Julian’s Hell
21st January:
So, that was my first day here. Wherever here is, I really haven’t been paying attention, all I know is I don’t deserve this. Discipline. Well, I’m no disciple, they won’t have me bowing down, bastards. Think they can tell me what to do. When I don’t listen they make sure I can only do as they say. Trapped behind these walls, the outside calling me with a birdsong or a branch beckoning in the wind. I will get out of here.
Don’t show you much on the first day, the hell really starts tomorrow. Not that it hasn’t already started- Hell is all this place has been, all it will be. Filled with people like me, people that won’t learn, that won’t SHUT UP. Three hours and I already hate it, who is anyone to tell me where I should be. Those who judged me- they think they know what’s best for me. They don’t have a clue, they just want me gone, forgotten. I gave Hell, so they took me to it. Well, I’m not going to say I’m sorry. They can’t make me repent… I’d rather DIE. May as well tell you what I’ve seen. The canteen looked alright. Just where they slop out the same old crap. The food here is meant to be great, I’m lucky. Yeah, I feel lucky. How lucky can you be trapped in here, filled with a bunch of wankers ready to judge you as quickly as you are to judge them. Shit, everyone thinks they’re God, that they know all. Well, I’ll tell you, if they all know so much, why am I so different? And what they doing here, anyway. If they’re God, shouldn’t they be everywhere…Omnipresent? Well God, I hope your present as I’m on m’knees:
Dear Father,
I know you’re busy, you guard all on earth,
‘Till they’re buried, from their birth,
But I ask you, Lord, hear my plea,
Free me from this prison, let me be,
Amen.
Fuck it, he never listens. I always call, but he never hears. I know why I’m here, I know I did wrong. Who knows, maybe I’ll persevere and end up back in the Garden of Eden. Funny how we consider things, our views are always changing. It’s like one day a mirror will tell us how great we look, the next we hate it, smash it and it plagues us for seven years.
The only other place I’ve seen is where I am now. This piece of shit where I sleep. It’s hard this bed, my pillow feels like a rock. No one else seems to care, they’re all asleep. Met the guy beneath my bunk, he’s alright. If a fat bastard who’s Mr. Optimist is alright. He talks about how great it is here, how I’m sure to fit in. Well, I don’t want to fit in…maybe that’s why I will? Haven’t talked to anyone else yet, don’t really want to. Bet they’ve already had a real good bitch. Been here three hours and it’s already- ‘the new one looks like a wanker’ ‘the new guy better not try to get matey with me’- well, don’t worry anyone, you’re all a bunch of idiots, already. Got the picture of my mum and dad up. I loved ‘em. But it goes to show, give anyone anything and they’ll take a whole lot more. ‘Give an inch and they’ll take a mile.’ Well, I gave a yard and I still suffer. Bastards. Nothing else to say about the room except for the walls. They make me feel sick. They’re this horrible, fleshy colour, meant to make us feel calm and tranquil but it just looks like skin plastered over the walls. These bastard walls of flesh, they trap me, keep me away from where I want to be. How I hate this flesh.
22nd January:
Well, now I know why I hate this place so much. All this patronising, this talking down to. Like we need some direction in our lives. How can we have direction when we’re in here. We’re at the bottom and we can only go lower. Why try and sell us hope, offer us salvation, like they’ll turn the clock back. We have our punishment and it will never be changed. Freedom can only come from doing as are told, and they are telling us we can’t be free. How can they think us so blind?
Then there are the other people. I haven’t said much around them, kept quiet, don’t want them to think of me as some loud-mouth prick. However, I talked when I was spoken to, don’t want to make trouble for myself. This one guy, Jake, asked me where I was from, so I tell him Hatfield. Couldn’t say much else, just it was nice. Then one of his mates, forget his name, asks me if I like it here. I tried not to laugh. I said ‘What’s not to like?’ They smiled. Don’t know if they really got what I was saying, but it felt nice anyway. We talked a little bit, I think I have some people now to talk to. Don’t really like them but I can’t stay an outsider, that’s been made abundantly clear. No acceptance outside, but a bit of acceptance in here; but I’m not stupid. I’m not going to let too much slip. Not yet, for there may be consequences…
Well, the food was alright. A bit typical, but then I’m not here to eat, I’m here to learn. The learning isn’t great either though. Like I said, a load of patronisers- the Patron Saints of Patronising. Talking to me like I’m a retard. I made a mistake, but that doesn’t mean I AM one. They are all just talking shit about stuff I already know. God, there attentiveness is killing me, it’s not so much like I should expect something from them but the other way round. Well, if they want a teacher, why follow he who won’t be taught – the one they think so blind? They really piss me off. Asked me if I wanted any books or anything, but I’ve got the two I need with me. My photo album, filling me with memories, a reason to get out and be free again. The second is this one, my Bible. Telling me what it is like, letting me get what’s off my chest. This is my priest behind a screen. Just as blank, just waiting to be filled, like a jug of confession, only this one doesn’t pour out any judgement. You only have your own thoughts staring back at you, judge yourself by what you wrote. Both my gift and my hex: My Deity. My Diary.
