Entry #4 - 3/18
They've made me see the school counselor. They said I need a space space to "decompress". Now I have to eat lunch in there every day. I already see a psychiatrist, what else do they want from me? There isn't anything wrong with me. I'm a normal person. Sometimes I have dark thoughts. Sometimes I act on them. Anyways, the school counselor is called Ms. James. She calls me sugar baby. She's pretty young, maybe mid 30's. I don't hate her. I guess it's better than eating lunch alone in the cafeteria. Now I eat with Ms. James. At least I don't have to deal with the random throwing of food above my head. I see why it's getting thrown, it's toxic. Just listen to the schedule:
Mystery Meat Monday
Walking Taco Tuesday, made with said mystery meat
Home Cooked Thursday, mystery meat again!
Besides the mystery meat, it all sounds good doesn't it? Now, why don't I explain the meals...
Mystery Meat Monday: mystery meat slop, a brown apple, and a bag of wet carrots
Walking Talk Tuesdays: off-brand Tostitos with a deadly amount of the meat inside that's been in there so long the chips are soggy, some cheese fresh out of the spray can, and a week-old orange
Waffle Wednesday: all you can eat soggy waffles, nothing else, just the waffles
Home Cooked Thursday: mystery meatloaf, liquid mashed potatoes, and green bean water with one green bean
Pizza Friday: cheese and sauce, no bread
See?! I told Ms. James about this, she told me never to eat school lunch. She gave me a nacho lunchable. My favorite. I do really like Ms. James. I don't like the career path she choose, but that's okay. Counseling isn't real. It doesn't change anything. I've been forced into going since the incident, and it hasn't changed anything. I still would do it again. And again. And again.
I've been chained to this pole scorching in the sun without food or water for what feels like ages.
Maybe I wasn't such a good boy after all.
What if Elmo was a serial killer? Hear me out, he’s easily irritated, lovable, smart, the person you’d least expect. Why don’t I take you on a journey, a journey through Elmo’s first kill. We’ll start at the beginning…
“ZOE! Rocco is a rock! Rocco is not real!” Elmo slammed his soft hands on the table, almost knocking off Rocco. Zoe gasped, quickly saving Rocco from falling. She held him and collected herself.
“Rocco doesn’t appreciate how unkind you’re being.” Zoe petted Rocco and gave him a little kiss on the head. Elmo stood up from his seat.
“ROCCO DOESN’T HAVE FEELINGS! ROCCO IS A ROCK!” He yelled in his high-pitched voice. Zoe held Rocco up to her ear and nodded.
“Rocco says you need to calm down and take some deep breaths.” Elmo’s plastic eyes filled with fury.
“OH MY GOD ZOE!! ROCCO IS A ROCK! I’M DONE! YOU CAN PLAY WITH DUMB ROCCO BY YOURSELF!”
“Fine, Elmo. But me and Rocco are a package deal. If you can’t play with Rocco, you can’t play with me.” Elmo stormed off like a teenage girl, you could hear his steps from inside Oscar’s trash can.
Zoe’s words stayed pounding in his head all day. Why couldn’t Elmo and Zoe play together without Rocco? What was so special about that rock? Maybe, Elmo thought, if he could get rid of the rock, everything would go back to normal. He wished Zoe would get a real pet. He hated that rock. He wanted him gone.
His plan was perfect. He would sneak through the window of Zoe’s room, put paper over Rocco (as he learned playing a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors) and run off. He knew he couldn’t kill a rock, but maybe Zoe would think he was dead. Maybe Zoe would see the paper over Rocco and pronounce him deceased. So that’s exactly what he did.
As he ran off, after “killing” Rocco, he realized he loved it. The thrill of it all. He craved the feeling. Maybe that feeling is what led to Elmo’s downfall. But that’s a story for another time.
You know something that's never really talked about? The problem with bots on Prose. Like I swear half of my followers are escort services or random links and keyboard smashes. It's not annoying, it's just weird, and nobody ever talks about it. Is it just me? Have I been hacked? Am I crazy? Help me.
