If They Only Knew




Dear Journal,
    This is my first journal entry. My name is James. I got this journal a few days ago, so here I go. I am a look- alike to President Lincoln, people tell me that all the time. They say “James, I thought that I was standing next to President Lincoln for a second.” I have grown up in a developing America, where anything is possible. I live almost right outside the Capitol, Washington D.C., which is named after our first president, George Washington. ( I wrote that part because you are reading this in the future, and who knows what is going to happen).
   

Today a government man stopped me on the street. He apparently thought that I looked like the President. I just took it as a compliment, and kept on walking, but then I saw him following me, so I ran. He and another man, started to chase me through the street.  I went inside of a pub, to lose them, and also get a drink.

Dear Journal,
    When I went out to go to work at the gunsmith today, that man was back, and with more people. He took me to his carriage, it was very interesting, and was also very comfortable inside of it. It turns out that he works in the Secret Service, or something like that. He also told me that he knows the President personally. He told me once again that I look  a lot like the President, but this time he told me that I needed to come with him.

    In no time, we arrived at the White house, and that is when I learned that these people do not mess around. They told me that I just had to meet the president, and then I could go back to work in no time. So I thought, hey, it can’t be that bad. The President was very tall, and was kind of scary, until he started to talk. He had a deep voice, which filled the room. We talked for a while, and he to noticed that we look strikingly similar.  

    Later, when I got back to work, I realized how much that had been missed. It turns out that I had been gone all morning.

One of the men that were in the car stopped in today. He had a weird gun, it was surprisingly small, but I guess small things can have a big impact.

Dear Journal,
    Nothing really happened today. I saw more people in suits that came into the shop, and their guns were small, just like the man’s before. Before yesterday, I had never seen a gun like that. I tested one of their guns too, it feels like they just took a musket, and sawed off the butt, and the muzzle. It didn’t feel like a regular hand gun, because it had more power.

When the man got back, I commented on his gun, but he did not like the comment. He said I should not get myself involved with that sort of thing, but more and more of the Secret Service guys have been coming in here.


Dear Journal,
    Today, the Government men took me to the White House. They said they had plans for me. This time I didn’t get to see President Lincoln, but they took me all around the White House, almost as though they were looking for something.

Well, it turns out they were looking for something, me!  They brought me to a room. And it is a good thing I keep this journal to write what is happening around me. Well, I am in a room, that is very dark, is has a sort of musk scent in the air, and there was a Secret Service guy outside the door. The Secret Service guy is keeping watch to make sure I don’t make a run for it.

I don’t know what I would run from. I am only in a dark, dank room, surrounded by mice. I guess that is what I would run from. That and the fear of not knowing what is going to happen to me.

Dear Journal,
    I am now in an office somewhere outside of town, and I don’t know where I am, or what is going on in here. They threw a bag over my head, tied me up, and threw me into a carriage.  there are many differences from this room and the room that I was in before. This room was different than the others. For one, this room has no rats chewing on my feet. This room has a big desk, a comfy- looking chair behind the desk, and three more chairs that are next to me.

In no time, three people came into the room, and sat down in the chairs next to me.  

“Do you know where you are?” the largest one asked me with the scariest face I have ever seen on his head.

“No” I replied, trying to not sound to scared.

They asked me all sorts of questions, each one more ridiculous than the last. I answered all of them as honestly as I could, because I didn’t want them to hurt me or anyone that I know.   

Dear Journal,
    They have taken me to a new room, I guess they keep bringing me to different rooms because they want me to be confused. Like I said before, I am glad that I keep this journal with me. I had to find a candle in here to see what I am writing, because it is so dark. If I didn’t find this candle, I don’t know what I would do.  I probably just wouldn’t write, but then you wouldn’t know the story that I am telling you.  

    The rooms that I am being taken to are getting more and more random.  In the first room, I met the president; in the second room, it was dank, and I think this is my third room. It is getting hard to keep track of how many rooms I have been taken to.

    A man is walking in now, so I have to put this away.



Dear Journal,
    That man asked me all sorts of questions. Most of those questions were about my family, and anyone who would miss me. Again, I answered their questions as honestly as I could. They also said that I would get act as the President, and get to go to a play. I guess that  President Lincoln doesn’t like plays, but he is to polite to say no. The play is at Fords Theater, which is good for me. I have always wanted to go to a play.
   
    The man also asked me if I had ever heard of a John W. Boothe. I didn’t know who he was, so I simply said “no”. The man simply smiled and said that I was making this to easy for him.


Dear Journal,
    They found my journal. They said that I shouldn’t have it. I guess they took it out of my pocket when I was sleeping, and read it. When they put it on a table, I grabbed it and ran for the door. I am now on the street of Washington, D.C.  The play is today.

    I don’t know what they plan for me, who John W. Boothe is, or why they keep asking me strange questions. I don’t want to know what they will do if they find me. They might kill me for resisting  what they have planned for me.

    I think I see one of the Secret Service men looking for me, so I will have to run to the pub that is right down the street.
    Well, I am at the pub, and can not tell, or know who is who in here. It is so smoky in here,  that it is hard to even see in front of me.I have to get out of here.


Dear Journal,
    I am in an office building that is under construction. I figure if I be quiet enough, then nobody will find me. I saw one of those Government men, so I made a break for it.  I ran until I couldn’t run any more.

I guess they were waiting for me, because they had a carriage  to throw me in when I stopped running. Now I am in a fairly nice room, waiting for something to happen. A man is walking in now.

He told me that I could write down our conversation, so here we go.

“What is your name?” he asked

“James” I replied

“Where do you live?” Asked the man

“A small town about five miles away from here.” I answered

“What is your job?” He asked

“I am a gunsmith, some of your men have shopped there.” I told him

“I was one of those men.” He told me

“Thank you for going to my shop.” I said

“Someone had to do a little research.” He told me

“Okay.” I said, simply

“Stop writing what I say.” He commanded

    After that, he told me that I am going to act as the President for a couple hours and go to the play, so I nervously asked questions. He told me not to talk, so, I guess the president isn’t going to go tonight.

Dear Journal,

    The man has left me alone, and has told me not to worry. He told me that I will be going to the play at the Fords Theater so and that this might be my last journal entry ever. I don’t know what he meant by that, but I am now very scared. I don’t know what is going to happen, but I am worried for my safety. What will everyone think has happened to me if I die? Will they make up a story? Will they say I committed suicide? What will happen to me?

    A man has come in now. He has told me to keep writing, but he is going to start to make me look like  President Lincoln. He has given me a beard, and a suit to wear so far. He told me that he still needs to get me a hat, so that nobody will see the scar on my for-head, the one I got when the government was chasing me.

It has been a while, but the man has come back with a hat, so no one can see my scars. He puts some make up on my face, so my face looks more like Abe Lincoln’s face.  The man finally tells me what is going on.

Apparently, President Lincoln is going to be shot by the man they mentioned earlier, John W. Boothe. They found this out about three months ago, and apparently the President doesn’t want to die. This is the reason why they needed me, what they have been planning from the start.  He said they needed me to stand in for president Lincoln at the play, because that is where they think he will be shot. He told me this is the reason why God put me on this earth, this is my reason for living.

I figure, well, if God chose me for this, than I just have to do it, I don’t want God to get angry, and harm anyone else. I have to protect my country’s leader. I do not want God to rapture the world, not now, not ever. Well, here I go. I hope I am doing this for a good reason, or what would be the point. 

John W. Boothe is going to kill me.