“ ‘The creator of a world can not also be that world’s savior. That is how it works. That is how it will always work. The parents know this, the children know this, even the elders know the rule. That is why I had to do it. I had taken the gun, aimed, glanced away momentarily, squeezed, sensation filled my body and, bang, over just like that.’ I found that in one of his journals once, and he was always stealing my voice recorder…” ~Rebecca Clarkson, Mother

“Voice Log(s): Remon Clarkson

Day 357
09:00
‘Yesterday was Execution Day and.. they let me be the savior this time. Last Execution Day I was too young, and according to Grandfather Fredericks, over the next 5 millenia I will have children of my own, and that will make me unqualified to handle the gun. Mother and Father said they were proud of me for looking away first, and Grandmother Anne Maria thought I could have been a little more manly about the whole situation. I think I did okay and one of the council members even patted my back in honor. That is a good sign. I hope that Grandfather Fredericks is wrong because now I don’t think I want children. I want to be able to be the savior at Execution Day for all my existence.’

Day 358
09:00
‘We don’t normally see much of anybody any more, it’s like that every Execution Day. Father is training Rover to do tricks for the celebration, Mother is handling her meetings, Grandmother Anne Maria is busy with tiling the roof, while Grandfather Fredericks is at work cooking a huge feast. We are all supposed to be celebrating my great achievement. Honestly, I still can’t believe I did it. I can’t stop thinking about it.’
 
Day 364
09:00
‘Days have passed since I first became the savior. I think, I think I want to spend this time to describe what that day was like for me. Everyone says I should document my experience, not many people have the opportunity like I had.
It was Day 365, of the fifth millennium just like the time before. He was nervous, Alexander. So nervous, in fact, I think I could see the cold sweat drip from his folded over hands and his skin quiver as I became eye level. I wanted to do, I wanted to do it so badly. I have never told anyone this, but I wanted him to know that I had waited, counted down, excited for the day I would do it. Alexander had only lived for two millenniums, but that was enough for him. He had been to the Healing Ward on more than several occasions. When I pulled the trigger on the small hand-held gun I knew, at that moment, I was born to be a killer..’ “  These recordings were found on a voice recorder that was removed from his pocket after he was searched, before he entered court. These helped prove Remon was mentally unstable.

Click (speaker on). “Alexander, how do you feel about these required recordings we have just revealed to you, please write down your emotions on the provided notepad.” Click (speaker off).

“Dearest Provided Notepad,
I have always known Remon didn’t like me. Every time I was sick he acted as if I might as well have been shot there and then like some kind of sick dog. He was sick. Not my kind of sick, a different kind. He would sit in his room and stare at the wall where he had drawn the bloodiest of sketches. From small toddlers shooting soldiers to babies being burned in great yellow and orange flames, his white painted walls were never able to be washed once these pictures were scribbled on there. So they always remained. He was sick, and all of these things always contained babies being the killer or victim and he always the bystander of an outside world. It was sick. I remember once he even got in trouble with the neighbors because he shot their dog. What a sicko. That’s why I wasn’t surprised to see him stepping, slowly, firmly, up on top of the bucket to stare into my eyes with his soulless heart. I knew he would look away. I also knew it would be for the whole thing. I knew he would snap sooner or later, I was just hoping sooner.”

Remon Clarkson was a simple boy and he had a simple life. A respectful father, a loving mother and a caring brother. He and his brother, Alexander, went to a pretty good school, lived in a pretty nice house and both had pretty nice things. So why Remon hated Alexander, no one knows. It had been noticeable for years but it all truly started on December 22, 1991..

With just days before Christmas there had been more and more activity in the Clarkson home, and because of this there had been less and less to see of poor Remon. The day had been practically busy as aunts and uncles came together to chatter on and on about recipes and gifts. Remon hated this, not just around Christmas but all year round. He hated company, family and just about anything involving social contact with people. He didn’t mind talking, to walls that is. He would sit in his room for always the darkest hours of the night and talk to his wall.

The police reports say that he didn’t put up a struggle but that’s not exactly true. He was crying and growling. Remon infact later said to his psychiatrist that he was disappointed. He wanted so badly to hit the heart, or even the head. He thought of his brother, skin and blood, as an animal.  It had been 12:02 am when the neighbor had called the local police sheriff’s cell, he had heard a gunshot. One single shot, clear as day in the middle of night. When the police got there they found Remon standing over the choking Alexander. Remon had taken a gun from his fathers safe, in the garage, and when Alexander followed him, he stepped onto a bucket to be eye level (being shorter than his brother) and as Alex stood in the doorway looking confused, I’m sure, as to what his brother was doing Remon had shot him.  “A straight shot in rib cage just barely missing his left lung”, said the doctors at the ER. Alexander was going to be alright and he was very lucky. Remon was taken straight to the nearest mental facility after being found guilty of attempting murder, even though he was only 10 at the time. Everyone had known for years he wasn’t right. Everyone knew he was odd, weird, and they called him quire. He would now spend the rest of his life in solitude.

News Report:
Printed Date: 3-17-15

“It was just last week that patient Remon Clarkson was found to be missing from his bedroom in the solitary care ward at Jordanville Mental Facility. The window had been smashed open with a missing bar off of his bed frame and Clarkson had been tracked by police dogs as far as 15 miles from the facility before they lost him. He is highly dangerous and known to blend in well with others. He WILL go after young boys around the ages of 12-14. Clarkson is a 34 year old male, standing at 5’9’, with dark eyes and dark hair. Please, if you know where he is call your local police station.”