A Small Story, 'Dear Diary'.

Dear Diary, 

Today I woke up dancing into the moonlight with the man of my dreams. Then I woke to the alarm clock. Nothing else happened. Nothing else important.

Dear Diary,

Today the sky was grey and full of clouds. The sun came out for a few minutes but hid itself again. Nothing else happened. Nothing else important.

Dear Diary, 

Today I waked to the shop and bought some milk. Nothing else happened. Nothing else important.

Dear Diary,

I'm done and I want to start anew, so goodbye. I'm leaving you.

I'm going to talk to God instead. I hear he has answers. I also heard that due to the recent financial crisis he has turned off the light at the end of the tunnel to save electricity bills. That made me laugh. Don't know about you though. But maybe he'll turn it back on for me.

I'm in some real need of light. And not just the few minutes of sunlight we had two days ago. I need a beaming light from a lighthouse to be drawn into my heart and make my face glow again. I need Apollo to come down and enter into my mouth and travel to my soul, so my breath can gleam. Apollo is the God of light and the sun, but I'm not only looking for that from him. He's also the God of cures. I need a cure, and he has it. My cure is light. I want light. Light means help. I want help. I want help... no... I need help.

Diary don't take offense to me leaving you. I'll come back. Probably soon. I don't see God having a light for someone like me. I don't see him having the answers. I don't see anything. Am I blind?

Oh Diary, have you given up on me too? Or do you just mock me with your empty pages. Pages filled with nothing but the words of a lost child. Pages that mock me with every sentence. Pages that hold no meaning, have no reason to be written. Pages that don't serve a purpose. Pages that no one will ever look at again. But if they did, they wouldn't take more than two seconds examining my scruffy writing of absolutely nothing of interest.

Diary speak to me! Tell me what to do. Don't sit there in silence as I mourn for what I was. Mourn for what I've lost. Diary talk to me. Tell me what to do. I can't bear the torment. You lay there peacefully while I rant and huff and puff. I feel like the wolf in 'The Three Little Pigs', I huff and I puff and I try again, but I go nowhere! And my effort was put to waste on something I'll never achieve.

Diary... what am I to do? I'm a coward. I can't even face my own feelings. I can't face my mother, my father. I can't face what I've done. I can't find light. I'm absorbed by darkness...

Does light even exist? Am I searching for the non-existent? Or am I searching for the impossible?

Diary you hate me! You hate me because you mock me! You sit there and listen and you don't answer. Is God the same? Am I falling into the pit of what I'm already in? Is it too deep to climb out? Is there any point?

Diary, do you fear death? I don't.

I don't fear death because I don't have anything to live for. People who fear death have an importance to their life. They have something to live for, something to want to stay alive for. I don't fear death. Ha! I laugh at death.

But the laughter cannot be heard because death mocks me too. Death has picked me up and put me into the darkness. Death is the reason my parents don't talk to me anymore. Death killed my dreams, my hopes and my brother.

No, death didn't kill my brother... I killed my brother.

Diary, I killed my own brother!

I was young... so young... and so was he. I wanted to help mother! I thought I was doing the right thing! Diary, hate me! Hate me because I drowned him. Hate me because I put a baby boy into a washing machine. Hate me because I told mother I gave my brother a bath with a smile on my face as she praised my good deed. Hate me because she started screaming over her dead baby as she realised what I had done. Hate me as she ran into the street with a baby boy in her arms and tears streaming down her face as she yelled as loud as she could, "Someone save my baby!" Hate me because no one could save him. Hate me because it was too late. Hate me because he died that day. Hate me because he died on my account. Hate me because I made lives empty...

Diary, hate me.

-Eggy Mayers, wanna be writer.