One day I was Ill. The usual you know , one day illness. My dad was out working at the children's home (he's not a nonce) my mum was busy dying of being tied up in a basement by my abusive father who drinks heavily and beats me if I cry when he beats my mummy. But back to the matter in hand, I was on Xbox and aggressive masterbation was getting boring but then suddenly I remember. The old red brick Victorian house I live in has an attic and in the attic among other things were: my daddy's rape mask, a bloody knife used in the murder of a local 5 year old girl and the worst thing of all, a nignog doll.
This made me happy as it is my only friend and I cried more than when daddy killed my baby sister when he went into the attic. First I had to get in the attic. But I know for a fact that daddy has the only key as the things in my attic could lead to a life sentence if found but he could make many friends in prison.
I decided to force open the hatch to it. I stood up on my tiptoes and tried to reach "oh no" its to high up. I got a chair and a piece of rope. I tied to the rope to the hatch and put it around my neck and jumped from the chair.
By the time anyone found me I had been dead for 50 years.
