The Evil Twin's Diary

By Brenda S. Gibbs

Robin Jones lives an ordinary life until she learns a shocking, dark secret that forever changes her life!

In The Evil Twin's Diary, Robin Jones, a young career woman whose own world is crumbling, discovers the diary of a paranormal being. The Evil Twin's writings reveal its many acts of manipulating others solely for its amusement. These acts cause detriment to the economy, which falls squarely and heavily upon the people of "Main Street." In fact, the being's actions contribute to the ever expanding divide between "Wallstreet" and "Main Street." Further, although The Evil Twin has a powerful hold in business, its manipulations cross into politics and any other place in which greed can thrive if ethics are pushed to the side.

You, too, can read The Evil Twin's Diary and learn the Evil Twin's secrets. But are you brave enough for a glimpse into the mind of The Evil Twin?

The Evil Twin is derived from an economic concept contrived by the author as a counter force to the Adam Smith's Invisible Hand Theory. However, no special economics knowledge or business knowledge is needed to enjoy this book. The story contains a few brief explanations that provide all readers need to follow along.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.S. Gibbs
• Release date: Feb 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386176633

Book preview

Prologue

This prologue is written from the prospective of the protagonist.

* * *

Robin Jones is the pen name that I chose to hide my identity in this tale about a strange diary that I discovered while my own life seemed to be falling apart. As you will discover, the diary is not just any diary. It’s not written by a person but a something.

What, you say? How is that possible? I don’t know how to answer that question because I’m not sure myself. I’m not sure if this is just musings of a crazy person or if what I am reading can possibly be true. Overall, it seems absurd to me. It leads me to think that it is just the musings of a crazy person. But I’ll let you decide.

You are probably wondering how this item came into my possession. I’ll tell you. But I must admit, it’s a rather strange story that you are not likely to believe. I found the diary in my house — but you’ll have to read this to find out where and why. The diary was also not recorded in the usual way. It was not bound in a book but was made up of individual pieces that had to be put together. And, given the odd circumstances in which I found the pages, I was amazed that they were not damaged.

When I examined the text of the diary, the order of the individual parts did not make any sense to me at first. Then I realized that each part of it had a label showing a day number and an odd numbering system for the year. So, I put them in order by the numbers and then I typed each entry into my computer. I also included my story as I read through it for the first time. The diary entries are in italics font so that you can easily separate it from the rest of the story.

I was amazed by what I read and also a little bit confused. Who could have written this and why on earth would I find it in my attic? Was it left there purposefully for me to find? If so, why me? Am I supposed to do something special with this or is it for my eyes only?

By now, you must be thinking that I am crazy and have made all of this up. Well, maybe I am crazy, but I hope you read on. As I read through the diary, it seemed to me that writer of it was growing in power every day and that there may come a time that it might threaten the existence of the human race.

At the risk of being thought to be crazy, I decided to share this under a pen name, and the name I use in the story is not my own. I hope that if there is some message or meaning to be derived from this, that others will discover it. I’ll leave it to you to make what you will of this text.

On a final note, I also used a general, made-up name for the company that I worked for during the events that occurred. I did so to further conceal my identity.

Chapter 1

It all began on a Sunday morning when I had not yet risen from my bed. A small brown ring on my otherwise white and ironically freshly painted ceiling caught my attention. It was right over my head as I lay in bed. But I hadn’t noticed it just by looking up at the ceiling. It made itself known only when a drop of cold water fell on my forehead just above my eyes. The icy water rolled down my nose and threatened to run into my right eye. I quickly rubbed it away. Glancing up the ceiling, I noticed a new drop of water forming.

I sighed in frustration as I climbed out of bed. Today was supposed to be a relaxing day of reading the paper and watching my favorite afternoon news programs. But now my plans were ruined. I had a leak to deal with.

Stretching my hands over my head, I hoped to chase away the remaining drowsiness and perhaps some of my resentment. A relaxing Sunday was a treasured necessity that I looked forward to. On Monday, I knew that I would be reluctant to rise from bed to start the work week. I would repeatedly hit the snooze button and think — just two more minutes.

A guilty feeling always accompanied these thoughts. I was fortunate to have a good paying job, even though I was only five years out of college, and I should be grateful for that. But my work was stressful. I also questioned whether doing my job added anything of value to the world. Did it make the world a better place? Or was it just a means to earn a paycheck while going through the motions?

Irrespective of my feelings of my job’s worth, I would still have to put on a brave face and smile as if the work was rewarding and of the greatest importance to me. If I didn’t, I might not be considered a worthy contributor. And, if that happened, I could find myself without my unsatisfying job. The consequence would be the end of the weekly paycheck that kept a roof over my head and clothes on my back, paid the unrelenting student loan that hung around my neck like a noose for the last five years, and rewarded with me with at least one short vacation every few years.

Now, I knew that at least part of this day would be spent laboring, I thought sadly. At the same time, but hopefully not all of it. The leak would need to be located and then repaired. If it were a simple problem, perhaps I could fix it myself quickly and get back to my planned leisure activities. I would just have to cross my fingers and hope for the best. With these hopes in my head, I brushed my long brown hair and dressed quickly. I skipped my usual makeup for now because, after all, who was there to notice?

Pangs of hunger from the night’s fast interrupted my thoughts. I walked downstairs to the kitchen. The leak would have to wait just a few more minutes, I thought. It wouldn’t just open up and send a cascade of water into my bedroom, would it? At least, I hoped not.

In the kitchen, the aroma of coffee from the coffeemaker that I had set the night before greeted me. I poured myself a cup and fixed it to my liking — light brown with a slight sweetness that did not overpower the coffee’s slightly bitter taste. Then I made a quick breakfast of fried eggs, sausage, and toast.

After setting my food and