Dear Diary, 2011
You would think that sitting alone and staring out at a dark, cloudy night would be boring to a teenager. You would think that a girl who had been over the edge of hell and back would be able to laugh in the devils face. You would also think that a girl in my situation would have nothing to live for and would feel simply like a waste of space.
Trust me, I do feel that way.
Hi. My name is Allene Salem Harding. And I've got problems, but hey, everyone else does to so there's no room to complain.
I would start this dark tale from the beginning but that would take too long, and I'm certainly afraid that whoever reads this might as well consider themselves dead as well.
I wasn't always like this. I wasn't always a freak. I used to be normal. I was in the band, had great grades, great friends, and a boyfriend. I was on Honor Roll, and had the life I wanted. Granted, I didn't have everything I ever wanted but I don't think anyone these days can have that.
I suppose I went looking out for adventure for the most part.
To be honest, I don't even remember dying. I remember falling; falling into this vast pit of nothingness, and let me tell you. No nightmare can top that feeling. The pure feeling of being alone, not just by yourself, but truly alone in the world, close enough to anger and verging on pure insanity. The brink of self destruction. That's death.
I remember waking up in a painted blank paper white room with a nurse hovering over me, telling me I had killed my family; mom, dad, brother. Everyone gone in a single instant.
I'm what psychics call "kissed by the night"; quite ironic since I did die at night, technically, is what the nurse told me. But kissed by the night means that I hold some dark power over everything; sharper senses, mind reading by touch, and I see dead people. OK, not dead people, ghosts; spirits. Not only that, but there is an Underworld after me that would kill for this power. Kissed by the night pretty much told me this when I saw the psychic: "You're screwed and no one can help you."
I do, however, have one mission now. Find who the hell killed me, and stop whoever gets in my way.
**********************
"Allene, what the hell are you staring at?" a low tenor voice asked. A voice she had grown familiar with on the road while running away. "And what are you writing?"
She felt a mental slap in the face as she pulled her mind back into reality. "Nothing, nothing." She said, hurriedly shutting closed her journal so he wouldn't see from the drivers seat. "Just keeping track of things."
"Things like?"
"None of your business, yet, Markus. But, believe me, you'll know when it's time." She said gravelly. "Keep driving, please." And there was no response from Markus, just the feel of the car lurching forward at a faster pace across the wide open, deserted road, and a stern look across his angelic and dark face. She whispered her thanks to her last friend in the world and continued to write.
***********
I do have several leads as to who could have killed myself and my family. And notably, although I am only 17, there are a lot of things I am capable of. Hopefully, to whoever reads this journal, you will have heard of this task that I will complete or will see first hand what happens. That way, if I die, someone else will know what happened. You'll be able to tell tales to your children, and tell of the woman who was driven insane through this journal. I hope that this provides more answers than anything, however.
There is more than what meets the eye. And because I am hunted now, this is going to be an interesting life.
*************
She closed her journal one more time, and she stared out at the cloudy, dense night that stretched before her and Markus. Leaning her head against the cold feel of the glass window felt good; loosened the tensions in her face, in her thoughts. She had woken up just this morning and left Madame Cleo's office by after noon. Nothing would be the same anymore. And the creeping feeling of the unknown surrounding her scared Allene worse than knowing she would be alone forever. As if reading her mind, Markus slipped a hand down from the wheel, and slid it into her hand, lacing their fingers together. The tension began to rise again, but her eyes had fluttered closed already, and the comforting wrap of sleep had taken over her mind and body.
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