This is the journal of Eugene Morrow (Originally Jerome Morrow); please note the things in
this journal are made up with reference to the Gattaca movie.
Written by: Nicole Delangen Tutor group: 18
Thursday 11th March
Billows of smoke encircle as the day draws to another close
Day and night
Which one is right
The earth still turns but the world is no longer bright
The dark days are coming they scream from across the hall
The fellows in dark dress led the happiness to fall
The blood drips from the depressed sleeves
The feeling of self-worth is stolen by thieves
Drip. Drip. Drip.
As another bottle clatters down
The liquid is pooling on the ground
Drip. Drip. Drip.
It mixes together
Creating a storm regardless of weather
The darkness stays and the pain will come
Must find a way to bring back the sun
Another bottle
Another day
Trying to chase the dark away
Saturday 20th June
I have roused to another gloomy day of wallowing in my own self-pity. The detestation
for my legs has increased immensely when I didn’t make it to the bathroom on time.
How could a man of such great IQ be soiling himself in his own bedroom?
The doctor claimed ‘A genetic miracle, no bad intentions, high IQ, and unbelievable
athletic stamina.’ Oh how erroneous that doctor was. My family disowned me as a bad
batch of eggs. They couldn’t have a disabled has-been carrying the family name, which
would be improper of a family of such a high status. My father died without giving me
his blessing and my mother died without giving me affection. Even as I write this now
I scorch inside. Why did they get it so wrong? Why am I not perfect like I was
theoretically supposed to be?
I hit rock bottom yesterday, and swallowed my last drop of Gin. That’s when he rang.
He didn’t introduce himself, he just walked in. Told me he could help me make quick
and easy money. That all I would need to do was urinate in a bag. Now I’m not
senseless, drunk maybe, but not imprudent. I interrogated the man on the entirety of
what was said. But he combatted this with promises of dreams and paradise. He told me
I was special, and it has been a long time since anybody told me that. I finally
arranged a deal, after being reassured that I could withdraw at any-time. I was to
become a ladder for the ‘less fortunate’. Nothing could go wrong, besides who would
want to be me?
Tuesday 23rd July
Today I encountered the invalid that was stupid enough to want to be me. But then
again that’s the so-called ‘Gods children’ for you; they are all either imprudent or
desperate. It took a half a bottle of Magnum Grey Goose Vodka for me to reach
agreement to this ridiculous proposal, and 20% goes to that shady gene salesman, it is
absolute tosh.
The Invalid’s name is Vincent, by the end of the day he will be Jerome. He has to be
a better Jerome than what I have turned out to be… Second. Silver. First placed in
failure.
But who am I kidding? If I can be a perfect specimen with my perfect genetic factor
then there is no chance in hell that ‘Vincent’ could be any better. Why me though?
Why would he decide on me? Out of all the other genetically rejected subjects, he
picked me! I’m nothing more than a vegetable with a drunken brain and a lost dream.
He is so full of life, so enthusiastic; I can see it in his eyes. He will never be worthy
enough no matter how truly determined he is. I have a feeling that this just another
mistake in the long list of blunders that makes up my entire being.
Monday 1st December
Today marks an end of a great era. Jerome finally achieves his dream; he finally
becomes the man he should be; strong, resilient, persistent, and overall determined.
Now I don’t need to be, Eugene never belonged in this world. Now I have to do what
Vincent did all those years ago. Vincent died to become Jerome and now Eugene needs
to do the same. As much as I miss being me, I can no longer share what rightfully
belongs to someone else. Technically I won’t die, Jerome Marrow has a long life to
live, and he has space to discover and girls to kiss. I guess this would be the last time
I can leave my personal stamp on the world.
To Irene: ’Sorry, it would have never worked between us. Nice try though.’
To Jerome: ‘You are the only thing left; I made a complete hash of my life and never
found a way to restore it. Please don’t make the same mistake, you deserve more than
that. Continue to defy every controversial decision that society can throw at you
because you are Jerome Morrow.’