Monday, 31 October 2011
I’ve spent the past four weeks studying subject three; Evelyn Burla. I could not find out much information on her other than one deceased parent, one absent. It is most irritating to be unable to study her parents for similarities but doing this with the others has proved useless anyway. I’d almost given up until I’d found her. The others weren’t as powerful, or rather as obvious as her gift. I say gift, but upon my stalking- for lack of a better word- it seems her ability is most unfortunate. Not quite as unfortunate as mine however. I would say that I have a special interest in her, not because of her obvious beauty that to me is nothing more than good genetics, but because of her hostility and unjustified misfortune, I feel a kind of mutual understanding of the life she leads. I should explain; My name is Charles. I’ve known that there is something different with me since as far back as I can remember. It confused me, tormented me, and made me desperate for answers. Let me ask you this; Is there someone that you just can’t stand to be around? You can’t quite put your finger on why you don’t like them, or why everything they say seems so annoying. They make you feel that hot flash of anger at every word and slow exasperating breath; That man is me. I’ve spent my life on the fringe of society looking in on every social situation people find themselves in. I watch what it is they do and say, and try to recreate it. I take into account body language and expression, and replicate. I have tried every combination of confrontation and indifference. Nothing has worked, only the same anger, impatience, and rudeness. In its most basic definition; I radiate hate. Now this may bring to light some important questions such as; did my parents hate me? How do I know? Why can I do this? How can I do this? My father hated me, to an extent, he loved me as a father but was impatient and critical to the point of violence if in my disobedience, he could not understand it and forced himself to try and bond and connect only deepening the affect. He became focused in his work so deeply to ease the pain of the failure of his marriage. I am the root of all evil. My mother, well, she was something special, she was a bright light of laughter next to my melancholy. She too was gifted, and she was immune to me. I have questioned whether it’s because of the maternal bond that this was the case or that we were connected in other ways. Thus stemming my deep interest in my secret subjects’ gene pool. My mother died when I was 15. I wish for nothing more than answers. What I do to people is something uncontrollable, but I am not alone. I first encountered Evelyn as she was walking out of a bar that I later discovered was her place of employment and home. She had two leering men behind her spurting foul language and sexist slurs. As she and I crossed paths I made eye contact with one if the men who, without warning assaulted her. I let some distance fall between us, knowing my assistance her would be more damaging than helpful. I saw peripherally that the men were running off, embarrassed and confused I imagine. I did not go back to help her. I wanted to remain a nameless face observing her life, not an acquaintance that had helped her once. I hope you can understand my un-chivalrous behaviour. She has been my obsession for the past month. I have encountered two others; Adam Marlowe, and as of tonight an unknown female. I will investigate her thoroughly.