I’ve never felt this helpless before. I can’t visit my wife or my children or my friends. My diet is regulated, the room is empty, but…I’m monitored through small cameras, fiber optics-and endless medical exams.
I’d be frightened if I weren’t so exhausted.
…I didn’t realize prisons could be so antiseptic…
Eh, excuse me, sir? Mr. Praxitales?
We’ve done a complete diagnostic of the system and there doesn’t seem to be a problem.
You mean the information and the conclusion are correct?
Yes, sir. Retinal scan, blood pressure parameters, recent medical history, family history. Mr. Jordan is uninsurable.
I need to make sense of what I’ve just written while it’s fresh in my head. I’m not certain anyone will see this journal…or will believe what I’ve said. Sometimes I feel very distant from what I’ve experienced…it feels like home movies from hell. When I cough, thunders roar; when I sneeze, storms rise into…violence, when my heart blasts blood through my veins like a solid shaft; rivers wash away whole towns…so they tell me.
The light in here is very fibrous, like the membrane of dreams or…the web of unreason that draws me back to how and where-hell-why it began…
They want me to write, but I think I’d rather feel. If you lie very still, you can feel yourself exist…
What would you suggest? We can’t imprison the man for his…condition.
Well, no, perhaps not. But we should convince him to stay here for further observation.
And if he declines?
Then it may be necessary to restrain him for medical reasons.
Reasons that we refuse to elaborate on? I don’t know…
Ok, although, it may seem a bit unethical…
A bit unethical?
Alright, very unethical, but do we have a choice? If you had one…clear path to avoid worldwide chaos, and it all hung on a slender thread of secrecy, what would you do?
He came to us.
He came to us for help, not this.
He came to us and there’s no turning back. You’ve seen the link between his current condition and world events. What would happen to us- all of us-if a man whose physical condition is linked so closely to the world’s climate ever became seriously ill? Especially if his health determines our existence?
You can’t sedate him forever, and isolation will slowly destroy his mind. What happens if he goes mad?
I think… this all began- what, eight days ago? My mind is a little thick right now, the world is very fast or I’m very slow…I feel like I’m taking dictation for the voices in my head. The doctors, nurses, staff, keepers of the keys, haven’t told me anything, really. But I can guess a little from their conversation that this has something to do with an automated medical exam I took at a kiosk near my bank. My…circadian rhythm…red flagged me for a new insurance policy. I should have kept that a secret, honestly. Because it always seemed strange that I became sick about the time some storm or hurricane or earthquake, whatever, flattened some part of the world. I always thought the planet would kill me because I was so attached to its moodiness. Who would have thought it was the other way around? No wonder everyone is frightened of me.
When I die, the world ends.