I've Got A Story To Tell

Chapter 10; Entry (Emey)

Entry no. 58; I Don’t Know

October 21st, 2011

I’ve been writing these entries for quite a while now. I only realized this when I found that this was my 58th entry. But then I also realized that during the last 57, I actually wrote about nothing at all.

Just symbols and signs.

I was scared that somebody would find out.

But I don’t really know if I care anymore.

Or maybe I feel like I need to tell someone.

I don’t know.

The first person in mind is Ben. Haha

But I need to organize my thoughts first. I need to go back to the very beginning of all of this shit that’s going on. And I need to sort things out.

I’ll have to begin with the past;

Three years ago, I was apparently hit by a car. I say apparently because I don’t remember.

I don’t remember anything that happened that summer.

Which actually seems okay. I mean, I didn’t want to be traumatized by an accident. So it’s okay.

But I can’t help but want to know what happened that summer.

And what happened to my brother.

After that, nothing interesting happened for about two of those years. Then during the summer holidays, we moved into a new neighbourhood and I met Mylo, after not seeing him for quite a while, and an idiot named Dylan Martinez, whom I’d also not seen since my accident.

Dylan freaking worshipped Mylo. He was a year younger than Mylo (a year older than me), and was convinced that Mylo was like the ‘awesomest’ piece of shit ever born. So he constantly followed Mylo around like a lost puppy, wore similar clothes, talked the same way, and did other stupid stuff.

But he was nice.

A nice idiot.

And he was good looking, so it made sense that I’d developed a crush on him when I was younger.

But about three weeks ago, when we were in our usual hang-out (the alley way) (most retarded place to be), some dumb as fuck truck comes around and starts shooting us.

He was aiming at me.

I know he was.

And so did Dylan.

So, being the idiot that he was, he tried to save me.

And he died.

But I wasn’t upset. I wanted to destroy everything around me.

I was angry.

Angry angry angry angry angry angry angry angry angry angry angry

I wanted to kill.

And at that time, I realized that I could. I could kill, and I could do it well.

So my powers awakened.

And I just simply blew the truck up.

What was strange is the fact that the bus driver hadn’t died in the explosion. I think he saw it coming and jumped out somehow. He walked over to me, trying to shoot me as he did before. But I just managed to destroy every bullet that came out of blind rage. And when he was finally out of ammo, I was ready to break his neck.

But I needed to know why he wanted to kill me so badly.

He said he didn’t know.

I managed to make him a sort-of hostage for an hour or so. He gave me some names. He cried a bit.

I still have those names.

Thornfield Hatcher

Miyazu Krane

Samantha Hirthman

Fulli Armon

Admond Chester

Anastasia Rollova

Paul Washington

Katrina and Gulliver Girkins

 Hareth Al Wasaibi

Thomas Knightley

Uganda Green

Jeb Batchelor

Admond Chester was my latest accomplice. A rapist and a serial killer, Chester was into that weird kinky stuff – sadomasochism, bondage, weird toys and all that other shit. And God knows what he was planning to do to me. Good thing I took care of him. Ugh.

The names before Chester (including Chester) are those that I’ve already taken care of. I’m sure they won’t pester me or anyone else ever again.

As I found out later half of these people were ex-convicts. The other half some sort of scientists. I don’t know why this is.

I’m still trying to figure out.

I’m trying to take them down one by one.

This brings me to my current situation – the situation in which I was planning on cutting, before Ben stopped me.

I don’t know. I scare myself. I look at myself and think ‘what the hell am I?’. I mean, if I’m killing all of these people and actually enjoying it, enjoying ruining their lives for my own petty entertainment, then how can I possibly be better than them?

Aren’t I just like them?

So I got scared. I wanted to cut my arms just to make sure that I was truly human, and not some monster.

And today wasn’t my first time.

I’d cut before. On my legs. And my arms. Sometimes, my face. But they’d all heal by themselves within an hour, leaving no mark whatsoever. And I keep hoping that one day, they’ll stop healing and just bleed, telling me ‘yes, you are human’.

‘But now you’re going to die.’

But Ben...

I don’t know.

There’s something about his eyes that seems so familiar.

It feel like I knew him, centuries ago, like he was home. It’s like déjà vu, but stronger.

I don’t know.

Ugh, I hope it’s not love. I don’t have time for that shit now.

...Shit.

It is love, isn’t it?

God help me.

No.

Somebody please.

Save me from all of this.

Save me from myself.