Entry #3 - 3/17
A girl died.
Her name was Vanessa. She was loved in our school. I'm pretty sure it was only because she was pretty and smart. She was the star player on the volleyball team, everyone was sure she would go pro, make a life for herself. But Vanessa had secrets. A couple people knew about these secrets, just close friends who she had told. She told her best friend, Claire, who told everyone. She was sleeping with the principal. Apparently, her grades were pretty bad, and she needed some "extra help". She performed sexual favors for our principal in favor for straight A's. Of course, this caused a massive scandal in our town. But what shocked us, was that Vanessa was gay. Yeah, our ex-principal, a female. I think that's the real reason Vanessa didn't want this to come out, she wanted to stay in the closet. Her parents are hella homophobic. I'm not surprised she killed herself.
Karrie told me I should write about how I feel concerning the death of Vanessa. Honestly, I don't give a fuck. It's not like were close. She was a basic white bitch. Like, I guess I'm supposed to feel sad such an amazing soul died so young, but I never liked her anyway. She got on my nerves. I wouldn't really care if I was her friend. She wanted to die, we should respect her choice, you know? I'm pissed she died though cause for the next week or so I'm required to go to memorial services and put a flower on her locker and mourn the death and sweet ole Vanessa. If it was 40 so years ago nobody would give a fuck cause she liked girls. I'm glad we're progressive, especially because we're a small redneck town, but I don't care about Vanessa. Nobody's even gonna remember her next month. The next big thing will happen and everyone's gonna start talking about that. All it's gonna be is RIP Vanessa then OMG Ty cheated on Cherry with Ivannia?! Oh shit, forgot, I'm not supposed to know about that. For the record it's fucking obvious, Cherry's just dumb, but that's gonna get out eventually, and I think it might be sooner then later. But don't look at me, I didn't say anything.
Coffee Shop Crazies
"He's literally not even that cute." April rolled her eyes. I scoffed. She obviously has horrible taste in men if she doesn't find this boy cute.
"Yes, he is! I mean, he's literally the perfect guy. I can't even find the words to describe him." I sipped my coffee and lovingly stared at him.
"Well, if he's so cute, go talk to him."
"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" I accidentally shouted. Everyone in the shop turned their heads and stared. Including him. I had never seen him before but as soon as I did, I decided I was destined to be his one and only. His bride, his lover, the mother of his children. Is that creepy? I don't care if it is, it's the truth. If I only I could talk to him.
"Babe, just go up to him. Say hi, introduce yourself. Flirt a little!"
"I'm not you. You're a model, I'm a turtle."
"You're not a turtle. Go or I'm bringing him over here."
"Oh, I would." I hesitated. What if he rejected me? Then I'd have to walk back to our table in absolute embarrassment. Plus, he was on his computer. I didn't want to disturb him.
"Fine. You suck." I finally agreed. I guess I only live once, and this boy, he was my soulmate. We were meant to be. I got out of my chair and started to his table.
"Hi!" He looked up at me, his icy blue eyes piercing my soul.
"Hi? Do I know you?" His voice was deep, making me swoon. Just another perfect thing about him.
"Not yet. I'm Amaya. I saw you from across the room and honestly I couldn't take my eyes off you." What was I saying? Was I flirting? I was unfamiliar with this side of me. How was I doing this?
"Well, I must say, you are pretty good-looking yourself. I'm Chris, take a seat!" He smiled. His teeth were perfect. I swear this man was straight out of a movie, how in the world was he so perfect? And Chris, such a basic but sensual name. Maybe that's just me, but I think Chris is a pretty hot name.
"It's nice to meet you! I've never seen you around, are you new to town?" I asked. I was never very good at small talk.
"Yeah, I moved around a year ago, but I haven't really been in town too much. How long hav-
"CHRIS?! YOU LYING SON OF A BITCH! HOW THE HELL IS THIS?!" A woman stomped over to our table from the cash register. Chris's eyes widened.
