Roderick Hirsch's Journal [Translated from German]

PROPERTY OF

RODERICK S. HIRSCH

BERLIN (A), GERMANY

February 13- I cannot believe I have been in America for a year and a half already. This journal is old, at least three years, but its contents are few. My English is almost "spot-on" (if I do say so myself) and, aside from my accent that will not fade, it is a comfortable place to be in. Nobody says very much about the way I speak. For that I am grateful. I will still keep this journal in my native language in case someone finds it that should not be reading it.

I am currently living in an apartment building just around the corner from a large store, Century 21. What a funny name, I'd say. Anyhow, my study in the cellar has not been very prosperous. I am trying to continue it, but it is sad that it is not working out. In fact, it is discouraging that it has been so unsuccessful lately.

Violet is doing well. She stays at home because there is virtually nothing for her to do. Clothes are too expensive in the stores around here. I'm not too fond of the area as it is and am unsure about letting her roam around. She does go in the courtyard of the apartment building, though, and talks to the other residents there. It is quite nice to see that she is not locked away from the world. I am concerned for her, specifically in the areas of emotional stability. She is only six years old, and her future seems bright. I do not want to ruin it for her.

If I haven't written it here before, Violet was orphaned when she was five years of age. She never knew how her parents died, and if I ever find out, I don't think I will tell her. She does not deserve to be so upset. She has never mentioned her last name to me, so I always use "Hirsch" under her name when she has to say it to others. I am not sure if it is helpful or rude, but she has never said anything negative to me about it.

I found Violet a year ago in an alley next to the insane asylum, sitting by one of the windows. She had been holding flowers in her hand and talking to someone on the other side. I was actually quite appalled to see this. The man on opposite of the girl in the window seemed sane, although he was in a place for people of the counter attitude. She slipped a flower through one of the bars to him, and he took it thankfully, turning it around in his hands.

Then my feet brought me over to her. I laid my eyes upon the man behind the window's covers. He stared at me suspiciously, and suddenly looked fearful. His last action was backing away from the window with the plant in his hand and retreating to the bed in the small room. Violet, whose name I was unaware of, looked up at me sadly and placed the rest of the flowers on the windowsill.

"Why did you do that?" She seemed to be holding back a sob. I immediately felt remorse and kneeled down to reach her height.

"Do what?" I replied to her.

"You made him go away." Her dark eyes shone with glassiness as they filled with tears.

"I'm sorry." I was. "Where are your parents?"

"I don't have parents," she locked her gaze on my shoes and held the remaining two flowers closer to her body. My heart sank to the bottom of my chest as I scratched my beard thoughtfully.

"What's your name?"

"Violet." She had dark brown curls to her shoulders and a messy outfit. The freshly picked roses in her hand blew in the gentle breeze.

Suddenly, a tear made its way down the front of her face. She stood from the spot she had originally been in and walked closer to me, studying my facial features. Then the girl held out a hand, and I took it. It must have signified a queue for something, as she wrapped her little arms around me and cried into my shirt. My reactions were mixed. I was confused that she was doing this because she had never met me before, but I was also obliged to comfort her.

What happened exactly after that slightly escapes me, but she is now living here with me a year later. She has never mentioned the man she befriended outside the asylum, so I have not asked about it.

This has been a long entry. Goodnight.

February 16- Violet is a little under the weather today. I will still bring her into the study; she likes to be in there when I work.

I've been trying to find a lot of things in my research. My materials are extremely limited, as I don't want to be discovered doing something considered illegal. To be ambitiously honest, my work consists of researching diseases to try and find cures. Nothing has proven successful, and it is upsetting. All my life, I've wanted to help people, and it is not working. I mustn't give up now; not until I find something helpful.

As I slowly descended into the cellar, I heard pattering footsteps behind me. It was Violet.

"Hi, Roderick," she held the railing with both hands as she caught up to me. The girl followed me up to the secret door in the brick wall leading to my office. I pushed the bricks aside, and she attempted to help me. When we both stepped into the stairway, I shut the door and lead her down further.

My study was just as I had left it, with my computer on sleep and my books scattered across the room. Violet took one in her hands and tried to read my sloppy cursive handwriting. She was only six, and could barely read at all, so she lost interest and turned to a clean page. She took a pen in her hand and wrote her name slowly and carefully at the top: Violet Hirsch. The print was somewhat illegible but decent for a little child.

