Diary of the lost (on hold)

Torment and Rage- Chapter 1

December 31st, 2015

      I almost lost it today at my grandparents' grave. I didnt though because I knew that it would be disrespectful and that they would want better from it. I bet you don't remember me writing about them. Well I only had two entries about them because they died when I was four.  I remember it all

            "Papa, Papa! Are we almost there?" I asked  impatiently. "Kayla what have I told you about bothering your grandfather when he is driving?"My grandmother scolded.

"I know no distracting Papa when he drives or we could go crash." I said dejected.

"Aww darling cheer up we will be there to see the fireworks in no time." Papa smiled his warm grandfatherly smile, turned around in his seat and patted my head. There was no warning but screeching wheels and a light. Grandmother covered me with her arms pulling me towards her and suddenly the car was flipping. I felt a drop of air and then nothing. 

          Shouting voices. Screaming. Crying. That was all I could make out in my daze. I opened my eyes.White lights. florescent lightbulbs. Two figures. One was pacing back and forth and the other was kneeling by my... where was I? I felt beneath me and realised it was a bed. I felt a grip on my hand and I registered that the second figure was holding my hand. A door opened. Another figure walked in and left with the pacing figure.  Shortly they walked back in.

    I suddenly remembered the crash and thought that the two figures in the room must be Granny and Papa. I opened my eyes "Granny, Papa is that you?". I was met by silence and the figure pacing the room fell to her ,I knew it was a her by the facial structure, knees in tears. The figure by my bed moved silently towards her and helped her up. The third figure handed me an object. My glasses. I put them on and everything hit me at once. That was my mom who fell, my dad who helped her up, a nurse gave me my glasses and grandma and grandpa...

    I never could get over their death. Anyways I was crying over the death and then my mother and father looked at me and laugh. I asked them what and they grew dark and cold and my father told me that I didn't get to cry over them because I ... I killed them.

        By the time I was six I realised that the world wasn't perfect. My father started abusing me that year. I still have scars and burns and every now and then I have to say that I'm a clutz and that I tripped or burned myself. It's an easy enough lie for me to tell.  Oh Jack is calling I better go.