Prophet of Tulia, issue 87 (part1/3)

(I apologize if it looks wrong, this part and others were written on a phone.)

"Entry #23, 25th November 2013, Tuesday, 1:20

Today went normally. I woke up wet. My mother splashed water on me and threw out my breakfast for not waking up on time. 30 minutes late, to be more precise. It was hard to not wake up late when I came back to bed at only four in the morning. I don't know why, I have a gap in my memory the size of my father's forehead. When this started happening, I was horrified. Now I'm just tired. Anybody would be if they closed their eyes eating dinner at 7PM and opened them in the middle of the night with blood and feathers on their hands. I now found out where they come from today. It's none of my bussiness.

Anyhow... I quickly got dressed and we left the house. People looked at me weird. They stare at Emi, my neighbour, the same way because she has an odd sense of style. I, personally, don't care. She's very nice - last week, she helped me with a chemistry project that I would've surely failed without her help. They looked at me like that in church, too. Even more so than usually, which is weird, because the other boys have never liked me. Oh well. It's none of my bussiness.

The mass went like any other. Long, boring, with music as the only thing that helped me not die of boredom. At least they don't pick on me too much thanks to my good voice. They know that without me they'd sound like a hoard of pigs being slaughtered.

Then I went to school. I sat by myself, but nobody bullied me. I think the only words I utterred were directed at the teachers. And to the girl I borrowed a pen from. I knew she didn't really want to do it, but at least she didn't say no like everybody else in the class. Even the yeacher. She told me she didn't have any pencils she could borrow. There were seven on her desk.

We sat down by the table to eat dinner by ourselves, just me and my mother. Father was, as always, at work. We ate in silence until she asked how my day was. Her tone was cold. She wasn't actually interested, she just couldn't stand the silence. Without a word, I grabbed my plate of spaghetti and locked myself in my room. My free time was spent on watching movies. I had a lot of homework, but I ignored it as always. They never check it anyway.

I think mother has given up. She left an apple on my desk for dinner.

Then my memory cut off. Again. I gained back awareness only a few hours later. This time, I didn't have feathers on my hands. I was holding a whole dove. One of those held by the church.

I hid it under the bed, took a shower, wrote this down. I will probably forget it tommorow

Goodnight.

Entry #24, 25th November 2013, around 20:00

I should have guessed. They looked at me like at an enemy because they thought of me as an enemy. In the morning, Mother told me to get dressed and led me to the church. Which was strange, because I only sing in the choir on weekends, Mondays and Thursdays.

I wasn't there to sing. She left me there for an exorcism.

They locked me up. Lock and key. No food, no water. They said "my demon will keep me alive". They're all delusional. If there's something wrong with me, it must be mental.

I will die.

Entry #25, Wednesday, around 12:00

I lost awareness again. This time, I didn't have feathers on my hands, but I woke up next to the door leading to the cages with church doves. There were scratches on the door that looked like there was a bear here. My nails were broken and my finger tips were scraped.

It's none of my bussiness.

I started looking for the exit. I found nothing. Windows are too high and doors are too thick for me to just break them. I found holy water. I drank a little, but my throat started to burn. Now I can't even speak. My stomach burns, too. I don't know what's in that water, but I'll try to limit it's consumption to the bare minimum. I ended up more thirsty, anyway. Maybe I shouldn't drink it at all.

My stomach still doesn't hurt. Which is strange. Yesterday, I didn't even eat a breakfast. Usually, I'd be feeling as if somebody was skinning my stomach.

Today I'll try to look for something that will help me escape.

Entry #26, November 2013, around 3:00

I lost conciousness again. It seems to be happening more and more often. I opened my eyes, confused, just to see the church looking like a tornado went through it. The paintings were torn apart, objects on the floor. I think I saw a candlestick in one of the pillars. Despite being alone, all I could hear were frustrated screams. I'm sure they were in a language I understood, but I could not understand their meaning.

They've settled down, but now I hear whispers. Promises. My mental state is quickly getting worse. I see destructions in places I couldn't have reached. Ten meter tall walls, the ceiling, paintings on altars higher than my house.

I am going crazy.

Entry #27, November 2013, around 7PM

I've rested well, at least. I fell asleep as if a brick had fallen onto my head. I slept until maybe 12AM. I woke up aching from sleeping on the floor, but that's a whole different issue. Not even one I can do something about.

My stomach still doesn't hurt. I'm not thirsty either.

I burned my hand on a cross. It's none of my bussiness. It's not my fault.

My skin burns. I hear whispers. I've started seeing pests on the walls.

I want to go home.

Entry 28, November 2013

Insects are biting their way into my skin.

I started seeing the one behind it all. He speaks to me. Tells me to leave.

I gouged my eyes out. This sight is not for them. They are mortal.

                 ǝʌᴉǝɔǝp sǝʎǝ ʅɐʇɹoꟽ

They hurt. They hurt. They hurt. They hurt. They hurt. They hurt.They hurt. They hurt. They hurt.They hurt. They hurt. They hurt.They hurt. They hurt. They hurt.They hurt. They hurt. They hurt.They hurt. They hurt. They hurt.

I'm writing this without them.

I'm constantly losing conciousness and waking up with scratches. I'm starting to give up. Maybe it's better to give into his care. He speaks of blessings.

.ʇɥƃᴉɐɹʇs sʎɐp xᴉs ɹoⅎ ʇᴉ ɥɔund oʇ pɐɥ ʇsnɾ I .ƃuoɹʇs ʇɐɥʇ ʅʅɐ ʇ╻usɐʍ ɹoop ǝɥꓕ .dǝǝɥs ǝɥʇ pǝʅʅᴉʞ I .sǝʌop ǝɥʇ pǝʅʅᴉʞ I .ʇsᴉɔɹoxǝ ǝɥʇ pǝʅʅᴉʞ I 

ʎɹʇuƎ

Entry 30

I woke up in a pile of sticky, wet goo. There were hard bits in them. It stunk of blood. 

I felt wind and sun on my skin.

                                                 I'm going home. He will lead me."

 ________________________________________________________________

These are fragments of the journal found by the pile of brutally mutilated corpses in front of the church in Greensville, our neighbouring village. A former resident delivered it to us, who was out shopping with his doughter and came back just to see his wife's corpse.

"I know what you all are gonna say, that I should've given it to the police. Byt they're all morons!"

To confirm the truthfulness of his opinion, our dear reader proceeded to share a few stories about cases of thefts which the police didn't even touch, saying they're absurd.

Everything points to there being a madman in our area. Or, even worse, a possessed madman. Will the police catch the culprit? Are the believers of our country in danger?

Read the next issue of Prophet of Tulia to find out about the progress in the case! 

Let's see you next week and, as always, remember to not let Them control the minds of you and your family!