"Melissa, it isn't what it looks like. I promi-
"YOU SACK OF SHIT! YOU'RE CHEATING ON ME AGAIN?! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! THAT'S IT, WE'RE DONE! I WANT MY CAT BACK!" The girl ran out of the coffee shop, Chris following yelling,
"Melissa, baby, come back!" I sat in shock, until I heard April laughing so hard, I thought she might fall over. She came over with our coffees in her hand.
"Come on, I wanna see how this turns out! They couldn't have gone far!" April and I darted out of the shop to see this mess of a relationship. I guess that boy was too good to be true.
Hello! I've just got one question: What does being an atheist truly mean? I know it's a simple question, I'm just not very educated about atheism.
Entry #2 - 3/16
I'm done calling Dr. Karrie a doctor. She will from now on be Karrie. All she does is hand me a packet and tells me to write in my book and not to hurt myself. And apparently, she's allowed to read the things I write. Thats just all kinds of fucked up, isn't it? It's like she's allowed to break into my brain and control all of my thoughts. Like she can take over me. Hell no. She's probably gonna get mad for how much I'm swearing. She did last time. Well Karrie, I bet you'll really enjoy this:
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK
That's what I think about your little no swearing policy. It's my book I can write whatever I want. You know what else she said? That I should treat you like a human. You're not a you. You're an it. You're literally a book I'm not gonna be like "Oh diary you won't believe what happened today!" Who does she think I am, a 12 year old? She also said I shouldn't spend so much time writing about her, I should write about myself and my life. She practically is my life. The court said I have to talk to her on the phone daily and see her once a week. If it was up to me, I would just take myself out of my home, but apparently that's not very Christian. The fuck does that even mean?! Crappy ass justice system in my opinion. This whole stupid book thing is getting on my last nerve. I doubt I'll ever write in you again. YOU'RE NOT A YOU!!
Why is everyone so angry? It seems that wherever you look someone is pissed about something or other. I guess as these words spill out of my brain, I'm mad about something too. I'm frustrated with humanity, I'm irritated at my clueless-ness, and I'm annoyed that there are so many words to describe an unhappy emotion that can cause so many negative things for people. Fist fights, break-ups, anger can destroy houses. The things we do out of anger are terrifying. This emotion can take over us and make our decisions for us. It's scary. And on top of all of that, nobody can tell me why everyone is angry. Why is it so hard to stop thinking about the negatives and just chill?
Entry #1 - 3/15
No. That's cringy.
That's worse. I'm humanizing and object. Do you have feelings? Can you hear me? Whatever, I'll just write. Why am I explaining this to you?
Hi, I'm Gina. Don't call me GiGi. I'm not a child, contrary to popular belief. There shouldn't be anyone reading this, unless my psychologist breaks her contract. Or my mother once again decides I'm having intercourse and doing drugs and goes through my room again. My town has practically nobody in it, who would I be having sex with anyway? I could give somebody a whole tour of this shithole in ten minutes. We have a school, a food store, couple random run-down shops here and there, and the pride and joy of our town: the football field. It probably sounds cliche, and honestly it is. It's like Friday Night Lights but with murder. Oh, forgot to mention, we have a serial killer. Nobody can catch them, can't even identify them. They're known as Killer Banksy, because they always make an art piece out of the crime scene. Absolutely gorgeous pieces may I say. I still don't understand why Dr. Karrie is making me do this. All I'm doing is talking to an inanimate object in the form of writing. At least it's not those stupid ink blots. She's all like:
"What do you see?" And I go:
"Ink on paper."
"I mean, what do you really see?"
"I don't know, a face?"
"OH MY GOSH! You have cancer!"
Stupidest shit on the planet. I guess through this she wants me to get out my feelings through writing. I have feelings. I just don't need to cry all the time. I'm entirely and completely fine, yet I still required to write in a book. Now I'm all worked up, and as Dr. Karrie says:
"Just put everything down and breathe. In and out. Like this!" Then she'll proceed to let out the most obnoxious breaths you've ever heard. Stupid, but it works. I'll see you tomorrow. No, I won't. You're a book. You're not real. Fuck this shit.