Oh God, I know I act like I can stand this place but I can’t. It’s not home, I don’t feel safe. This is no haven, no respite. Nothing I can do will make me feel free, everything here is torment, memory. I need an escape, if I don’t leave this place soon I will go mad. These past two days. One of travelling and one of introduction. They’ve made me weary, frustrated and lonely. Should I give this a chance? Fine, one chance. It’s all I got, and if they expect more then they are mistaken. So, tomorrow is a new day and I will be a new person. Reincarnated. Down with the people to be happy once more.
23rd January:
A glimmer of hope? On the third day a light at the end of the tunnel is found. Friendship? Not yet, but so much potential…and chance is better than no chance. Talking more to Jake and his friends made me feel something never quite felt before. Not understood, you don’t understand someone from two meetings- the world wasn’t made in a day. Maybe accepted? Is that what I mean? I think so, it is nice. An opportunity, this is what I have and what I was meant to have.
These people are not perfect, far from it. They have a little bit of attitude, you can tell that not everyone likes them, but at the same time, no one is liked by everyone. I don’t mind their forwardness, it’s nice, different. However, this effort to be welcomed is coming at a price. These guardians, those we’re meant to follow, they are not revered by my new found allies, but condemned. Much as I did when I first met them, they are both oppressors and those that insult our minds. We find these preachers, teachers, perverse and twisted. Instead of being sheep happily led by the shepherd, we seem to have a bit of wolf in ourselves. Me included. Where before my disapproval had been muted by isolation, to merely be screamed from this tome, it is now becoming a noise amongst many, encouraging my thoughts, Our thoughts. Our rebellion is almost blasphemy, and we are viewed with caution as all perceived as potential heretics. I wonder if they think I can be saved? Will I be put back, back on to the righteous path? Who knows?
Mr. Optimist was not so much today, it appears some of the mist has cleared and the rosy view has some weeds choking it. He warns me, he swears there will be consequence. Well, we shall wait and see for I have a feeling that my destiny is soon to be found, and my fate sealed. And, while I know that tragedy and eternal torment may be my punishment I am not willing to dismiss this chance to be accepted, to be with people that do not immediately condemn me. I have seen. The path forks and I chose my journey, now I must follow it to the end. To my end…
Before I sleep tonight, I take another look at the walls. Do they calm me now? They certainly no longer frustrate me, make my stomach twist into knots. No, they do give me some peace of mind. For their fleshy tones no longer scream of entrapment, they no longer keep me from running. Instead they protect me, I have returned to the womb, deep inside I feel its warmth and affection, and now… I welcome it.
24th January:
My progression here is strange. How sure I was that I would detest this place. This cage, treating me like some kind of beast, placing me amongst others condemned as unfit to live outside. Yet, it appears more to be an escape from where I am different. We are not monsters, merely misunderstood. And as our purpose in here is unclear, so much so that our guides struggle to guide us, we have found unity in something other than goals…in our lack of them. And so, I find myself lost but at the same time very much found. Lost, as in no direction, aimlessly travelling. Lost as in no hope, I am a lost cause…they are ready to wash their hands of me and I am being swept away…To where? Who knows, but I do not fear this current, I place my faith in it. Today, as they continued to mock us and our intelligence we retaliated. Due to my new found (dis)position and my already apparent frustration I was willing to lash out at those that are meant to control me here. As they lectured to us all, and as they listed their demands, I ignored them and when they declared their dissatisfaction, I returned by shouting at them. I unleashed my frustrations, and I mocked their intelligence in a far less sneaky, snake-like manner. My tongue is not forked, it is sharp, and I cut deep. I was punished. Made to pay my sins. In isolation I found myself. Nothing to confide in but four walls and a watcher. It was Hell, it was what I expected all along. This was judgement, this was spite, this is what I hated. However, this time it did not fill me with dread because I had demanded it. And I sat on that chair, the one reserved for those that have gone too far, I sat there as if it was a throne. I was a leader and my acquaintances revered me. One even followed my lead. Found himself, too, trapped – placed into solitary confinement. They are strict on disobedience here, well so shall I be. I shall demand it as much as they demand it to be punished. They drove me to where I am, they can be punished for that. These actions have given me a heightened level of respect. I am now welcomed fully, the price has been paid. To receive your thirty pieces of silver for a betrayal you should do doesn’t result in regret and self-loathing.
