The Diary (Phan)

Chapter Two

I'm sorry it's been so long, let's do this.

I walked to my next form, there wasn't much time before I would be late. I walked through the crowds of people, bumping into people occasionally. I gripped the journal tightly and brought it to my chest. I weaved through the masses of people and went down a flight of stairs before I made it to the room. I looked around, noting that anyone could have been the boy. I noted that it was now maths class, which I sat in the back, I could read there. I was so engrossed in the journal that I couldn't think properly about anything else.

"Welcome Dan," Mr. Waters greeted, and I grunted a response. The bell rang and everyone took their seats. I opened the book and began to read again.

Hey,

Well this ought to be an interesting entry. I'm currently in my room and it's dark. I just got done cutting, so please excuse any blood that you might find on the pages.

I looked on the page, and there was blood, I read quickly so I could change the page so no one would see, as if they were looking at me, no one pays attention to me anyway.

'Why?' You ask, simple, I am a waste of space, there's no reason to be here. I guess that I am only writing this so that I can have some excuse to stay here. I'm here on my bed thinking about every reason why I should die, there's a lot, and I'll keep you on your seat for more, this probably won't be anywhere until I'm dead, so don't worry about me, I'll be happy in hell.

Now, why was I cutting today, well, my father just beat me again, all because I came out to him two months ago. Something so simple, what does the gender I tend to fall in love with matter to anyone but myself? Everyday since I came out he's beat me, never past my neck or arms, he knew that I would always have my arms covered, and my face couldn't exactly be covered, so he left that alone, unless it was school holidays, where they'd have time to heal.

No, but this wasn't the worst part, I'm used to being abused, it's been happening so often—I winced, I didn't care who he was, no one should ever be used to anything bad—it doesn't even matter, I don't matter. The worst part was that my mum was right there watching it all happen, the one who tried to make my father understand that me being gay had nothing to do with how he lived his own life, but she just stood there, and I could see the smile on her face as she watched her husband beat the shit out of her own son.

I don't even care anymore, I just want to pass out, or die, from bleeding so much. The thoughts are killing me now. No one cares about me, and I highly doubt you're still reading, I'm just going to listen to The Depths and go to sleep on my blood stained bed, goodnight to myself.

I nearly choked when I read it. I felt like crying, but I knew that I couldn't, that I'd look more pathetic than I already do. I raised my hand and asked to be excused to the toilets, Mr. Waters nodded and continued the class. I picked up the journal and left the room. I was breathing heavily, and that's probably why he let me go, because had anyone else asked in the middle of lecture he would have said no. I walked through the corridor, it was quiet and I could hear my own breathing echoing.

Who could have even wrote this? I wondered, someone from the school, but there were too many people to even count, the process of elimination was definitely out. I trudged into the room and opened one of the cubical doors, I sat on the toilet and flipped the book open once again. There was no header for this one.

Unfortunately I didn't die. Were the only words on the page. I let out a breath, I knew that he couldn't have possibly died, there were still more words on the other pages. I flipped the page and continued to read.

Sorry, I had to leave, my parents insisted on going to the store to buy some more clothes since none of mine would fit. You know what, I didn't end up buying any clothes either, nothing interested me, but nothing ever interests me, so what does it matter?

My mum pulled me out of the door, not being careful or gentle with my arm in any way. The cuts all opened from earlier, I had another false sense of hope that I'd bleed to death. I didn't, but you knew that, I'm writing. Well, technically I could be writing this as a ghost, but you'll never know.

Please, like I said in the first page, don't come looking for me, it's not worth your time, I'm not worth anyone's time, my parents have even said so. I'm a pathetic excuse of a person. People have it worse than I do, yet I choose not to eat, and I choose to hurt myself, and I want to die so badly. I bet the starving children in Indonesia don't pray for death every night, and get angry when they wake up every morning. Don't do it.

And I'm really not asking for your pity, it's not worth it to feel sorry for me. You might as well throw this book away and never open it again.

He left it off there. I sighed, no threats of dying, although there were blood stains again. I stood, but there was a sound from outside the door. I unlocked it and peeked out.

"Is there anyone in here?" I asked, hearing a gasp from by the sinks. I walked over and saw a raven haired boy cleaning his arms.

How does everyone like this, I bet you all forgot about it.

I'm listening to The Depths on repeat, and that's where the inspiration came from, Of Mice And Men is great...