Not Wanted

Hurt 7/12/13

July 12, 2013

Dear Journal,

It's so hard to think when you are in pain. Feeling that the life in you has faded away, and now you are just floating peaceful in an ocean with dolphins and whales and all those beautiful things that the earth ocean has. You feel happy for once that all the pain you are feeling, is real, because nothing else feels real anymore. It was until they stopped that I was mad. Why did they have to bring me back right after I was happy for once in a long time? I heard voices from every direction and I just laid there in the cold hard concrete floor. A pool of blood underneath me, and both my eyes unable to open due to the inflammation. I didn't know exactly how long the attack has lasted, but I just wished that it would go to a point where there was no return. Time literally flied. I waited for help, but it never came. I saw the light of day through my eye lids. I used all of my strength to sit up, but I couldn't. Why didn't I just die today. That's what I need, to die. This won't ever end until I die. Death was the only escape to the hell that I was living.

I felt a dog lick my bloody face. Its tongue tickled me. I actually felt like laughing that the feeling sickened me. I vomited and the smell of bile stung my nose. I tried to sit up, but this time I succeeded. The dog stayed by my side all along. It was as if it felt that I needed help, but it didn't know how wrong it was. I didn't need help. I needed somebody to do something that I can't seem to do myself. I have tried so many times and each time, I unexpectedly survived. Last week I tried to hang myself, and the rope just broke dropping me to the floor. I sat there with my new friend for a while. I opened my eyes for the first time and admired by surroundings. Every time I open my eyes in the place that I was attacked, something of that place catches my eyes. This time it was how clean the street actually was. Usually, the places that I awake from are full of rats and trash. But this street was so clean. I was the only imperfection. My blood stained the floor. The richness of the color of the blood gave the place a unique feel to it. It told you that even in the cleanest places, there will always be somebody's blood spilled on it.

Thanks for reading the first chapter. I know it's short, but its just a piece of what the story is really is about. The next couple of chapters are going to be flashbacks, so pay attention to the dates of each journal.
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