Where Rational means Little and Life means A lot.

[Buko]

((Brandon continued from Fighting for Something You Already Lost))
((Chris continued from Karma))
((Jonathan continued from Karma))

As I sit here covered in blood and doused in my own sweat, the only thing that speeds through my mind is remorse. What is remarkably saddening about that is that I doubted that remorse existed about two days ago…remorse wasn't something to be embraced, but something to be repressed. There are few things I want now and the only thing that can keep my sanity is of course the jotting down of my thoughts, my own remorse, and of course the beautiful sounding voice of Anthony, Flea, John, and Chad and how the belt out to me about what a lonely view they share with the birds, is it normal to react this way to what I have done? I really don't know, in recollection I'm not to sure if (despite this sounding cliché) ever knew what normalcy was. My father was considered second to Bill Gates, a billionaire, we had our own penthouse, our own up to date library. My mother? A super model, someone who probably adorned the pages of one to many sticky Sports Illustrated pages…but did I ever appreciate this?

The track just changed and Anthony's familiar voice telling me "How long", I don't know if I can express my own sadness as well as it can be perceived on T.V. (although I think that after the Bread and Circus spectacle people where just exposed to they have long changed the channel after me writing my thoughts. What haunts my mind was how heartless I sounded in the murders of Christopher Cohen and Jonathan Michaels and no matter how arrogant it is, I feel a need to lead you through it…forgive me if I seem a little theatrical, but I figured this will someday become important, at least more important than myself. I feel like I need this, that the world needs it.

But, forgive me. There is a story I'm sure you want to hear and it's a story that I am of course willing to tell, it is an adventure that I sure hope to do some justice.

I had been planning in the Industrial sector, it lied in the central part of the island, I would give you the exact latitude, but they made sure we didn't know (I would assume because they're announcing it on national television and their fear we would give their whereabouts, although I wouldn't be surprised if the terrorist Jim Greynolds had given us the wrong one just to put the U.S. government in a large trap, or maybe this is all a conspiracy by the U.S. government, either way it's pretty irrelevant), I had been waiting there for a few hours and it was only when I heard the familiar sound of foot steps did I react. The foot steps went on in a confused orgy until they reached me and I was greeted with the only killer I knew by face, said killer being Jonathan Michaels.

He apparently was stuck in an internal monologue just like myself, but what struck me as important was the small amount of blood on his calves and his lack of a shotgun, I sized him up, if he wanted to fight I could (not well mind you) probably utilize some sort of tactical advantage, of course that wasn't what was on my mind right now, what was on my mind was simply not that amazing in fact I'm rather shameful of it, Jonathan had ran in and thinking mentally out loud said "God, now I'm thinking like a woman." And in a moment I said outright that the negative connotation he said that statement with probably only strengthened is overtly homosexual image (that in my mind had only been heightened since I had witnessed his killing of Chad Munteanu), Jonathan Michaels of course reacted as expected and I found myself sprawled onto the floor after being punched in the face. The blow I feel was only superficial, but painful nonetheless and I'll be honest that after feeling that blow it was no surprise that Jonathan Michael's was described as one of the most powerful pound for pound hitters in the world. As I visibly groaned and got up I was surprised to find Jonathan Michaels helping me up and apologizing, what shocked me of course was not that he was apologizing, but the fact that he said, yes these where his exact words and they where the few sentences I actually will always remember.

"Sorry kid, I thought you where someone else…someone who deserves to die more than anyone you'll ever know."

And then it hit me, how in the world could a person who was convicted of two murders, two murders on tape, how could they deny that they themselves don't inherently deserve life more than anyone in the world? He apparently saw me picking up on this and simply brought me up to his face and said flatly.

"Even if I am no more than a beast, do I not deserve to live?"

