In 2003, several journal entries were discovered in the remains of an abandoned home in Slingerlands, New York.
The following accounts are based off of those journal entries.
Stopping time is easier than it sounds. There's no mathematical equation. It has nothing to do with the purchase of some knock-off product from an infomercial. You don't even need to search for it in one of those vintage comic book advertisements from the 50s, printed in full black and white glory, on the back of the cover beside a ten-speed bicycle and a pair of plastic glasses that promise to give you the ability to see through solid matter. The answer to stopping time is simple. It's about as easy as it is for one to dream.
If you can dream, you can stop time.
I discovered how to stop time later on in my life, when I realized that the world around me simply moved too fast. I was born into a life which ran faster than I could comprehend it. In the end, everything I ever wanted to accomplish; my dreams, my hopes, my goals...They slipped through my fingers. All because I didn't have enough time. I couldn't make more time. It's impossible to create time...however; there is a way to manipulate it...to prevent it from moving forward...
Which is why I am writing all this down. I want to share this discovery with the world. It's impossible NOT to think of the benefits, the potentials of stopping time. Stopping time means patients can be temporarily frozen in a state of suspended animation until they can be properly relieved of a terminal disease to which there's no cure. If a cure for your disease is out of your reach, you can stop time to simply spend precious, countless hours with the ones you love. You could make your last moments on earth last for as long as you wish. The only restriction to stopping time is your imagination and imagination is the key to stopping time.
Pick a memory. Any memory you have. It could be the happiest moment of your life. It could be the worst experience you've ever had. The day you went to the park, a birthday party you attended, your marriage, your divorce, a murder you committed, a catastrophe you witnessed, it could be anything! Either way, it must be a memory in which you have physically and mentally aware of your surroundings. This memory shall become your sanctuary during the course of your soon-to-be timeless existence. This is because in a memory, time never moves, since it is only a record of a point in time. It is a scar of an image left in our minds which cannot, nor will not, occur again unless you choose to make it so.
The memory I chose was that of a childhood invisionment of my room when I was a child. I chose it because that atmosphere of my room wasn't of excitement, a sense of joy, or even a grave misfortune, but a shadow of a normal room inside of a house I use to live in. I wanted to choose a place that was free of emotion, both good and bad. Without any signs of comfort or fear, this was to be but a new inhabitance of my life inside of this motionless settlement. It is only a canvas, with the need to stand inside the walls of its design as its paints.
The main process of stopping time only works if you are between the world in which you dream and the world in which you inhabit. It can't work any other way. This process takes a lot of concentration and patience. I've been visiting these memories for 15 minutes once a day ever since last week. Upon testing out the accessibility into the memory and arriving back safely to the real world, I know that for now, it's safe and it works...if performed correctly. My next test is to see how long I can stay in this world, so here's my hypothesis: I believe that the only reason I would evacuate the experiment is when I become suppressed by boredom.
My old room definitely shows evidence of time's non-existence. Here, the dust never fully settles. It's a place where everything seems untouched and immune to aging and corrosion. Even the pocket watch my grandfather gave to me as a boy ceases to work. So far, so good.
However there is one thing that bothers me in this memory. I can look outside my bedroom window and see time continuing outside without me. People are walking, cars drive by, birds are flying. At first I thought that I somehow didn't get here correctly, so I had to make sure. If you really want to know if time has completely stopped, just find any sharp object you can locate in the memory, or you could always bring one from the real world. I happened to find an X-acto knife in my room from my previous art years. All you need to do is cut yourself enough to break the skin. Let the blood drip out and wait around for a minute. If you body refuses to heal, then time has truly stopped. I was in the memory, but for some reason, I could see the world outside, continuing. This upsetted me, I pulled down the shade.
I’ve checked upon my physical state in this memory. The nice thing about this world is that it’s almost like the real world, without the process of time moving forward to interfere with it. Best of all, it never lets me miss the real world. I can pick up objects and throw them across the room, just as I could before. The only major difference in this world is my sense of weightlessness. Gravity is in effect, but I feel like I'm slightly lighter. I feel like I could jump higher than I ever could before. I'm not sure why I feel this way. I guess it's because I stopped taking my medication. Before I was placed on 100 milligrams of Pacstol to control my depression. I feel like the only thing the medication has ever done for me was restrict me from entering this world, so I stopped taking it last week. It's definitely easier to get here now.
