Entry: 30
I wonder if anyone caught on to my age.
Is it okay to feel this empty?
I stopped looking for a light.
Yet I fell night-blind in the dark.
I can't see where I am going.
Yet.. I don't care anymore.
I should cherish what sanity I have left.
But that means I would be hoping. And right now in my life, hoping is useless.
Entry: 31
The 31st entry.
I don't know how much more I will write. My life has become a cycle.
Wake up. Clean my clothes. Fix my hair. Eat. Drink. Write some. Fall asleep. And then repeat the next time I wake up.
Which takes weeks, if not a month.
Entry: 32
The end.
At the beginning, they said it was near.
It's been years.
And right now. It feels like everything just began.
It's twisted.
I want to be dead.
Entry: 33
It's never going to end.
I can't commit suicide. She takes over once the thought comes to my mind.
She won't kill me yet.
And I can't kill myself.
I am a lost cause.
I lost everything that I had.
Yet I don't feel anything when I think about my parents.
It seems I have become calloused to murdering people. I don't even care for the dead eyes that stares at me when I awake. No. Instead I become annoyed that Halla couldn't even burn the body herself.
The end... Is not insight anymore.
YOU ARE READING
The Diary
HorrorHorror Fiction. The Diary belongs to a little girl. Age unknown. Date Unrecorded on all entries. Name unknown. All that is known is that it belongs to a little girl, possibly 11, and that the things in her heard are not normal.