Shocking. He had obviously used this has a defense mechanism, for my own thought process was not that he deserved to live, but that  he shouldn't decide whether Chris Cohen decided to live or not. Of course, I am unfamiliar with the killers guilt (or was) and I had no idea what  Mr. Michaels was going through, but his guilt was apparent very quickly and I had no idea how to respond to it (a first) and Jonathan saw that, at first he seemed uneasy, but then I finally calmed him down, only to ask him to take part in an interview, at first he seemed not very willing, but soon enough was willing to take part of it. Said interview could be found on page 4 of this composition book.

Page 4

Brandon Cuthbert, Age 12:  Hello, Mr. Michaels, and thank you for taking part in this discussion.

Jonathan Michaels, Age 17, Boxing Champion: Cut the bullshit kid, are you here to go Sigmund Freud on me or just be some hack overblown on etiquette.

Cuthbert: Well it can be said that Freud was some hack overblown on etiquette, but I digress, for the sake of being concise, how was your first kill?

Michaels: Sorta like an orgasm, can't really explain the reality of it, but the logistics are obvious…

Cuthbert: And those logistics are?

Michaels: You obviously don't feel good about yourself when you shove a shotgun down some kid's throat, it's not like war. These are kids, no detactchment, no anything…just the heartless killing for your own personal gain.

Cuthbert: Although it may sound inherently selfish and mean, can I interject and simply say that nothing is done for anything BUT your own personal gain?


Michaels: No, but you just did. Whatever, it just didn't feel good…

Cuthbert: Do you have any background info that might've lead to your controversial role as a killer?

Michaels (said flatly): No.

Cuthbert: Can I then assume that you're denying that for something that did happen.

Michaels (once again flatly): No.

(At this point a pause envelops the area as Michaels observes me writing this down. )

Michaels: How old are you?

Cuthbert: I will be thirteen on the 22nd of June.

Michaels: And has the thought that you're never going to see your teen years sat in yet?

Cuthbert: I suppose not, but I've made it through one day, so I suppose I'll just have to win this thing.

Michaels: Are you saying you're going to kill me?

Cuthbert: No just that I will live longer than you.

Michaels: And who are you to decide who lives longer than who?

Cuthbert: I can ask the same question and it would be more appropriate since you are the murderer.

Michaels: Jonathan Michaels.

Cuthbert: Yes, that is your name, but at the risk of sounding philosophical I will ask who are you?

Michaels: The whore and the featherweight champion of the world.

Cuthbert: You say the whore, are you uncomfortable with the amount of women you've slept with? How you're portrayed in the media.

Michaels: This interview is over.

Back to the Account.

Mr. Michaels, ended the short interview and consequently my jumping into the mind of a killer (which apparently cannot be a second hand), is it no surprise that our conversation was short as he began walking away I decided to end this time of peace at the risk of my own life, and I kicked him where I would know would make him fall down the easiest, the back of the knees. Now, I'll be honest, years of little league soccer made me a strong kicker, but did I expect Mr. Michael's to fall down and for me to be greeted with his scream as I kicked him in the back? No. I expected him to have a high tolerance for pain and I would later find out he was shot in the back by Christopher Cohen.

With Michaels screaming I immediately went and found the nearest weapon, that being my Xbox Controller and a conveniently hidden box cutter (forgotten, who knows) and I began going to work, eventually zoning out and pinning down Michaels easily with my full weight pressed against his wounded back and with the Xbox Controller chord wrapped around his neck, he struggled, but found himself choking, leading the struggling to go softer and softer, eventually Jonathan found himself drifting into unconsciousness and I began to work methodically, killing him in his sleep seemed the most humane and the box cutter would make it possible.

"Eight deadly points," that is what I found myself muttering, shockingly mechanically, of course I decided to be safe than sorry with Mr. Michaels and I found myself immediately cutting his spinal chord…paralyzing him for life…which would be unfortunately short, with him paralyzed I decided it was safe to begin the dissection and after spreading open his skin and seeing his spinal chord Mr. Michael's screams became available (suffocation while a good solution temporarily cannot apparently be a good anesthetic) and after me moving the now defunct spinal column I made a move to the kidneys.

Two cuts.

