<18 march 2003>
I consider myself a lucky child. I’m a well-bred, good looking teen of 17 years of age. My family is something that you might consider prosperous. With our high standard of living, I always have healthy and nutrient-rich food on my plate. The family of Vargov’s live in a well-off area of fancy mansions and luxurious resorts. When I was 5, we moved here - my father’s investment skyrocketed, so there weren’t any financial issues from then on.
This happened a couple of days ago. When my father was going to dinner with my mother, they landed themselves in a deep pit. They flew past some of the potholes, however, there was a one-story-house-sized crater in the ground, which none of them could have foresaw that it was there. Roy and Malinda Vargov aged 47 and 45 respectively had their remains found in a gruesome amalgamation of skin, bone and blood.
As the sole member of the family that is still alive and kicking, I inherited all the riches and stocks. But yet, this did nothing to numb the pain of the loss I’m to endure. Today, I woke up, finally out of my constant self-perpetuating cycle of contemplating the value of a life, eating and going back to sleep. I began this diary to try to record my feelings. I’m turning 18 in a week, so I’m not really sure if I will even remember writing this after the amount of alcohol I’m considering to drink. On the list today, I’m going to our old house back in Soho, where we lived when I was 5. The place is strange, as I've always felt a peculiar connection to that place, as if it held secrets I never uncovered.
Noone has been there ever since. When I first arrived, both extremes of the emotions rushed back to me. There still lies the ball I used to kick as a kid. Although it is deflated, I still decided to throw it on the backseat of the car, maybe I’ll keep it somewhere.
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From what I remember, the most valuable thing here was the tiny library on the underground floor of this shabby cabin. As I came down, stairs creaked, reminding me of how different my life was before the move. Not rich, even poor I’d say. That mouldy wooden cutlery still lies in that half-broken cupboard in the kitchen. This place, once remembered as cheerful, now felt enveloped in shadows. The deeper I went underground, the more the consuming darkness grew around me. Suddenly, a deep silence fell, leaving me unable to see or hear anythi...
It seems that I went unconscious for a while. I’m not so sure about the date or the time at the moment, as despite being rich, I was never a material person, so I do not own a watch. Despite not going this far in, when I try to climb up the ladder, the scene does not change - there is still nothing around me. The darkness here feels alive, almost breathing. I always think of myself as a fearless man, but something just doesn’t feel right here. If I recall correctly, I was going down to see the… Hm, a light just appeared.
Right now, as I’m penning this into the diary, 3 - now 4 lights are here. It seems that they work as some sort of a clock - 5 - a new one just appeared. If I counted correctly, every minute and 43 seconds a new light appears.
Just as I’m writing this, most of the accumulated lights, around 15-20, turned red and suddenly disappeared. However, there is still that one barely clinging on to its life blue glimmer left to the right of me - I’m yet to realize what it is.
It’s been quite a while now, but I'm yet to start feeling thirst or hunger - from what I can perceive - 3 to 4 hours passed? Oh, actually another blue ball of light appeared. Don’t remember when, but when I turned around one time, it was just there. Its presence feels oddly comforting, unlike the others.
Another hour in. I’m bored, should I try to somehow communicate with these things? Are they alive? Let me touch this one…
[https://imgur.com/a/ZKTw3qE][https://imgur.com/a/ZKTw3qE]