Teenage Diaries

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a short story i made up.

Submitted: November 30, 2008

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Submitted: November 30, 2008



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From her first impression, it appears she is an everyday, fun-loving, typical teenage blonde. Chances are that she goes out with her friends to the bars, where they bond as they down their cherry bombs and indulge in the free beers attained from crusty the creeper who has had one too many drinks by this point. She probably has numerous photo albums containing hundreds of pictures from these nights which seem only to mold her friendships and keep her social life perfectly in tact, moreover naming her a “normal teenager.” The truth is, beyond that simple first impression which she would try to give off to people, she had these incontrollable feelings and thoughts which were unwillingly released during her decreasingly sober states. Her bright outrageous and distastefully tight clothes depict her need for attention and the horrifying ways she would call out for it. To someone who knows her, or possibly even a stranger depending on the type of person, these feelings showed through her aggressive negative attitude and comments towards people; most of the time without even realizing it. Her heart was always in the right place, and always had good morals. She shared with many similarities, such as truly being a good friend, even if it meant going overboard with proving it… at least I thought.

It’s not like she’s necessarily abnormal… but then again, what exactly is “abnormal?” What exactly can be passed for being “normal” nowadays anyway? There are so many disturbing aspects to people now, which I’m sure there always were, but I just failed to see it. I presume that the older and wiser you are, the more exposed to these eccentric individuals you become. We read and hear about these horrid stories in the news everyday, and simply assume that these heinous individuals are just stolid, heartless human beings who have no ethics and not a care in the world. However maybe, just maybe, it’s the opposite. Perhaps these people that commit these awful acts, such things as robbery, rape, or murder, actually have a lot of heart and possibly care too much. Maybe they cared so much that it drove them crazy, which is again a hard thing to define, and an even harder concept to understand.

After 9 years of knowing someone, you really start to see them develop. As you and that person grow up you are able to see them for who they really are, know their true intentions, and note how they care for people. I, as well as the rest of the girls did, found it very hard to help her. She was so alone all the time. She lived on the highest hill in town, where it was extremely sparsely populated, and what seemed to be cut off from the entire world. The rest of the girls we used to play along with all have a rather vague and very slight idea of what has taken place throughout her life, but I am the only one who knows the whole truth; yes, I am the lucky one! In nearly every situation she tries to make her point and give her side in such an angry way. She makes people feel worthless when they make a mistake, like they have done a horrible sin, and who would want to stick around someone like that? In essence, I feel that it’s subconscious, and deep down it is she who feels so worthless. I resort it back to her father. I have always known that the man was bad news, and he is the one who nevertheless raised her to be the way she is now. I always felt a bit uneasy about the idea of her father living in her dark dreary basement, in his small depressing room with little to no light at all. He influenced her and strategically turned my best friend into a demon. He brainwashed her and took the innocent wonderful girl away and changed her to become this crazed psychopath we all still nonetheless loved and cared for. Even so, by now it has come to the point where nobody wants to be around it. Nobody wants to be exposed to these harsh realities, and nobody puts enough care into seeing and understanding what has led her to the state of madness. Everyone just assumes she will deal with it and overcome it one day. The rest of the girls gained a sense that it was too late awhile back, so they bailed. In turn I was the only one she had.

Again, it is I who keeps the truth locked inside. It is sad being an outside perspective to such an intense situation. I’ll never forget when it first came to my attention that this was not an everyday father-daughter lifestyle. We were sitting at her kitchen table, gossiping about meaningless ordinary middle school drama when he came into the room to disrupt us. He asked if we were hungry, and when we replied no, he simply would not take no for an answer. He told her that she was a spoiled brat. He told her that she was the scum of the earth and that she did not deserve any of the things she attained up to thus point. I was mortified, and had no clue of what to do. I sat in silence as he scolded her, for what any “normal” person would have thought was no reason at all. It didn’t make sense to me. Up until that point I had seen her father every once in awhile working in her yard, but I had never spoken to him, never even heard him speak. He always steered clear of people. I didn’t understand why he yelled at her, and what his deal was. I asked her why her dad got so mad, and she replied, “He is right. I am spoiled, and we should have eaten what he made us. You should go, I think we both offended him.” It was appalling to me, and set the stage for figuring out a severely disturbing relationship which I had no idea about; I was in for a rude awakening.

