insights in a fictional journal

Insight
Preface
The narrator would like the fact to be known that he and the author share none of the same opinions. As a matter of fact, the author hates the narrator, and the narrator hates the author. However, the two were forced to collaborate to come up with this project. Essentially, the project is a series of journal entries that reveal and illuminate one character. Any situations or characters that resemble real life, are probably in fact based of the sad life of the writer, but not the narrator. Let be it known, the narrator was forced into reading this literary work, due to amazing skills in oration, and overall his ability to stun people. That being said, the narrator would like the reader to ignore the literature as best as possible and simply enjoy the soothing sound of the narrator’s voice enjoy.

3/12/08
I always start my writing with a clean piece of paper and a demented mind. Now I don’t mean demented like duhhh I’m missing the lower half of my brain, but demented like fucked up. I never seem to be able to write any story, unless of course someone or something dies in the story. Say my last story, it was suppose to be about five happy kittens, you know for my kid brother. While, I got to writing and somehow, by the end of my foray into children’s literature, all five of those damn kittens had been eaten by an angry dog named Doozer. Maybe I’m too real or a bit touched in the head as my British cousin might say. Then he would say I’m a stereotypical bitch, and then I would just laugh because he is of course British. So you see what I mean, I’m a bit demented. Oh yeah I’m suppose to tell you about the trouble I got in for reading my story to my kid brother. I had just finished writing my story, and my kid brother walks in and says,
         “Brother did you finish my story?,” in just the sweetest tone possible, it killed me. I couldn’t say no to my brother so I read the damn thing.
         “Once there was five kittens, all black and white and mewing and such.” My kid brother was a bit of a sucker he’d believe anything ‘d say. My mind cried out to stop, but it was a hopeless cause.
         “And there was an angry dog named Doozer.” That damn smile on his little face was killing me.
         “And he was a very hungry dog, but it wasn’t his fault. I mean his stomach just growled all the time, he was just always hungry. Then one day the five little kittens wandered into Doozer’s yard. What could Doozer do? He was just animal living off instinct. He caught all of the kittens , then treating himself, devoured one right away, then buried the rest in a dank, dark hole alive. The kittens cried for awhile, then eventually their spirit broke and they died.” My kid brother’s mouth hung open wide. I finished the story, “ So kiddo the morals of the story are as follows, numbers cannot defeat a bigger  foe if he is hungry, kittens are foul weak creatures with weak spirits, and don’t go wandering into yards you don’t know about.” My kid brother ran screaming out of my room, no doubt, telling my dad what just happened. That wasn’t the best of days you know.

2/15/10
         I still remember Ikey, you know. I mean I know his name is Mikey, but he just loved it when I called him Ikey. Wait, no, he hated that then why did I call him Ikey. Oh I remember know, cause he hated. I think back to the last time he and I talked.
         “Fuck man let’s go, I’m scared.”
         “ Awww. What for?”
         “ I dunno. I just am.”
         “Well then leave.”
         “ C’mon let’s both go”
         “ No.”
         “ Please.”
         “ Oh in that case hell no, Ikey.” Mikey just stormed off after that, and get this, I start laughing. Just laughing my ass off. I mean still I don’t know why, all I know for sure is I laughed for a long time. When I was finally done, I wondered home. Fuck I still don’t what Mikey was scared off, we were just wondering around. I get home late, my dad tells me not to do it again and I say I won’t, but we both know better. Later, I thought about calling Mikey, cause I felt pretty damn terrible for laughing at him, and I thought about calling me, but I never did. Why am I talking about Mikey, you say. Well I saw him hanging around the other day, and I went to talk to him, get this, he didn’t remember me. I guess I’ve got the tendency to do that, fade from people’s mind, and half the time they don’t even know it. Oh well I suppose that’s how life goes, or maybe I’m thinking too much again.

