Well, you can plant your memory of me, but to plant my memories and experiences, you'd have to kill me. And let's just say I no longer live in Juniper, WV.

That might work, but I wouldn't bet on it. You might end up in a situation where you've planted something, but have no idea of knowing about it. Meaning you just start choking to death one day, and have no way to remember why.

If we all just pitch in, it will be.

Just put all that frustration into a little seed, and plant it. It'll all be okay.

I don't think I need to explain the many reasons why I wouldn't recommend it. But first and foremost; you'll be putting a ball into motion that won't stop even if you were to be killed.

He's not much for small talk and friendly visits. He's very practical. But yeah, we keep in touch. He checks in with me about once every two weeks. I know for a fact he's been reading these posts.

Evan is hard not to keep in touch with. He's very quick to type, and he checks in with me from time to time. He's not much for small talk, but he cares. He's the kind of guy who replies 'ok' ten times in a row.

Leah and the Babin family is still out there. I bet they still live somewhere in the Tomskog area.

Well, when I get there I'll be sure to bring y'all along.

From what I experienced, it doesn't work like that. It's not just a literal spoken wish, it is an innate desire. I really, really wanted to save my Uncle John, and he wanted to save me. I don't know if I could focus all my hatred into a wish to kill; and even if I did, what would happen to me?

It really was. But I'm sure there'll be many more.

If we ever get there, sure. This is pretty much the only place where people actually believe my experiences.

We'll cross that bridge when we get there. But it won't be anytime soon.

Now that I know what to expect, I know how to prepare. As long as I got the right people at my side, it can be done.

I appreciate it. I'd prefer a cranberry juice though, I'm afraid that if I ever start drinking it might be hard to stop.

I didn't attempt to reconnect with him. We weren't very close.

That's when he spilled water on my face. Before then, he was just like the rest.

I think the old man got to him. I should've paid more attention.

The name of the prison is omitted by choice. I don't want them to tag me in any searches. I get the feeling they have a "familiar" relationship with my parole officer.

I've thought about it a lot. I think it was an incubator to see if people could be coaxed into turning into what I already am. There was a lot of talk about people being reclassified and shipped off.

Yeah, the stamps weirded me out. Then again, we saw that kind of flower all over on the way there. Thought it was just some local thing, didn't really pay any attention to it.

And yeah, the people working for Hatchet Pharma or Biotechnica refer to themselves as Hatchetmen. Ominous stuff.

I don't think that was an angel. I think it was something we haven't collectively thought about for a long time. Something that wants us to remember.

It is a strange feeling, remembering something that was there all along. It's like noticing there is a whole other room in your house that you never bothered to use.

Being out is a whole different kind of life. I kind of miss the security of having people watch my back though.

When describing something uncommon, you have to use an uncommon way of speaking.