Author: Anom1218@cs.com

July 1, 1688
I am now a prisoner of war Being held captive by the English army. My troops and I were apprehended as we tried to capture Delhi from England's rule. It had all happened so suddenly and without warning. We had almost captured the Indonesian city when we were unexpectedly taken off guard by General Wincoff and the twenty-third English brigade. We had fought valiantly but to no avail; most of my men were killed and soon the rest of us were rounded up like cattle. We were then taken to this desert prison.

July 8, 1688
I've only been in this hell hole for eight days now, but it feels like an eternity. The guards here they treat us like sh*t. We are made to toil for them in the blistering sun; all day long we work tirelessly digging trenches without much water. They also told us that if we failed to keep working they would throw us into something called the "hot box". I hope I never have to suffer that kind of punishment.

July 22, 1688
We are still working endlessly throughout the hot days. I was unfortunate to see one of the prisoners receive a harsh treatment from the guards. While the poor soul was digging in the desert sand he fell over from exhaustion. They immediately threw him into the hot box. when they went to retrieve him, they found him dead; his skin had been seared off and pieces of it were sticking to the metal sides. They said it was an accident but I find that hard to believe.

August 2, 1688
I'm getting very lonely here. I miss my family back home in Paris. At least I have the rats to keep me company as I sleep on the cold damp floor of my prison cell. It's hard to believe that one of the things that use to scare me out of my skin is now my companion. They don't feed us as much as they used to, yet to say the daily bread and water wasn't efficient enough. It's been at least three days since I've had anything to eat, and I've been reduced to lapping up the water on the damp floor. Only lord knows where it comes from but I don't care, it's keeping me alive. Yet I only have this cockroach to eat.

August 12, 1688 My hunger is growing ever stronger. I have lost a great deal of weight and am ready to eat anything they throw my way. They still make us however work ceaselessly and I can see the other's are not fairing too well either. I have to get some sort of nourishment. The cockroaches have stopped coming around; perhaps they know what I have been up to. It's a matter of survival out here in this desert, and survive I will. Even if I have to eat the rats that keep me company. I shall miss them dearly, but their meat shall satisfy me shortly and their blood shall be used to quench my thirst. Just until I can find some other means of finding food.

August 13, 1688
The rats didn't show up last night, I wonder why? I know I'm growing delirious, I'm talking to myself; when I woke up this morning I found human bite marks on my left forearm, caused by myself no doubt.
(I hear someone coming, I must hide my jounal!)
It was one of the guards; he had come to bring me food, but I have done something very macabre indeed.
I have killed him and stashed him the same place I keep my diary. Now as I sit here writing I feast on the meat from his leg. I just thank the other prisoners for their loud moans and wails for covering up the poor man's screams.

October 4, 1688
Dear journal I had managed to lure three more guards into my trap since I last wrote, and each time I grow fond of the meat; it's getting hard for me to eat anything else. On a good note, however, I've regained all of my strength. Yet the rest of the guards are doing an investigation to figure out what happened to their comrades. This, however, is an opportunity for me, for I am running out of meat.

October 31, 1688
I have now, quite amazingly, eaten all of the guards and I sit here in my cell waiting for my fate. My supply of meat is dwindingly drastically. I am down to a few arms I haven't even left the bones. My hunger is coming back faster than expected and my own arm is starting to look good.
I'll just take a small portion to satisfy myself.
It hurt like hell but at least i've been able to feed myself one last time.

November 1, 1688
We have finally been freed, and I am going home today! My wife will be so happy to see me, as I her. It has been too long being locked up like this, and if I never find myself in a predicament like this again it will be too soon. I have decided to resign from the French army. I feel like I could use the time with my family.

November 12, 1688
I am finally home. It is good to see my family again. And the scar on my arm has healed quite nicely. I still have nightmares about my ordeal. They are, however, going away gradually.
Yet my hunger still remains,
even though my wife fixes large meals for me to eat. I don't know how long I can surpress it.
As a matter of fact, Marie and the children are beginning to look quite appetizing..........