Another gift was given to me today. I, as was everyone, was allowed outside today. I could not leave the grounds, obviously, but I could leave the walls. The sun caressed my skin, welcoming me back, and the wind stroked my hair as lovingly as any mother to her son. I ran freely, and inhaled the sweet air. It felt good to be back with nature, but it wasn’t depressing. Knowing that I had been allowed some freedom was better than not having any, and I was not going to feel like this was a tease. It was more a reminder of what shall be mine to experience, without ANY constraint, when I am finally free. This place may still be Hell. It may still be a cage but it is not the horror I had anticipated. Those that have been dragged here, those that resent it, they unite as kindred spirits. We may be isolated from all the others, persecuted for being slightly off-the-beaten-path, but we have each other and we thank ourselves for such small blessings. So as long as I have like-minded souls and this occasional freedom, I have all I need. And when freedom does come, it will be all the sweeter for having survived.
And now, as I rest on this hardened mattress, no more comfortable than toughened earth, I reflect on my parents. As I stare at their photo, separate from my more sacred memories, held in the scrap book, I look at them confused. Do I hate them? Do I resent them for making me be here? I don’t know, I look at their picture and, more than anything, I am saddened. I am saddened because I think I still resent them and this feeling is reciprocated. Bastards. I do still hate them. I hate their actions, though they have had unexpected, beneficial repercussions. The fortune wasn’t planned, least of all by them. Now I am truly crying, my tears make this earth sodden. The mattress is flooded, with my tears of regret. Each drop holds a piece of my emotion and I am slowly being drained. Swept off into a river of sleep. I leave you with a trembling hand that rights this piece and a scalding tear hot with regret and anger…
25th January:
Today my actions are received with even greater animosity by those they frustrate. Both our preachers and the converted react with hostility to our arrogance and ignorance to their teachings. Our resilience to their indoctrination is far from appreciated and so our indifference was met with not isolation this time. No dismissal, apart from to go to an office, to a confrontation. Sent to the Leader of this order- the high priest himself. Few words were shared before I got sent there. I merely gave some justified, though provocative, criticism. I sent this place to Damnation! Well, if it wasn’t already there. I think it really rubbed the ‘Patron(ising) Saint’ the wrong way. It freaked out some of the class too. I am slightly concerned that maybe I’ve become too relaxed, possibly this new blessing that can be described as friendship has made me throw caution to the wind. Perhaps I will suffer. Anyway, so after my ‘shocking’ (because that is what honesty is) condemnation I was met by this ‘great’ man, this Master. We discussed ‘my attitude,’ which I consider to be comparable to my group but I am being made the scapegoat- the martyr. This ‘alternative way of thinking’ is not productive. Apparently, things could get harder for me. Really? Well being treated harshly is a step up from being treated like an idiot, a simpleton. I explained that I wasn’t going to divert from my opinions, as I was entitled to them and to express them. I think this world, behind these walls, is mocking us, its captors, and I resent it. I ask if that is unjustified? It appears not, according to the gentleman I was talking to. He understood that I was ‘hurt’ and ‘bitter’ and he accepted that my opinion should be allowed, but he preferred it if I expressed my difficulties in a more ‘traditional fashion’. Apparently, my ‘irate attacks’ at those ‘just doing their jobs’ and ‘just trying to help’ made them suffer unjustifiably. I did not argue then, but don’t we judge those that do the devil’s work. Someone’s got to do it? It makes me fucking sick how people can be so easily forgiven, little repentance is needed- we ALREADY UNDERSTAND? Understand everybody but me. I may have some form of unity here, but right then I was very much alone, and I could feel myself nearly bowing down to them. But they can’t break my faith! I rested upon it, propped myself upright with it and held my head up high. I agreed to some sort of compromise. As in my concerns would be considered if I didn’t act in that ‘confrontational manner.’ With these concessions I was free to leave.
