April 6, 2028,
Another year come and gone, even though it’s like one long day and the weather doesn’t help the situation. It has been raining, non-stop for… a week?
You would think that after six years of being imprisoned that I would forget the months, the weeks, the days, that I would slowly descend into insanity and lose all sense of who I am…
However, I have not. I remember myself, my name, where I am. I remember who bound me to this lonely tower and left me to my horrid fate.
I remember this day; they day he brought me back, when everything I knew, everything I held most dear, went to hell.
Oh yes, and World War III is occurring in the outside world.
Five long years, well, six if you count the first shot.
Not only that, but it has also been five, years since the United States wrongfully declared war on an enemy with whom alliances had already been unstable.
That despicable beast, my enemy, had torn apart cities and families; some of the hardest hit were Denver, and New York City. Then, to top that off, he attacked major cities in Russia. He started this war, plunged the world into despair, pitting country against country.
It’s terrifying to think how many have suffered for all that has been done. All those lives lost… and for what, revenge?
Grandmother, please forgive me for breaking this promise. I know you told me never to repeat the names of the dead, but if I am to die here, then whoever finds this journal must know the truth, well, part of the truth.
My parents passed away in two thousand and twenty-three. It was not even a year after he bombed downtown Denver and some of the surrounding area.
Hawk and Dove, Dragon and Duck are dead and gone from this world. I watched as their coffins were buried beneath the ground next to Falcon, and I am glad of this – even though I wish I could have joined them.
Every day, since that tragic event, I have thought longingly about my home and my family.
Sometimes, I am afraid to fall asleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see the shocked expressions on their blank faces, the faded blue eyes. I could still see the blood. I smelled it.
Even though there’s nothing there, I still felt the fresh, warm gore stained on my shaking hands as I tried to stem the flow.
And I failed to save them.
I tried to fight him, to make him pay for the damage he inflicted, but I could not. Instead of ending my life with a bullet, he brandished the knife against me as he shot my parents then wounded, no, mutilated, me. That was the last thing I remember.
I need to stop this. Remembering the pain will get me nowhere. I need to think about my family in a good light. They lived their lives well; my family was kind and loving to everyone and they were charitable and God fearing.
The only good thing about their death is that they did not have to see what I have seen, suffer as I have suffered. They would never be burdened, never witness the blood my enemy and I had to spill. They would not have to see my enemy drag me from my home or the morgue, or to pay a ransom for my life.
Of course, the mad man that ordered my imprisonment would never let me go, nor would he kill me. Why kill someone who knows too much?
I have often wondered why he kept me alive, why he did not just let me die like the rest of my family.
At least they are safe in their graves. That one part of my memory keeps me alive, gives me the strength to fight back. However, it reminds me of the torture I suffered, and I will never forget, not until my dying breath.
Which I hope is soon.
Right now, I am stuck here in my tower until I finally perish or he ends this torment by killing me.
I am prisoner Watchful Blackbird, and my temporary home, more a prison, is the tower cell of Vallø Castle, Denmark. My enemy is my blood.
I am a damned and deranged citizen with no country to call home.