11:39 pm, Friday, October 12.

Dear Diary,

[Update: It's 2:54 am, something strange just happened.....and I am adding that at the end.....]

It is quite chilly today and I don't feel quite as nervous as yesterday. It seems that the medicines are working quite right. Daddy seems more freaked out than me. Gosh! I am 16 and I AM NOT A CHILD ANYMORE!!

As I look outside the window, I see our town covered in leaves, BLOOD RED and a hint of mustard layered in the spaghetti that our town has become, you know, curvy roads, tall trees, and the standard stuff of a typical northern town way up in the mountains. With all the fishing boats lined up the 'coast' of our town, everything seems stationary, because fishing after all, is our main occupation. The King's Lake has saved us from harsh winters since times immemorial. And it's one hell of a big lake!

I ate my garlic bread, because that's practically my breakfast! and hopped onto my daddy's jeep. And off we went to the wreck of a school, up the St. Anthony's mountain. But first, someone's gotta take care of my icecream, or else it would be crying in the corner. Salmon cone, a local specialty, where the cone is shaped like a salmon, is right up Joe's alley. He makes them extra soft and fluffy, and he's nice to me too.

It is not terribly sunny this time and.....Oh God! here we go again. Why? Why is it always that I get freaked out by the gates of our school? It's literally two big dogs, straight out of hell, perched on the pillars, but who cares! You are strong Alice, STRONG!!

Anyways, I hate my school. It literally eats up two-thirds of my day, and Ms. Mason isn't helping. She's a zombie. Would show up at the school even if it's doomsday. Speaking of doomsday, the rallies are becoming quite a nuisance, eats up traffic. People really are buying into this nuclear apocalypse thingy. I hear some kids whispering in the corners, preparing for God knows what. The tension is quite widespread, in fact, even the library nerds are discussing, which includes myself.

Lunch Break is my favourite time. I get to talk to Mary, my sister. We are very close. In fact, we are best friends. But, if only I were that lucky, so as to avoid a jerk like Bob who routinely shows up to grab our lunch. I can bet, his record of showing up at lunch time is probably way better than his attendance record. His theatrics are diverse like our local fauna (I am sure he will fit right in with them) but the one that tears me apart is his attitude towards Mary. It's like she is not even a human in his eyes! "To hell with your Mary, gimme some of that sandwich!! ", barks Bob when he's hungry. I swear if it weren't for my Mom, I would kick his nuts!

Sometimes, I feel like I am growing tired of this place. Tired of Ms. Mason and Bob, Mom and Dad. No offense but they are unkind. If only they showed me some kindness like Mary does, always smiling and listening patiently. I guess it's that rich parents attitude. "You must teach your child etiquettes, must teach him eloquence, and most importantly a disciplined attitude". Honestly, it's either that or complete neglect. You either get the whole package or end up with the butlers. Speaking of butlers, our Tom is quite a nice guy. "And how was your day, princess Alicia?", he kindly calls me. I wish I had better things to say to him, but the answer was always a vague 'fine'. The truth is, I wanted out. I wanted to get to bigger shores, bigger dreams, bigger purpose. And for the first time ever, it felt like, I was nearer than ever to achieving just that.

I love writing, always did. I wrote whenever I felt like, wherever I felt like. The most conducive of a place was an old big tree near the Kingfish reserve. By the lake, head against its old bark, I could write poems that would make Shakespeare retire (just kidding!). But yeah, it did really do wonders for my writing. In fact, I am working on a masterpiece right there. It's a thriller about a young girl who gets kidnapped and has to survive otherworldly odds.

This piece would go into the regional story writing contest, and if I get selected, it would be my ticket out of here, to some city, some dream city. Some kinda exchange program I guess, where I would get a scholarship and learn writing better. Perhaps this feat could convince my parents about my skills, and maybe then they would send me off to study and live at some aunt's house (we have many of those aunts! you can never get enough!!)

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

I guess owning half of the fishing business in town and a hefty family heirloom has its perks. Half the kids are either jealous or follow you around thinking naively that you might write their name on your will! You are in a way, never alone and always alone.

