Okay, let's see . . .
Location . . . hm . . . that'll have to wait. Would "somewhere within the borders of Ukraine" suffice for now?
Unknown date, but I think it's a Friday.
Time is - let me see - 8:43 a.m.
First recording.
I hope mother doesn't mind me setting up this little apparatus in her backyard - my room in her house has been off-limits for years. Which, for the record, was not my fault, and I should have known from the beginning that something like that was bound to-
*strangled coughing, followed by a burst of static*
Dammit . . . I barely walk a few miles, and already I feel like a wheezing old man. Anyway-
Ah, God dangit, is that blood? I thought I was done spitting blood . . . seriously, can I not get off my bed - or rather, my refrigerator - for more than an hour without killing myself?
Anyway.
. . . What was I saying?
Oh, right. Bound to happen. Something like this was bound to happen, if you put my house next to a place like that. So thanks to that little incident twenty years ago - or has it been longer? Whatever. Thanks to that little accident, my house is off-limits. And as a little side bonus, I'm a total wreck. Thanks, world.
So I can't live in my house. Woohoo. I moved in with mother for about a year. Needless to say, that didn't work out. At all.
My room in her house is now off-limits as well.
Against my will, and as a direct consequence of that first incident, I've become a bit of a curiosity among my siblings, so I've resolved to avoid mother's house during daylight hours - unless no one's home, of course. Then I can come and go whenever I freaking want.
Which brings me to the subject of this little recording.
I'm crouching at the base of a grassy hill near a bend in the sad little gray wooden fence that separates mother's yard from a big, flat patchwork of farmland that extends to infinity and who knows where. It's morning and way too bright; I think it's summer, but I haven't been outside in a while, so who knows.
Oh, right. Also I've been living in a burnt-out railcar turned on its side, all eaten away by rust and covered in peeling paint that looks like it got blown off in a windstorm. I boarded up the windows; all that sunlight was giving me a headache.
So I've pretty much been living in the dark and sleeping in an old refrigerator and trying to cover up whatever messes my wreck of a brother gets himself into. Ah, what a life.
Right. Getting back on topic. I'll keep this concise, 'cause I really don't know how much memory this recording thing has:
I built a recording device in mother's backyard. I plan to take it with me to Berlin, where there was a bit of an . . . accident that I feel obligated to deal with. I'll go into detail later about what happened, but for now, let's call it a "quiet butchery" of someone who was never entirely necessary and who will soon be peacefully forgotten.
I've assembled enough money to purchase a one-way plane ticket to Germany - if it can still be called that, after the events of yesterday - and to rent a small office space north of Berlin. I'd rather not say specifically where; this information will be disclosed only to my valued interviewees.
I will conduct a thorough investigation, as my health allows. I have nothing to lose, and certainly nothing to gain, other than a little amusement and a brief alleviation of my incurable boredom.
I will take this opportunity to read aloud my carefully compiled list of contacts for this investigation:
-Prussia, the victim's brother, goes by the name Gilbert Beilschmidt;
-Austria, likely the victim's brother as well, goes by the name Roderich Edelstein;
-Italy, relation to victim unknown- ah, never mind, let's take him off the list. He's useless.
Let's see . . . who else? Oh, here we go:
-Denmark, the victim's somewhat distant neighbor, goes by the name Mathias Køhler;
-Liechtenstein, indirectly related by- ah, let's take her off the list too. Useless.
Ah, and of course, a favorite suspect in murder investigations . . . shall I include him?
I think I will; but let's leave his infamous name unspoken for now, shall we?
And now, my faithful listener, let's get started.
*static*
