My mind. It warns me.

It warns me inarguably of that which is to come. Some call it premonition, I’ve seen those people, what were they again, the prophets. Yes. That’s who they were. Those men of ancient knowledge. They foresaw of the great doom that came across the entire face of the Earth.

I sigh a breath of relief. I know I’m not crazy, I can’t be. I look around me, the whole world, it’s in shambles. I’m the least crazy person here. Everyone’s walking around like nothing happened, people going by their day not panicking and not frightened. Don’t they hear the voices, don’t they see it coming. “Am I insane”, I ask myself. “NO, NO, I’m not”. “I can’t be”. Dear God, what happens next.

9820 AD

Teltuery 26th Layth 9820

Dear diary, it’s 9am, the visions seep in quicker. I walk up to my usual breakfast spot. Darkness occupies it as usual, the sounds of lurking bats appease my worries. “I’m home alas”, “hmm”, “home”. Dear diary, what does home mean? It sounds so…familiar. Is it a bird? No, can’t be, sounds too, umm…fishy. Yes. It’s a fish. Fishy fish fish. My fish, your fish, her fish, we get a fish, everyone gets a fish. Haha haha.

Dear diary, its 12pm. I’m scared. There seems to be someone else here. Perhaps I may not be alone in this mess. Perhaps I find that even in the chaos of the world, and even in the deep darkness I call my home, I reside not in fear, not destined to a fate of a cruel loneliness merely quenched by the hallucinations that give me a fruitless glimpse of joy.

Perhaps even in this humble abode, the rotten stench of a bear’s carcass, the toxic mould seeping into the very walls, or even this flashlight on my forehead, red like blood, shiny in the light, ooh the light. The voices tell me there once was a light that shone so bright, people would sing to it, dance to it, pray to it, worship it, it would give them food, give them light, give them joy. Pfft, sounds like a fairy tale.

La La La la la. Dear diary, when did I start addressing you as such. When did you become so dear to me. When did I lose all touch with reality I sought for meaning in the dry and stale pieces of your empty pages. Dear diary, I have but a question to ask. Now that I reach your last pages, who then can I talk to? Who then can I walk with? Who then can I flock unto a rose of plenty gardens? Who then can.

*******

9817AD

3 years before doom

School sucks. All the kids suck. The teachers suck. Mom and Dad, meh they cool sometimes, Mom and Dad, they suck sometimes too. Well…they got me a diary for my 12th birthday! What should I title this. The introduction to the intimate relationship that is a kid and his, oh I got it, My dear diary.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Dear diary, I had a dream last night. In this dream, the world seized to exist. Everyone left but me. Well, that’s no different from what my days feel like lol. Oh Oh, Sadie was in the dream too. She said I was cute! Can you believe that, Sadie thinks I’m cute. Right? If I dreamt it, its probably true. Why would I see something that isn’t true? Why would I feel something so strongly if it wasn’t real? It must be a sign! Tomorrow I’ll ask her out. Yes, I’ll ask the most lovely and adorable lady who had walked the halls of Dawn Dale High. I wonder what she says, I can’t wait!

Dear diary. Life is meaningless.

*******

9822 AD

Hathrich 6th Acril 9822

Dear Sadie,

I wonder, would I have been in this mess if I never told you how I felt. How was I supposed to know, in my head, a weapon so evil, it brought to end, the world as we knew it. Do you remember when I would watch you pick flowers with your friends in 3rd grade. Or the times I would watch you pet the dogs that often visited your home. When you would look back because you thought you heard something but each time there was no one there. I was there Sadie, I promise. I was there.

*******

I always wanted to be the most popular girl in school. Growing up I would fantasize about the dress I would wear, my smile perfected until all the boys couldn’t resist my smile. Oh how long I did daydream thinking about the love letters I would get. The girls that would stare. I had planned exactly how the next four years would go. 

For the first year, I would be the cute shy girl that never got into any quarrels and didn’t garner any attention. I would get to school not too early and not too late. Take notes in class but not too much. Dress moderately, skirt to my knees and a white shirt with a pink bow to match my pink skirt. I powder my nose before I leave my bedroom and a signature scent of daphodiles would I leave in my trail. That was the plan for my first year, then, I would slowly increase my social presence. 

Rouse the attention of boys while being friendly with girls not too popular but no too nerdy. Maybe someday I may get a boyfriend too. Oh please Sadie, no one would want to date you. Especially once they saw the scar. Well that was the plan, up until you had to get the weirdest kid in the entire school to fall in love with you. Sighs, all I did was smile once at him. Just once. Now the whole school thinks we’re dating. Uhhh. 

He actually sent me a 100 poems. Jesus Christ is this kid even real. Fucking weirdo. You always attracted the weirdos didn’t you. Ahhh. Now my life is ruined. Who would want to talk to the girl that seats besides Icky Rick. 

The whole school thinks I’m his friend now. Even worse, some thinks we’re dating. Eww. Me date him? Over my dead body. Gosh darn it. If he took a shower once in a while and maybe combed his curly hair. Or if he took more care to his skin. His dark caramel and often stinky skin. Maybe he might have actually been slightly less icky. 

Or I wonder, if he took his glasses off every now and then, his bright brown eyes may give him a bit more points that I could consider him a friend. And if we were friends, I could get him new clothes. Clothes that let him show off his tone arms even on his lanky body. A weird combination, I couldn’t wrap my head around. How he seemed so gloomy yet when he spoke his voice was as a soothing river to my chest.

 Ahhh. Dear diary, I don’t know what’s happening to me, I may be. No scrap that thought. Besides, how could I have a crush on him. He’s so icky and scrawny and depressing and his poems were kinda sweet and sometimes he does look cute but he’s icky rick. Yes that’s right. What was I thinking in the first place. Besides, he isn’t even real. I made him up in my head.