4/10/10
         “ Oh I just realized you don’t have my number yet.” She said a bit surprised.
         “ No, no I don’t think so?” I said hesitantly even though I knew she hadn’t given me her number.
         “513- 6100”
         “ Say again, a bit slower this time around.”
         “ Five, one, three,” a pause, I remember briefly looking at her eyes. Wide and brown, in a good way. I think of her, I remember her eyes the best. Our gaze meets for a moment and we both glance away.
         “ Six, three, zero, zero,” I blushed slightly, well I think I blushed slightly. You know I couldn’t actually see myself, but I bet I was blushing.
         “ Thanks,” I manage to say, I’m scared, but in a good kind of way. The kind of scared that comes from trying something new. I finish, “ I’ll call you some time.” She smiled, the type of smile that was capable of bringing any boy to his knees, and nearly destroyed me every time I saw it.
         “ Yeah, I’d like that,” as she walked away. I smiled, a real deep smile, the kind that showed the dimples on my face, but hell I didn’t care right then. The rest of my day passed away in a quickish haze. Everything flew by me, nothing really mattered, and best of all I was exhilarated. At home, I stared at the number, intently. I gathered my courage slowly, trying to muster my mental strength to dial the seven simple digits. I told myself quit your shit and dialed the first three without a hitch. I took a deep breath and start to dial the next four digits. I hit six when the voices start.
         “Oh shit what the hell am I doing?”
         “Oh shut up would you dial the damn number.”
Three.
         “Stop, STOP! Stop well there’s still time, while you still have your dignity.”
         “ No you will finish this even if it kills you.”
I stop to wonder how a voice could kill me, and then put it out of my head. I hit the zero.
         “no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no”
         “Hell yeah boy!”
My finger slips, clearing the number.
         “Fuck” I dial the number quickly, the voices are quite for now. I hear the ringing, it lasts for a bit till her voice comes on. I start talking.
         “ Oh yeah I was just bored thought I talk to you a bit.” But then I realize she didn’t answer. I was talking to a answering machine. Oh well at least it was nice and mild mannered. It continues, “ Hey it’s me I can’t come to the phone now, so leave a message.” Oh well right? I leave a casual message, nothing serious. I mean you can never show your feelings right? I mean that’s just weak you can never let another person into your feelings, even if you desperately want that other person to know.
I felt kinda shitty the rest of the night, but oh well right. The voices flared up telling me things I already knew. One obnoxious voice constantly told me she blew me off on purpose, that she didn’t really want to talk to a loser like me. Yet, another calmer voice, I like to think the it was the heretic voice of reason, told me otherwise. But I’ll never really know what happened, though I guess in the real long run it doesn’t really matter, just like everything else.

4/5/17
The funeral was choked with my dad’s ol pilot buddies, so that made the damn thing twice as bad. There I was the eternal failure to the greatest pilot ever, my dad. Why you ask, simple heights scare me something terrible. Even worse, my kid brother (though he is not a kid anymore, he’s actually a bit taller than me, but I always be able to whip his ass) became the pilot my good ole dad wanted. Now my dad was dead, and I was still nothing to his memory. As I walked alone, to find a seat away from the pilots,( my brother was seated with them soaking up the praise), I felt their scorn raining down upon me. Of course, they hated me, my father hated me, so they hate me. It is called the transitive property, look it up if you get the chance. Mourning, or I thought I was mourning, I took my seat. Where was my mom you ask, and I could ask you the same question. She left right after my kid brother was born, and left my dad to bear the burden. Oh well shit happens I suppose. I always kinda wonder what would have happened if she’d been around, but the past is the past right? I suppose I’m thinking too much again my dad always used to say.
         “Damn it kid that’s why you are so scared of flying you think too much, question everything way too much. Sometimes kid, you just gotta do it.” I never really figured out what “it” was, but I guess it goes back to thinking too much, huh? I know I told him to fuck off, or something cruel like that. I’ve always been the cruel type, a bit on the defiant side my teachers would say, and then I tell ‘em to fuck off.  I never really got along too well with my teachers. So, here I am thinking again, pretty much my only refuge from the scorn of the pilots and my kid brother. I was getting real fidgety, damn I hate funerals, why  the hell am I here, my father hated me. I’m thinking now what would dad be saying if he were here.
         “ Sit still boy you’re making me nervous.” Yeah I imagine that’d be right. I continued to talk with my dad in my head, kinda of mumbling out loud though, people started stare. I talked louder. Finally, the real dead dad is rolled in, and I tell the dad I’m talking to in my head to scram. Slowly, people got up up to give my dad his last respects. Goddamn jerks, most of them didn’t give a damn about him in life, now that he was dead he mattered. Demented. All the pilots touched my dad’s dead hand, putting on a real good show for everyone else. I mean you don’t look depressed and mournful unless you touch the dead person, right? My turn finally came to see ole dead dad, and I just looked at him, thinking of what I should do. I stood there calm, despite the clamoring line behind me, seeing scorn, or love, or maybe something else all together, though I never figured out. The guy behind shoved me, eager to show how sad he was, and I had to move on. I booked it out there, never finding out quite what my dad meant to me.