January

Perhaps this was all my fault. I have let you become careless and stupid, so that one day I might use this against you. This letter is a corpse hanged for the public to see. Bodies you have buried keep on resurfacing over and over, though I have gouged my eyes to blind myself from the truth, the stench still crawls itself in.

I have found myself bleeding at the side of the road. This wasn't a good way to go I suppose. I wanted it to be quick. I had your name scrawled on my palm, I wanted the world to know that you murdered me...

I woke up on a makeshift bed, wounded and healing.I found a stranger at my side and gave me my life back...


-- A page on a diary written on a January.