Jun 17 1993
rating: +7+x

Jun 17 1993

Dear diary, Mrs. Ambrosia said I have to write a paragraph in this book every night.

God, I feel stupider already. I haven't kept a journal since middle school. It's the first day, so I think a couple sentences should be enough.

Jun 17 1993

Another day passes. Another day and nothing was learned. I've been in school so long that the days just blur together, like every day it's just the same the same the same the same the same the same the same the same the same the same the same.

Jun 17 1993

I could have sworn I bought this new. It seems like it's half full already. Perhaps I'm just forgetting. No. I remember. I forgot to buy a notebook and Mrs. Ambrosia let me pick one from the bin. It's so weird to think that my thoughts and feelings seem so unique, and yet everything about me is already here.

Jun 17 1993

The first day of school and I already barely remember the summer. My hands are longer today, I don't know why, but the proportions are off. I think I went on a road with my friends, but I can't remember their names. It's kind of funny, you think you know someone so well, and then the next day you don't even know their name.

Jun 17 1993

Dear diary, Mrs. Ambrosia said I have to write a paragraph in this book every night.

It's kind of nice, you know, to write down your thoughts. Just get them out of your head so you can finally forget forget forget forget forget forget forget forget forget . It's very nice.

Jun 17 1993

It's been so long since I've been to school I forgot how dark it was. I forgot how the hallways rotted away as the doorways folded like worms circling each other in the soil. I forgot.

Jun 17 1993

Since I'm the new kid I decided I might as well try to make friends. I started talking to a cute girl I saw sitting in the corner. She didn't look up, but when I crouched down to meat her, she only stared at me with her dead blue eyes. Or were they green? Did she even have eyes at all? Sorry for rambling, but he just looked so sad and dejected like he had given up any hope of leaving that room. I showed him how to unlock the door, I hope that helped.

Jun 17 1993

I had the strangest feeling when I walked into Mrs. Ambrosia's class. Is it possible to have bad memories of a place you've never been? That's rhetorical. Of course it isn't. As Mrs. Ambrosia started explaining the nuances of classical poetry it struck me that it was very odd for a class to not have a teacher in it. I wondered why I was the only one to show up.

Jun 17 1993

Do you ever feel like every day is the same? I know I've only been in school for one day, but it just goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and.

Jun 17 1993

Dear diary, Mrs. Ambrosia said I have to write a paragraph in this book every knight.

Isn't it strange how if you repeat the same phrase in your head over and over and over and over and over and over again it starts to sound alien. The words start to bend, mangled into something completely unrecognizable. The syllables break apart piercing your skull like the sharp drills that they keep in the nurses office. I can't hear my heartbeat anymore. Isn't that strange? The knocking' getting louder. I know he's coming. I hope I can hide in time.

Jun 17 1993

You know, the strangest thing happened to me today. I opened my closet and it was filled with pages and pages of notebooks stacked haphazardly along the walls. It almost distracted me from the piles in my room. I should really clean those up. It's almost hard to walk without tripping over them, and the paper is starting to rot. I can her whispering quietly. It's almost time.

Jun 17 1993

Have you ever had a dream where you knew that something important had happened and then when you wake up you can't remember it. The human memory is fickle that way. He told me Mrs. Ambrosia had passed away in her sleep. I had to laugh to keep from crying. I laughed so hard that tears streamed down my cheeks. It almost sounded like screaming. I'm surprised no one came in to see if I was okay. Maybe they would have if I could figure out how to unlock the door.

Jun 17 1993

It's so hard to write when you forget what you were saying by the time you reach the end of the hallway. I kept getting slower and slower. It's like that story with the arrow where it goes halfway to the target each time, so it never truly gets there. I couldn't quite feel the doorknob in my grip, but it could feel me.

Jun 17 1993

The girl with blue eyes was watching me again. I don't know how he manages to that without blinking. I guess it helps to not have eyelids. The photos on the wall are lying to me. They all show me sitting in the room alone, but I haven't been here long enough to sit down. The boy in the pictures looks so lonely. I wonder when Mrs. Ambrosia is going to leave.

Jun 17 1993

It's so funny how Mrs. Ambrosia teaches. She's constantly talking. Her mouth hangs open, but doesn't make a sound. I think she forgot that she needs to move her tongue. Perhaps she never had one. I might be leaving soon. I think I need some fresh air.

Jun 17 1993

You ever have a thought stuck in your head. It just swirls around and around. Like one of those wheels in the park where the children used to go. Spinning faster and faster and faster and faster as you hold on for dear life? It's been so long since I went to the park. Perhaps I should visit sometime.

Jun 17 1993

Dear diary, Mrs. Ambrosia said I have to write a paragraph in this book every night.

I can feel him getting closer. The girl with the blue eyes. She stares lifelessly, her eye sockets empty. Why won't Mrs. Ambrosia let him leave? Or is it her who isn't letting Mrs. Ambrosia leave. I can never remember remember remember remember remember remember what I was talking about last. Isn't that strange?

Jun 17 1993

Mrs. Ambrosia taught today about to be all you can be. You can be anything, she said. And then she fell apart. I just realized there are no mirrors in my house. I never minded the windows being taped up, but I wish I could see my reflection.

Jun 17 1993

I've always found it weird how people use signatures to verify who is and isn't real. Handwriting all looks the same to me. The writing in the margins of the books, The scribbles on the wall. Even the writing on the chalkboard are all the same same same same to me.

Jun 17 1993

Dear diary, Mrs. Ambrosia said I have to write a paragraph in this book every night.

I'm so silly. I can't believe I forgot that I'm the teacher now. Or was I always the teacher? It's my first day, so I guess I can cut myself some slack. Don't forget to lock the doors. She keeps yelling for me to let her out, but I know better. I keep yelling for him to let me out, but she knows better.

Jun 17 1993

I'm so glad he told me how to unlock the door. The doors open now. It's so bright outside. The year went by so quickly. I thought it was the first day of school, but it's really the last. I guess this is it. It's time to walk into the darkness.

Jun 17 1993

I can see the blue eyed boy in the reflection on the lake, I thought I could leave her in the building. It's so unfortunate that he had to come with me. Mrs. Ambrosia is here too, but she died a long time ago. The water is getting deeper as I wade further. Soon it will be too high for me to keep writing. But when I stop writing do I even still exist? Without any record, what am I? I guess if I never write my death then I will live forever. I think it will be peaceful there. At the bottom of the lake. At the bottom of the. At the. At. I'll stop stalling now. It's time to take the plunge. I'll see you on the other side.

Jun 18 1993

X

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License