I met Jake and the others in the canteen. They asked me what happen and I gave them the story near enough as I told it above. They were impressed, no one said anything but I fed off their pride, I felt glad that I had pleased them. One or two were concerned about what I said. One, Harry, asked if I was some kind of ‘Jesus freak’. It was thought strange that when I get angry I turn to religion, even in how I express myself. Like I mentioned before, I am concerned that I might be letting too much go too soon. I am nervous about the consequences, but I shall see if this proves disastrous later.
And so too bed, and tonight I feel totally comfortable with myself as everything has proven itself to be okay. Faith has been my support, my crutch, my oaken staff. As long as I have support from those I have met here I will not falter. I will not fail.
26th January:
As it turns out, today I have time to write before lunch. Again, we have been allowed to venture outside. It is beautiful here. I went on a walk alone. I went through the dense wood, thick with wild plants and animals. As I walked through the wilderness, even on such a cold day, with its chilling breeze, I felt warmed deep inside. It was a strange feeling, one I am sure is to be described as contentment. While I hate this place for not letting me be free, I love it for its isolation and purity. Untainted by the sick, sick world that lies just beyond its borders. There are hints of it here- drugs, lust and other horrors, but at the same time the amount is so small, it is free from the Hell outside it. It is innocent.
So, onwards through the walk, taking in the incredible beauty of nature at its most pure, completely alone, and I felt the most amount of joy I have ever felt. It seems that I have all I need here. Enough beauty to satisfy my soul and enough Hell as to keep me occupied in my mission to cleanse. I think I will buy a camera. I will begin a new scrap book, collect new memories and, in time, destroy those other ones. They were great but these, they will be more natural, more favoured. More. Anyway, as it is lunch I will write back after. It seems that I need to pour my soul into this book to collect these memories. This will not be bitter it seems, but the sweetest treasure I will ever cherish. To be the most precious of things until my dying day.
There is a hint that maybe I didn’t take my own warnings too seriously.
They are pursuing my belief in religion. It is not my faith that infatuates them but the extreme. They ask of my parents, grandparents, schools. None of these answer their questions. They became puzzled, and intrigued. They demanded to know, to understand. Who am I to deny those that welcomed me so, that have stood by me, been so attentive for no reason other than they accept me? So I explained. About finding a Bible when I was young, about those hard days at the age of four where I discovered the old tatty book that called out to me. I had been so stressed and I escaped. This book began to shape my life, it helped me to understand. Of course, I don’t need to get anymore precise. It is obvious what I told them. That day will never need photos or words to keep fresh. The reason I am still nervous, uncomfortable even, is because I am uncertain of the repercussions, if any. While they all took interest, and I am sure it was not out of politeness, their reaction to it was quite blank. I don’t think they were indifferent, but they were quiet about their thoughts. Only Harry and Samuel gave me any opinion. Sam was amused, considered me strange, but it did not feel condescending, merely as if he thought it alien, understandable, I’m sure. Harry, on the other hand, seemed touched, he thought it was cool that I had found faith in something. And it is. It is very good to have found faith in something.
I think, on reflection, I am being too cautious. I’m sure everything is okay.
Now the day has come to an end. It was quite slow moving but I really did have nothing to do. Never mind, it’s over now and it wasn’t exactly painful. Just a bit dull after lunch. Still, I am now suited here. Everyone was quiet about what we’d discussed earlier so fair to assume it has passed. Didn’t really see them much. Saw Luke though, that’s Mr. Optimist, and he started asking all sorts of stupid questions about what was going on. Doesn’t like trouble it seems. Well, I explained that we don’t have to be silent, what we have to say matters. It is what we tell people that affects the world. Our world. What we say and what we do are vital, they decided our fate. He said he doesn’t like the look of mine, some sort gospel that is. Pessimistic son of a bitch. I have taken down the photo of my parents and put it in my old scrap book. They can be a precious memory of the past too. I forgive and I forget. I move on.
BASTARDS. They betrayed me! They are the fucking snake leading me to false freedom, false wisdom. These bastards they worked to launch an arrow at the heavens and I aided the folly’s fucking construction. These foul heretics of cruel design. These fucking perverts of truth. They made me so blind, placed a holy mirage in front of me and I fell under its spell like many a blind man. Oh God, why couldn’t I have seen earlier? WHY! Their deceitful whispers lulled me into emotions unknown, and I became hesitant, ignorant (even to my own subconscious warnings!) My sin was complacency. COMPLA-SIN-SY! And now I will suffer as these sick bastards have dragged me to Hell. Crawling, screaming I descend. Bastards! BASTARDS! They are Lucifer leading rebellion tempting from the virtuous path. They are Lucifer tempting Jesus in the Wilderness. They are Lucifer. THEY ARE LUCIFER.
