Missing Pages and Missing Thoughts
Finally gaining entry into the house, it’s found to be... derelict. The lights are off, some of the switches don’t even work but it still looked furbished - furniture, pictures and even personal belongings and delicate paraphernlia was left behind; a black rucksack by the stairs; empty pill bottles on a cabinet; a tarnished fire axe; an old, bloodied bandage tucked into the pocket of a leather coat. Trying to navigate the stairs in the pitch black was difficult, and upon reaching the top it didn’t take long to bump into a door that swayed open and finally, a working light switch - a few unpromising flickers here and there, but it gave some illumination to the barren, dusty room. It was unusually messy with books lying around, holes in the wall and even more empty pill bottles but most importantly, an open book on the bed that looked as if it were some sort of diary, a diary with some of the pages torn out, some covered in blood spatters and others just scribbled on in a haphazard mess coupled with senseless words repeated over and over and over until the lead marks of the pencil that was used chalked the whole page and there was barely any white to be seen; “Hate her, I hate her, I hate her.” Turning the page, there seems to be an actual entry “I still have not found her. Why do I want to find her? She left me. Mine, it’s mine. I still can’t understand why I have a devotion to her. I try to distract myself, but there is nobody as interesting. I used to think the world was normal until I met her. I need to understand her. Mine, it’s mine. Is this what attachment feels like? I wish I never felt it. I want to watch her writhe in pain when I find her. But I want to see her. I need to tell her just how much I hate her. I taste the blood in my mouth just thinking of it. I want to drag a blade across her cheek. No. No. She’s the only thing that makes me want to taste. She made me want to breathe. I could smile when I felt her blood on my hands. When I had my hand around her neck, watching her glare as we both knew a few more seconds and she’d be cold and motionless... asleep. I would stop only to feel the thrill of it again. Her grin... No. I hate her, mine, it’s mine. A D E R Y N I hate you. I need you.”
