, I use color pencils. I prefer them in black and white though. Maybe it’s because I wish the world was black and white. Good, bad… no gray matter in between. No brains. No thoughts.
But it’s never quiet here. Not in my head. Unless…
But I can’t do that anymore.
That’s what the drugs are for.
The doctor says I have to write every day. He needs to read that I’m not going crazy. Or maybe he needs to read that I am, so he’ll keep giving me medicine.
One page a day. This is a page. Happy, Doc?
**What’d you think? Don’t be afraid to let me know, and there are more entries to come! If you’re curious about what’s going on around this entry, and want to try out The Fourth Piece, you’re in luck! It’s on sale exclusively on Amazon from 9/22-9/29 for 99 cents: http://amzn.to/2d3xA39 ! Thanks and take care!**