The government came today. They kicked in the doors of the compound and pointed guns at everyone and then they put all the adults in handcuffs and locked them in a big van. They didn't handcuff me. They talked to me, and asked me to please get in the car.
I was worried about what would happen to my family, but they told me that everything would be fine.
I had never been in a car before today. It's a terrifying experience, seeing everything flash past so fast you don't get to see it properly, feeling the lurch in the pit of your stomach and the strange dizziness of trying to track things that you can't follow fast enough.
They put me in a little room, with a light and a table and two chairs, and they asked me questions. About my family. About the Truth. About what had happened to me.
I don't think they liked the answers. One of them ran out of the room; I heard him throwing up. I don't understand why they would be so upset about this. It's the way things are, the way things have always been, and the way things should be.
They asked who did this to me. I told them I did it to myself, and my family helped. They took notes – I read them, upside down. When you can read the True Words, upside down isn't a challenge.
They wanted to lock my family away. I begged them not to – I just wanted someone to come and help us, not to come and destroy us. That's why I asked for help, not for this.
They looked at me like I was broken. I am not broken, I am whole.
They're keeping me in a facility. They want me to get something called 'adjustment therapy', so I can be a normal person. I'm not a normal person, though; I'm the Conduit, and they don't seem to understand my sacred duty.
They asked me to write this journal so that I can put my thoughts down on paper. Apparently, it's supposed to help me make sense of things, and to put things in order.
They don't understand, though. I don't forget, I don't lose clarity; I always remember. I always have. I don't need to write things down to remember them.
Writing is to pass on knowledge, not to retain it myself. If they want to see inside my head, then I am happy to write it out for them.
I don't want to be locked up in here. I want to be free. They say there's a school I can go to, where I'll learn everything I need to. I hope it's true. I want to leave this place. It's grey and boring and I don't have any books or computers.
The alarm keeps going off if I use magic, too, and the guards come in and point guns at me. I don't need more than one warning, I get the idea.
So I'm sitting here, writing this journal, bored out of my mind. Tomorrow I will ask to go to this school they mentioned. Anywhere is better than here, even going back to the compound.
The trial was today. They put my family in a courtroom, in those horrible orange jumpsuits, and told them they were monsters.
They repeated what I told them, and some people in the jury looked angry. Some of them looked sick. One of them cried.
I still don't get it.
They said I'd never have to see them again. That they'd be locked away until they died.
I can't cry any more, but I would. I never wanted this. I just wanted things to be better, and they just seem to keep getting worse.
They keep telling me that I'm safe now, that they can't hurt me any more, but they never hurt me, not really. Life was a challenge, sometimes, but I was happy. I love my family, and they love me.
Being a god is hard sometimes. They keep telling me not to call myself that, so I don't, not any more. It doesn't change what I am, but it makes people happier.
The outside seems to be like that a lot. You have to lie about everything, and people are happy. When you tell the truth, they are not.
I don't like having to lie, but I dislike people being unhappy more. At least none of them have tried to get me to teach them the True Speech. That would be too far. I don't think I could deal with someone trying to violate me like that. So I can continue to Write only the Truth, when it gets too much. And I still Think the Truth.