The more and more I hung around her, the more I felt obligated to help her, or to at least relieve her of these constant stresses I could tell were eating away at her as she tried with all her might to push them aside and lead a “normal” life. And the more and more I snooped and invaded the privacy of their home the few times I had been there, the more I was able to predict possible and probable conclusions. Conclusions insisting that her father was definitely a drug addict, and something else. There was more there. I knew he had a record because I did research at the library. I admit it may seem a bit overboard, but the bottom line was that my friend was in a horrible atmosphere. Most recently, he had harassed and assaulted a young girl back in 1998. Before she was even born he had been a suspect in numerous murder cases, but somehow was let off due to lack of evidence. It was extremely bizarre and scary. He never allowed us in the closet downstairs, where all food and drinks were stored. It gave me a very creepy feeling I could not shake. There had to be some reason for that, unless he was just extra greedy with his nutrients, which I highly doubt. I was very scared for her, probably more scared than she was for herself. As the two of us adorable pre-teen girls developed above and beyond into teenagers, the reality of everything really started caving in on me.

The town school is somewhat small, with a graduating class of 70 people; large enough to blend in yet small enough to notice someone missing. The town was very large and spread out, and sparsely populated. She was showing up to school less and less, stopped caring about her appearance, and presented herself overall in such a depressing and sad manner that I didn’t know what to do. I lost touch with her and found out from others that she had been taking pills and other hardcore drugs as well. I was told she had been arrested for stealing on more than one account. I was so astonished by all of this I had to take action. I didn’t know what to do, or how to go about it, but I knew something had to be done. I couldn’t let what was one of my best friends just deteriorate and rot into what I have seen her father become. I decided to try and speak with her; to level with her, and bring back the old best friend I once had.

It was very difficult contacting her, whereas she was never in school anymore. I didn’t understand what had happened to her. I called her cell phone numerous times, but no answer. I sent her emails, and again no answer. I called her house, and following ring after ring and numerous hang ups, was finally told that there was no such person living there. It was all so confusing and overwhelming, that I took a trip over to her house to once and for all talk to my best friend.

I knocked on the door, and heard a few scrambles inside and a crash as some things fell over. I heard cans and bottles fall, shatter and crash as they hit the floor and finally saw the doorknob wiggle. When the door opened, she stood looking miserable; looking so empty and so messed up, literally and figuratively. It was dark, but I could easily see that she had bruises on her, and the sight was so devastating that I cried right on the spot. She looked at me as I cried as if I were transparent, as if I wasn’t there. She looked right through me. She stepped outside, and told me in a bit louder than a whisper that I shouldn’t be there. As I began to claim my sob story about how and why I miss her and care for her, she suddenly brought me to a halt. She covered my mouth, and after telling me to hold my thought as she went inside for a brief minute, came back out and told me to come with her. She took me to her backyard, through a path I had never seen before. I was so confused and shocked by the whole thing that I didn’t even bother to ask or to argue. She took me deep in the woods, which again, I had no previous knowledge of. I didn’t know what to think, it all felt so surreal. Maybe she wanted to talk in private; this was by far as private as it could have gotten. I was so upset, so lost, so vulnerable, that I stood and just looked at her. As I looked at her she smirked at me, yet not in a kind manner, more so in a stealthy one. My mind was racing; I had no idea what was going on. Her smirk soon became a grimace and all she said was, “I know you know.” I went back through my head and tried to think about what on earth she could have possibly meant. I went through every account that could have related to her statement. I started to stutter my words when she cut me off again and told me she curses the day I was born. She told me I was a grimy fake and that she has caught on to my little games. My mind was racing; it felt like it was moving faster than the speed of light. I couldn’t process what the hell was happening. I knew something was wrong, terribly wrong. As she spoke her harsh words and continued to heat herself up more and more, her face became extremely red; the color of danger and warning. Her eyes became teary and she had a terrifying look on her face. It looked like she was trying to burn me to death with her eyes. I was speechless. I tried explaining myself and telling her that she has made a big mistake but again was cut off by her extremely hostile voice. I had never been in a situation where words felt more stunningly painful to the point where it felt like a thousand needles were penetrating my skin. I had chills like no other; I knew she was going to do something extremely drastic. I sensed it deep down, yet was planted to the earth by some force I could not remove myself from. She cried angrily as she glared at me. No matter what I said she wouldn’t listen. Alas, it came down to the moment I would have never in a million years, in a million lifetimes, ever expected to see. As she drew her arm into her oversized stained black sweatshirt I saw the dark object in her hand in a quick flash. It was like I was dreaming, waiting to wake up from this heinous nightmare. She took one final look at me. It was the last instant that mine and her teary eyes would ever meet again. She clenched her eyes shut tight, raised the gun, and ---


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