Feb 4th, 2014
Hello. I'm olive. Don't mind my writing... I'm not used to this. I am documenting my life with this... "illness" before I die. I'm 8 years old... I don't seem like one though. I've never experienced the kid life... well... I have but I can't remember it. I can't remember anything for exact... or what I've heard. My parents don't come into my room anymore after my doctor said it could be contagious. Before that, my mom cared for me 24/7. Intel I wasn't diagnosed with anything... anything known to man kind. I can't remember barley anything after a day, so I write about it. I know I will die soon, so when they start to smell my decaying body, they'll know what happened to little ol' Olive Erie. My parents haven't given me any food today, which is weird normally the would slip it under my door. But that's the least I'm worrying about now. Well, there isn't much to worry about but that when you're barred up in a room, door locked, and window barred. But I worry about the itching. The unstoppable, terrible itching. It's like I sleep with mosquitoes. They stop itching give me hope, and then start up again. It's terrible. My skin is also blistered and scabbed from digging in my skin to stop the itching. I want it to stop. Please just make it stop. I'm going to the door to yell for my parents. Even though I don't worry, I'm till very hungry.
It's been a few minutes I called for them. They didn't answer. Now it's time to worry. The kids outside have stopped playing. I can't here the basketball noises, and there happy screaming. But a new noise has appeared. Sirens? What's happening? I here men in my house. There deep voices screaming some letters... I can't understand it because it's muffled, but it sounds like... fly? Fdy? Fdi? FBI? Who are they? What do they want? There coming upstairs. What do I do? My room is locked so I'm safe. I here them outside the door. I ran to my closet and I'm hiding. They can't get inside.... I can hear them saying there's nobody else here. But there taking the "other two" what do they mean? I'll find out... maybe I can look it up or something. The itching.... it's gotten worse... i can't move my legs, luckily I made it to my bed maybe I can do something. I better finish this up quick I can't move my right arm good thing I'm left handed I may have to stop writing soon so I wanna end this by sayi-
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Unknown Illness
Mystery / Thriller8 year old Olive has a disease unknown to mankind. Not knowing if it's contagious, her parents have locked her up in her room. Because of the illness, she has little memory of how to do things, so she writes in her notebook so she won't forget. But...