At once, I sat down and pulled out a portable keyboard from my drawer, laying it on the desk in front of me. My work from the previous day popped up on the computer screen. My eyes scanned it quickly, and a sigh escaped my throat. It was going nowhere. The only thing I had done was treat the common cold, which had been done a while ago. My head hung, studying the papers that were next to the keyboard.

The other side of the room consisted of different tests I had done and their results- failures, every single one of them. Never before had I been so discouraged in my life.

Violet walked over to the table with the testing contents on them. "What's these?"

"They're tests," I replied. "All failed."

"Failed?" The girl's brown eyes met mine curiously.

"Yes. It means they didn't work. They did not do well."

"Can't you try again?"

I was quiet for a moment, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms as well as my legs. "I could."

"So why are you not testing it again?"

"I-" I didn't know, a pause cutting my speech off. My eyes glanced at the table. Why had I given up? Then I remembered. "I don't want to be caught."

"Why? You're doing a good thing," The little girl questioned me. She was not aware of the harshness of society today.

I rolled my chair over to hers, my head resting in my hands. "Violet, you know there are good people and bad people. Unfortunately- which means something is not good- a lot of bad people run this country. Those bad people don't like when the good ones help others. So what I'm doing, according to them, is evil. If I get caught, I might not see you ever again. Understand?"

Violet looked upset. She nodded, leaning towards me for a hug. Of course, I guiltily accepted it.

Should I have said anything?

Christopher Powell's Journal

February 16- I saw that man again. He wasn't in the store today as I thought he'd be. He was going into a cellar on the side of an apartment building adjacent to the asylum. There was a child with him. Maybe he's homeless and takes refuge in the shelter with his daughter. Now I feel bad for suspecting him of being creepy.

Maybe he kidnapped her and is keeping her in the cellar. Although, I doubt it because she followed him in a seemingly willful manner. I also feel like I'm being strange. Why are all my thoughts revolving around this man? There was never anything specifically unusual about him besides the short epi4sode at work. I'll have to look further into this.

See, now I feel like I'm obsessing over this whole ordeal. I feel like there's something, though, that's pulling me into this. It's almost as if some certain factor is indicating his significance. He's different, that's for sure. Maybe he's like me- a struggling misfit.

Roderick Hirsch's Journal [Translated from German]

February 20- I feel as if I am being followed. The authorities have been in great numbers near the asylum, which is directly across from the cellar, my study. I cannot let them find it, or my future is destroyed as well as Violet's. How hard it is being a rebel.

February 22- As I was about to venture back into my work today, someone was watching me. I whirled around and realized the uncomfortable presence of a man looking through a barred window. Wanting no part in this, my feet brought me backwards. His sad eyes met mine, and I stopped.

"Hello," he said nearly incomprehensibly. The man's wild, bright blue eyes seemed to glint through the bars.

"Good day." The words cautiously escaped my lips.

"What are you doing? I see you go down there every day. You do, and you belong here if you do. You know what they do down there?"

Intrigued, I stepped closer to the vicinity window. "What?"

"They do things. Things, I can't remember. But there's a man that goes down there everyday, and sometimes there's that girl, too..."

I knit my eyebrows together. He was talking about me. "Yes, I know."

His eyes got wide and darted around his surroundings. A groan escaped his lips. "Oh, this wall, it's so bad. It's so bad, it goes high. Look how high it goes." He was grinning. "Higher, higher, higher! It never stops, oh," he moaned, his head resting on the windowsill, "someone help me."

My sympathy started to pour out of my oversized heart. Something was telling me he wasn't completely insane.

"That girl, that girl I see, she used to leave flowers in my hand. Lovely flowers. Nice flowers. She came every day. I haven't seen her in a long time. I miss her so much. Nobody is my friend anymore." The man's eyes appeared tear-filled. He was now mentioning Violet.

Suddenly, the door in the back of his room opened. I darted away wildly to hide myself, running into the apartment building. From there, I could faintly hear the conversation that followed.

"Jarrett, who the hell are you talking to?" It sounded like a security guard, but I wasn't too sure.

"Myself." The young madman stated it with a depressing voice that made me feel upset for running away. In fact, I was so guilt-stricken that I ran up the stairs into my apartment and closed all the windows, making sure I couldn't hear him for the rest of the night.

February 26- I have not written, and with good reason. I believe somebody has been observing my work. When I went into the cellar with Violet, there was a great mess in the room. My books had all been opened, and my test results were torn and dissected through. Today, however, everything was neatly placed back where it was meant to be.

Violet is frightened, and so am I. I am sitting in my office chair right now and believe the cellar door is being opened. What if it's the authorities? These may be my last moments with my small friend. Oh, God help us!