A pox on your family, to crawl on their bellies forever more,
A pox on your mothers each is a bitch, a diseased-ridden whore,
A pox on your fathers full of each sin, fattened on wrong,
A pox on your lies, an evil, tempting caress from every forked-tongue,
A pox on your children, the vermin to infest this sick place,
A pox on your partners who mate with a devilish disgrace,
A pox on you all, you are forever blighted and damned,
And a pox is on I, just as you always had planned.
BASTARDS! They shall suffer. Suffer deep consequences- GUILT SHALL ENVELOP THEM ALL! I attack my skin, my corrupt, horrid flesh. My wrists now cut open, let the impurities run out. Never mind the stains, this is your last day- my last day. Every sin I indulged in pours out like a red stream of repentance. I AM sorry, I bow down to you! I was wrong. But I am suffering. I can feel my strength fade, but it’s already gone, went mere hours before this. When they destroyed my friendship. My faith. How could I have been so ignorant? Well Father, forgive me. I am coming to your judgement now, the only one that matters, ever mattered. My watch! It bleeps! It is a new day. The SEVENTH DAY. THE DAY OF REST. Well, they will never rest easy. I CONDEMN YOU ALL. BASTARDS!
The Aftermath:
He slapped the book, crumpled from dried blood, in front of Mr and Mrs Joabe. As it hit the great oak table, it felt just as if they’d been slapped round the face. Another book followed, its cover bloodied but its insides untouched. This was far from subtle but there was no easy way to handle this situation.
“These were found with his body, on his bunk,” he began. Then he hesitated. Which book should they discuss first. He tapped the blood-stained diary, “This gives quite a clear account of how your son was feeling here. Can you tell me, why did you decide on a boarding school for Julian?”
“Well, you see,” began Mark Joabe, “We had had a big argument with Julian at the start of the Christmas holidays and we decided that he needed supervision we couldn’t give him. He hurt us, Mr. Prior, and we needed a break. Both of us did. I guess we just needed some time apart.” A solitary tear crawled down his cheek. He bowed his head in regret. He never meant for this to happen.
“I’m very sorry to tell you this, but, we believe that Julian was a truly disturbed teenager. We only have the details of these two books but they suggest a complete fanatic, a crazed-zealot.” The stares that Prior received made him sharply realise that he had just been extremely insensitive, all the more so for not letting the parents finish reading the diary. He asked them to read it in full and check out the ‘scrapbook’ as well.
Upon conclusion the parents became sickly pale. Their child clearly had been very distraught but had never turned to them. Maybe his heated accusations were true. Maybe they were disgraceful sinners and, what Julian didn’t mention but remained a painfully apparent indictment- awful parents. Their faces reddened with the heat of embarrassment upon his mention of ‘hard days at the age of four,’ when Mark’s Dad had passed away, around the same time he and Charlotte had been going through a rocky patch. Julian had kept so quiet, confiding and escaping into his bible and not his parents. They had been so clueless this whole time. Sending him away merely highlighted the point: They couldn’t deal with their son. The next book was harder to take. This is what truly horrified them. Pictures of murder. Hangings, knifings, asphyxiations and other, more horrid methods of torture were collected. Worse was that these were not newspaper clippings, no collection from the Internet or books or anything else. These were photos, a collection of murders, each dated. The ragged victims, seemed to suggest drug users and prostitutes. Julian appeared to have been God’s righteous hand of justice before being sent away. And here he had killed himself. Possibly hating what he had become, what he had found himself associated with. The parents hesitated. Scared, blaming themselves for what had happened, certain that the accusations were directed to them just as much as those who’d been more directly attacked. “Have you talked to this gang he’d been associated with?” came Charlotte’s trembling voice, breaking the guilty air of silence.
“We have,” Said Prior, “apparently a couple of them pulled a childish prank aimed at Julian’s religious fervour. We are still discussing punishment. I assure we will be harsh but nothing to the amount they are punishing themselves.”
“And…How is Luke?”
“He is coping but not well. It was a terrible fright to him, such a thing to find must be hellish.” Silence again.
Funeral arrangements were discussed and it was agreed that the school would pay some sort of tribute. A memory to Julian Joabe, aged 15. But no one needed anything to remember him. His presence would encircle the despised boarding school forevermore. Wherever he rests it will be a Heaven, for his whole life was Julian’s Hell.
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