Alexis Sharp was born in 1945 in a farm in Norwich. He disappeared at 23, went missing completely. Popped straight out of the air, according to his surprised family.

He’s still around today, a 23-year-old who has eluded all governments, scientists, and military personnel to this very day.

The man currently known as Doctor Fast dresses almost entirely in black. Black jeans, black T-shirt, black shoes, and yet he has never once been seen. His involvement in certain historical events is, however, noted by certain high-ranking diplomats who brief every single president when they take office of who Doctor Fast is, why he does what he does, and how they can stop him.

Only nobody but Doctor Fast himself knows the answers to these questions, if Doctor Fast knows himself.

The assassination of John F. Kennedy is a hallmark event, or at least one of the ones most people are aware of, with the only picture of Doctor Fast being the light green of a grassy knoll that gave away a black smudge. Fast must have stood by that knoll for weeks at a time. It’s the only possible explanation.

Then he framed a man in a building nearby by setting up a sniper rifle on a top floor and moving a man next to it before wandering over the open top car, shooting JFK in the head and walking away.

And then shooting the suspected man and placing a gun in the hand of the nearby Jack Ruby.

I should probably explain.

Time doesn’t work for Doctor Fast. What you experience as a second is likely to be three days for him. So one second to Alexis is 259,200 seconds in real time. Or, essentially, time is running at 0.00000385802 percent.

He is, I believe, trapped in a temporal rift and has gone mad with having to live as long as he has. Potentially even longer than historians have actual knowledge of. And in the span of 50 years. And he’s lived past 70. Fifty years to a regular man would be just shy of 13 million to him, off by only 40,000. 70? I don’t even think I want to do the maths on that.

He’s probably not evil, but he’s probably not good either. There was a young girl of about 20 walking home past a subway station in the dead of night who claims she was jumped by six men, three holding knives and one holding a bat.

Only it’s hard to substantiate her claims because security footage just shows her screaming at the six hanging bodies, which seem to have popped into existence as she moved towards them.

The rest of the security footage is blank, although there’s a weird smear on the lens at one point. If he was trying to communicate, that poor bastard could have been staring at the camera for weeks and still get a split second on the actual CCTV.

People think he’s trying to communicate, but they have no idea what he’s trying to say.

There are some things which are quite strange. For example, there’s the Sistine Chapel, which was created in 1991 when we believe Doctor Fast was bored in Italy. It wasn’t a commission from Pope Julius II. It was a maniac with eternity in the palm of his hand.

Nobody before 1991 has any recollection of seeing the Sistine Chapel ceiling. It was blank, completely devoid of art.

Oh, and all the art books written about it in painstaking detail with thousands of references? They can be traced to 1991. All of them. Older ones with “1500’s” written on them are tea-stained to make them look old. The rest are historians who believe Michelangelo was real because they have jobs to protect and have basically just published journal after journal making sure people know that Michelangelo Buonarroti definitely existed, although there’s no proof.

He was, in fact, the only Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle not named after an artist. Although Peter Laird has a false memory of the artist and maintains a feud against his co-creator Kevin Eastman to this day.

And you can fact check that one yourself, if you want.

I’ve got more. He’s added five Shakespeare plays, the figure of Marcus Aurelius, twelve children’s cartoons, built 17 skyscrapers out of nothing (which remain empty somewhere in Manhattan), and he carved Ireland off of Great Britain and pushed it out to sea.

And that’s in the year 2,000 alone.

And obviously, this all sounds crazy, because there’s trillions of articles written about Ireland, the history of Ireland being an island, the IRA, Shakespeare, the architecture of New York, and IMDB credits and he’s written or co-edited every single one. He has time. He has time for everything.

People don’t know the full extent of what he’s done, but he’s been sighted in almost every single country. He has a prodigious output of everything. Of all the things mankind has made, Alexis has probably contributed around 13 percent.

Why doesn’t he age? I don’t know. He seems completely frozen, outside of even his own perception of space time. There was a book about a boy who never grew up. He wrote the original version attributed to the moniker of J.M. Barrie, and Fast wrote his entire backstory and life. Not only Barrie, he also made Barry Allen. The Flash.

Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert were sitting at their desks one day and then 900 sketches, five hundred inkings, 16 script books, and even a spinoff appeared into reality and the two took the credit for it.

I can’t blame him, if I’m honest. In fact, if it were totally separate circumstances, then I would have done the same.

But I can’t. I just have to make them, and nobody can ever know.

I’ve got the time, I’ve got all the time in the world.

I’ve got time to count each ceiling panel 16 times over, and then count them 16 more times in 16 different languages and to take all the furniture in a room downstairs and back up the stairs three times and to read ten books on the bookshelf, to smash the priceless Ming dynasty vase and find three identical replacements in the time it takes your mouth to curve and the air to flow into your throat to start the first syllable of a “Hello.”

I haven’t talked to anyone for as long as I can remember, but I’ve read every book on social studies and then added to them because I’m bored. I don’t even use a publisher. I just type out, print, and bind 600 copies and place them in book shops by hand and people believe it’s some sort of prestigious press because all bookshops have them stocked. I even made my own barcodes which scan and everything.

I don’t get any money from it, but there’s simply no use. A three second open and closing of a till is over a week for me. I can just take any money I want.

I liked the lady on the subway. In fact, we were married 60 years of my time. During the mugging, I set up an entire life with her. I’d have dinner with a table and cloth I’d haul into the subway and spent a lot of time pretending to get to know her. I decided her name was Janine as she was a market stall owner. We talked about absolutely everything as she stared at me, unmoving. I spent a while hanging up the people mugging her. Sometimes, I’d even pick her up and move her to other places. We’d sit in the park or sometimes stand and look out at the small towns and cities.

But I had to put her back when I saw her mouth curl into a scream over the course of six months.

I didn’t take it personally; she didn’t even see me. She was probably still looking at the robbers who I killed years ago and reacting to them approaching her.

In her mind, and time, and space, they’re still alive and approaching her. Time is an odd thing when it isn’t working.

I took her back, and I cried for some time about having to leave her, but I couldn’t look her in the eyes.

And by the time she’d have recovered, it would be much easier to head to another country and start all over again. I don’t need to eat, sleep, drink or do anything. But yet, I still breathe, my heart beats, and I still love. I wish I was strong enough to kill myself, honestly.

I’m writing this journal to admit to everything I’ve done.

I don’t want to be an evil person.

But to this day, I can still remember walking up to that rolling car, shooting John F. Kennedy in the head, and jumping up and down on the car bonnet for six hours, screaming for someone to pay attention to me.

I was drunk, but I know that’s no excuse.

I hope this makes sense to some people, and if it doesn’t, then I’ll probably have the make time to edit some parts.

But I’ve got time.

I’ve got all the time in the world.