Another thing I should mention is that light doesn't appear to work in this world. Therefore, all the lights are off in my room. Bringing objects here is quite simple. Before I came into this world, I decided to bring with me a desk lamp. It’s not the best light source, but it's better than nothing.
Right now I ran into a problem. Starting to get hungry. I forgot to eat before I came here, since I was so focused on not returning. I know it’s easy to leave to get food, but I don't want to ruin the experiment. I guess I’ll just have to resist hunger.
I gave in to my urge. The hunger was just so distracting that I had to leave. I just got back, but for some reason I feel so tired. I felt like it was harder to get out of this world. I've never noticed it before. I need to constantly stay awake in the world. I'm not sure why, but I just need to. It's a necessity. Oftentimes I'll lose track of what I'm doing. I'll run into things; the bed, the desk.
There's no other human beings in this memory to interact with. I lone for familiar places, familiar people. I guess those are just the necessities that I need to sacrifice in order to live in this world. I still think it's worth it.
Today I found myself writing letters to every single person I've known. My family. My friends. People I've met only once. I don't know why I'm doing it, but I found myself grabbing large stacks of paper and endlessly writing to them, as if I was trying to get their attention. I've been slipping them under the door for the past hour. I'm not sure if it will work. I don't know what's behind there. I can't seem to get it open. I can't get the windows open either. This place no longer feels like a paradise. It feels like a prison cell.
I am discouraged to say that mobility has officially failed me in this room. I found that I can no longer walk. It's not like I've forgotten to, or it's not like I've been injured. It's just that I don’t need to walk anymore. The room is so small that whenever I need to get anywhere, I simply drag myself along the ground.
I'm not concerned about the fact that I can't walk anymore. Just a little bit angry right now, since no one has answered my letters in what seems like days. A furious tap on the window turns into a thunderous pounding, not caring if I break the glass or cut myself. I just feel like contacting with the people outside. I feel like I should push out, but I can't. I want to leave, but I can't. It's hard to get back. It exhausts me. I just want to get out now. I want to stop the experiment and I want to get out.
I must have fallen asleep for a split second out of exhaustion. I just collapsed on the floor. I started having nightmares. They felt like nightmares, but there was something different about them. It felt like I was being pulled into new world I didn’t recognize. But that’s impossible. It simply cannot be. There’s only three worlds: The real world, the subconscious world, and this world. The perfect world. That's all there is, there is no more. Was it a different world I was being dragged into? I can't tell anymore.
My only alternative is to stay awake. Stay awake so that when they find me, I'll let them know I'm there. I mean, I got, like, eighty letters out there. Someone has to see them. Someone will. I have to stay awake. There is no other way.
Hunger’s kicking in. I’m too tired to move, too tired to sleep, too tired to think. I could wake up before, but I don’t know why I can’t wake up now. I no longer feel the need to write. I’ve been using this journal as a sign of my sanity, but even that has failed me. Why can't I leave? What is this? Some sort of punishment? What have I ever done? What did I do to deserve this? The sign of everything that was once sane to me has now been completely broken up. I can't leave. Why can't I leave? Why won't you let me leave? Why can't I leave?
The room has somehow gained light. I feel myself becoming lighter, almost entirely weightless. The door that was once locked can now be opened. When I opened the door, I could see a hallway. I walked out into the living room. I remember living here. I remember all the people I love. I remember where I used to live. All my research is useless at this point. My letters. Surely someone will find them. Someone will come looking for me. My friends. My family. They'll put out a search party. They’ll find me. It won't be long now. It’s only a matter of time.
It’s only a matter of time.
It’s only a matter of time.
It’s only a matter of time.
Just outside the room where the entries were found, eighty-six pieces of paper were discovered.
The writing on nearly all of the papers was illegible scribbles.
The writer of the journal entries has yet to be identified.