One for each kidney and of course one for the Renal arteries, the arteries carry about 1/3 of the blood flow and the amount of blood Jonathan had was shocking, eventually though it stopped and that of course was my warning that Mr. Michaels had stopped breathing and that I had become a killer. In my mind I would hope that there was a deep primal feeling to it…but there was not. Killing Michaels was easy, it was unneeded, but it easy. The excessive force, the proof that any human being is capable of destruction. Mailgrams experiment was quoting itself in my mind as I stared around me.

Then there came the familiar shot gun blast.

I will not lie to you, I was unchareristically surprised that not only Jonathan Michael's shot gun blast echoed throughout this place, but that like a beast I had the ability to move out of it's wake. As I turned around and looked,  I remember instinctively (and most likely vividly) narrowing my eyes.

An Ash haired boy with a blue bracelet had been observing me from roughly 75 yards away and had tried to shoot me with a Saiga-12 after I had killed Michaels. Now, I saw him loading again and decided to sprint towards him, yes I was not the fastest sprinter, but I did run well enough and I did something shockingly stupid in the long run, but instinctually the best option (meaning that there are some moments where you should NOT trust your instincts).

I stabbed the boy in the forearm and bit unto his nose…the boy struggled and I maintained my bite…one cannot understand how disgusting the taste of snot and blood is, but I maintained it and eventually ripped off the chewy cartilidge…only to be greeted with a familiar backhand to the face. I then scrambled away has Chris Cohen began loading the shotgun…but not away to hide, but to the controller. I was becoming a bit more primal I've come to realize and my thought process is a bit sketchy due to what I can only assume the adrenaline running through me, anyways I grabbed the Xbox controller and I started swinging it and eventually hit him upside the head, causing him to attempt to clutch his head and of course exposing me the back of his neck.

The box cutter found itself cutting his spinal collum before I even had my hands on it (well that's what it felt like) and I found myself gripping his shirt and ripping it off before I could think, a straight cut down the middle and the exposure of all the muscle of the chest and the organs of the stomache…removing everything was tedious and messy, but it is only in reflection that I realize this, at the moment it was euphoric. I would compare it to an orgasm, but I have never experienced one and wouldn't really know how to explain it (Authors Note: In future notes I will allow this to be a quote to Jonathan Michaels, but I can to realize that fifteen minutes after I jotted it down and it seemed familiar). Back to Chris, his evisceration was slow and tedious. Messy? Yes. Primal. Yes. Unneeded? Absolutley not. Killing in and of itself is not unneeded, people do it all the time, what is unneeded is the remorse felt afterward (even for a person like Chris Cohen) and with all of his organs laid out neatly I didn't think I would feel remorse for Chris.

"C-C-C-C-Chris C-C-C-Cohen a-and Diana C-C-C-Cohen…"

His parents? No, his girlfriend, yes. The first names revealed that to me and the fact that most highschool couples pretend their married did to. I simply stared at him, for the first time in the game tears coming to my eyes, the shock and the horridness and I realized that I stood INSIDE Chris Cohen. My knees touching his spinal chord and I looked down at the heavy breathing face begging for death.

And in my first step of coherent thought I provided it. I could not blame what I did to Chris on adrenaline, for at the end of the day that sane and rational Brandon was the one to stab him in the heart, maybe the sane and rational Brandon was simply a romanticization and I'm actually a cold blooded murderer.


Although…I doubt it. Call it childish naievette, but I don't think that I've done a mortal sin here…now I think that I simply lost myself, lost this calm presence and it resulted in the deaths of two people, but hey…rational people loose their nerves all the time and because they're politicians they're mistakes usually result in the deaths of millions.

Excuse the use of profanity, but fuck if there was ever a time to romanticize something it would be after you've eviscerated two individuals.

Brandon Cuthbert threw down the box cutter and picked up the shotgun…leaving the industrial area, covered in blood and himself covered in regrets and false hope.

((Continued in Silence and Solitude))

MALE STUDENT NO. 14 - JONATHAN MICHAELS - DECEASED
MALE STUDENT NO. 52 - CHRISTIAN COHEN - DECEASED