Faith Eternal
A Story About Faith
Jessica W. Schwab
PROLOGUE
Friday, November 19, 1997
Dear Diary,
I don't know what has gone on in my life. My life has completely fallen apart. I have no reason to live. My life is like one giant puzzle. It is like my only reason to live is to find all of those scattered pieces and put the puzzle back together once again. What can I say? My parents are on the bridge of divorce, my brother is at the worse stage of life, and my sister is only coming closer to death with each passing second. I am serious. My life could not get any worse than
this.
My mother, a thirty-six year old woman, is hard working, always keeping things in place. I kid you not, if one thing, just one thing is out of place, my mother is on her feet, perfecting everything there is to perfect. I mean, she gets so worked up over
everything.
My older brother, he is another story. Whenever he is not with the rest of the family, he is cooped up in his little cave, exercising his forefingers on the buttons on a video game controller. But this is not a little "hey, Dora, it's over there", no, he plays a game called Call of Duty World at War: Zombies, where the mean objective is to slay all the mindless zombies before they slay you. Whenever I watch him play this game, I get the feeling that someone is behind me . . . .
My younger sister, who I still consider a baby, she has been diagnosed with terminal cancer. There is no cure, and we are all sure that she is going to die, but we try to reassure ourselves that by some miracle, we might be able to spare her
life.
While my entire family and their problems, I am facing my own problems as of now. I feel like a piece of waste at my high school. People walk all over me, and if they aren't walking on my, they are tripping over
me.
So, in a nut shell, my life has completely fallen apart. I just wish that by some miracle, my world could just put itself back together again . . . .
Will write again soon.
-Isabel Rogers
I put my pen down on the table and read over what I had written. The words tumbled through my head as I processed them to make some sense. I frowned at the last sentence: I just wish that by some miracle, my world could just put itself back together again . . . . This was most likely the way I would conclude all of my next entries. It's crazy. I don't usually keep a diary like this. Usually, I am too busy with necessary work and business, but my mother insists that I keep one, just in case something happens. I didn't
argue.
I swirl around in my computer chair and my eyes flicker toward the digital clock hanging lifelessly on the bare wall. It reads: 9:46. My mother is going to call me within the next four minutes. Or has she already called me? Oh well. If she wants me so bad, she can walk across the hall to my
door.
I jump off of the chair and leap onto my bed. My face sinks into the bare fabric. My eyes close nonchalantly. Just before I hear my name called from across the house.
"Isabel! Isabel! Get out here this instant!" I hear my father boom from just outside the door. I approach the door just in time to be pelted by the wooden door as my father shoves it open.