Anyhow, it was time and I was waiting patiently as ever for one of my 'responsible' parents to pick me up, hopefully, so that I don't have to spend the rest of the night on the streets with God knows what roaming these streets. Add on top of that a nuke! NO SIR!! I think I am fine by my fireplace.

"Alice, AAALICE!! quit staring and hop in, it's getting cold out here", roared my mom. I must have lost track of time again. It's happening more often now a days. I hopped in, as my mom drove through the streets like a maniac on booze (she sucks at driving). This one time, she ran over a family of squirrels enjoying picnic by the roadside. Poor souls.

"I got some stuff to buy, come along", commanded mother and I complied. You see, being from a small town, rich or not, we take care of personal needs and chores ourselves, so it ain't a big deal. As my mom explored the alleys for her stuff, I fixed my eyes on the big glass wall of the store. You could see through it, see beyond. I could see the stars. It was a clear night. The stars twinkled, the wind whistled and the leaves of this autumn night sang. But was it a happy tune? or a grave one, hiding the cries of lost and damned souls? I didn't know, but the guy next to me sure did. He had the look of a crying soul and he was doing something with his hands, as if to point.

"What? What's that?", I asked. "Your cart miss, you ran over my toes!!", cried the stranger. "Oh, I am really sorry". He seemed irritated. "Tell that to my toes!", moaned the stranger. "I am sorry", I replied to his toes. Boy, you should have seen his face, even the hot sauce on aisle 4 would have a tough time beating that look. He left without saying a word. He was clearly pissed. "Yeah, what a jerk", I told myself.

We returned home, had dinner and parted ways into our rooms. We never talked during dinner. Father forbids it. Mary and I sleep in the same room. So we went up the stairs and into our room. I took my pills and grabbed a novel from the shelf by the window. That's when my eyes rolled onto our garden below. That's where we used to play hide and seek. Paul, Jack, Martha, Mary and I would play all day, and whoever was caught quickly, was required to give a treat. What fun we had, from summer to winter, smelling the flowers in spring and stomping on those very same withered ones in autumn. But it was only a matter of time before each season would claim its own flower, and we would be left with crosses on the ground and an empty garden.

Each of them died young, taken from this world, from us, and the reason was left for us to figure out.

I miss them very much. And I don't go there anymore.

Novels at night are my favourite pastime. Funny ones actually, to forget the silent nights. To forget the pillow fights.

It's just Mary and me now.

I finished two chapters, then started on my usual diary entry at then end of the day. When it ended, I wished Mary a good night. Switched off the light, to sleep.

[But...I had forgotten to close the curtains of my window, and it was about to pay me heavily.]

2:52 am, Saturday.

I was pulled back from sleep. Can't quite explain how. I....I think I saw something....in my dream. Something disturbing.

Really disturbing:

The place I don't go anymore.....I was there...

...... digging up Paul, Jack and Martha...

I was digging them...digging them up from their graves. Piece by piece. They....they had fish all over their graves! Salmon, rotting along with their bodies. Oh God!!

I woke up.

But the sound of rain followed me from my dream. It was actually raining.

Can't even explain why, I got up to close the curtain, the lights were out, I tried. What I saw next, believe me, if there was anything even holier than the Trinity itself, I would swear in its name:

I saw myself out there, beyond the garden, standing inside a newly dug grave. Dug beside my siblings'. And I was pointing to me, I...I mean that 'me' was pointing towards me with 'its' hands outstretched and I think,

I...I had...I had....Was it Jack? Oh God! Noooo!! Please God noooo...not him.....

I had his head in my hands!!

Poor Jack, why did it have to be you!?

I was too shocked to cry.

Mary was in deep slumber. I couldn't wake her.

I closed the curtains and lit a candle, and I just sat there, staring the wall for like half an hour. My heart felt like it would burst open. I was wheezing, but no tears were there.

I couldn't wait to sleep, but whether I liked it or not, I had to write something this disturbing down in my diary. Old habits die hard.

As I write this down under my sheets, holding a candle, I feel... I don't know. This is too much.

I am done. I could only jot down what I saw down there and in my dream but my mind had seen too much to comment on anything. Something has to be done about this, in the morning. Good night or should I say.....Safe night.

Candles out.