DiArY oF a MaDmAn
Entry #2: Kindred Spirits
Three lonely nights have passed since the anarchy of the Battle Royale that ensued at Titanfall.
Having come within a hair’s breadth of winning the Death Row Championship, I find myself agonisingly back to square one – the solitary confines of this padded cell in a fight to preserve my ever-perturbed feelings and emotions.
As always, they tangle like a knot in a turbulent sea, the duality of my mind the one thing keeping me afloat between two conflicting worlds.
Yet through this nautical voyage of darkness, a beacon of light has afforded me hope.
A chance to set the record straight against a familiar foe, of whom I have come to sense many likenesses.
In CJ Thorpe, I see a reflection of my own, fractured soul. His presence on Death Row ignites my curiosity, as I attempt to discern the thin line that separates the righteous guardian from the ruthless con.
I have observed from afar, watching as the shadows verge upon a man grappling with the torment of his past. With every hour that passes, I cannot help but unravel the complexities that haunt him – the demons which permeate his every waking thought – reminding me, no end, of the malignant spirits that roam freely within me.
A once staunch enforcer of the law, CJ donned the Arcadia Police Department badge with pride and courage, just as my rational self once embraced reality.
Only now – as I eyeball him pacing back and forth, the echoes of days gone by clashing with the existence which now surrounds him – I witness what Joseph has become.
Time has taken its toll, driving him down a path of criminality he could not resist, in turn mirroring my descent into the depths of insanity. Together, we bare the weight of our actions – shackled not just by the iron chains that bind us physically – but by the guilt that restrains our very beings.
The other inmates? They call me mad and deranged, dismissing my words as mere lunacy, whereas I? I see the irony of it all.
A society that once admired CJ Thorpe as a hero now shuns him as a villain, corrupted by the very law he once served to maintain.
In the sparing moments of lucidity, I try to remember the men we once were – he, the upholder of justice, and I, a man with dreams and aspirations of being the greatest showman that ever lived – yet our identities merely distort, merging into one.
It is as though we were destined to walk this path together, walking the tightrope of sanity and delusion.
As our meeting draws nearer, I wonder if Joseph finds solace in knowing he is not the only one battling his inner self? That perhaps, in some twisted way, we have always been connected – knotted in the lace of life’s cruel whims?
Time escapes me and my ink runs dry. The lines between my personalities blur, and I find myself sat here wondering who the true madman on Death Row is?
The former cop turned criminal, or the one scribbling these fragmented words, leading me but to one conclusion…
We’Re AlL mAd HeRe.