Dear Diary

this is fiction, i think.

probably.

i forget.

***

November 12, 2008

Dear Diary,

Two hours ago, i just killed my parents. The keyboard’s getting red all over the white as I type. It’s not blood, its. I’ll explain later. Damn. It’s a pretty sight, Diary. Like roses blooming on white sand. Poetry, isn’t it?

hm hm. I Looove poetry. Ever heard of Nevermore, Diary? loved it.

But you never knew my parents, did you, Diary?

Didn’t think so. They were never worthy of being written about. Not until tonight. Just so you know, I’m resisting the urge to laugh. Don’t want the neighbors to get all nosy.

Okay, so lemme introduce them then.

My mom is a doctor. Cool, eh, Diary? Nice, good mommy to help the needy. Her nice, soft touch a signal of hope for the dying. But you don’t know her Diary, don’t say things like that when you don’t know them. SHUT UP!

My mother wasn’t a good person, you idiot! She was vile. Did you know you could jumble up ‘vile’ and come up with ‘evil’? DON’T SIDETRACK ME, DIARY!

There was this one time. I was eight. I don’t think i knew you then, Diary. So you probably don’t know this. But I was sick. Headache, y’know? Huge, pounding headache. I go up to mommy and tug on her skirt.

“Mommy, mommy!” I say, one hand pressed on my temple. “I have a headache.”

You know what she does, Diary? SHE DOES NOTHING!

She looks down at me and smiles. SHE SMILED, DIARY! and she says, “That’s good, sweetie. Now go on outside and play with your friends.”

I swear, Diary. I swear that an arm grew out of my head after that. They took me to the hospital, after that. And mommy scolds at me for not telling that I was growing a cancerous arm on my forehead.

You know what, Diary. I was killing her, right? And I was telling her that same story BE QUIET, DIARY! I’M NOT DONE YET! and, where was I? Oh, yes. So I told her about my third arm. And guess what, Diary? SHE DOESN’T REMEMBER! She doesn’t remember, DIARY!

Oh, tears are flowing down my face, just so you know. I’m laughing, too. Weird, huh? Maybe this is what they call bittersweet. Hm. My tears are salty, though.

Wanna know how I killed her? NOD, DIARY! Okay, if you insist!

Remember those IV tubes I told you about the other night? The one I found lying around and wondered what I should do with them? Well (I’m doing a sing-song voice) I found a use for them!

Mommy keeps a stack of meds at home in case someone makes a house call. I’m not allowed to touch them, even when i have another headache. I’m supposed to buy my own at the pharmacy. ‘Think of the ones in higher need of the drugs, you INCONSIDERATE BASTARD!’ she screamed at my ear once, when i asked for some aspirin.

So these drugs, i got them and blended them together. Capsule and tablet, powder and syrup. Poetry, again, Diary. Hee.

oh and I also found syringes! yay! The ones you attach to IV lines, you know them? OF COURSE YOU DON’T, YOU STUPID VIRTUAL REPLACEMENT OF PEN AND PAPER!

So I assembled tube and needle, and stuck them on every noticeable vein in her body I could find. Oh, slipped two tubes down her throat, too. And I funneled all the blended drugs down the tubes. It was brown and looked like shit. She was screaming, Diary. SCREAMING.

She screamed when I stabbed her while she was lounging on the sofa. I must’ve surprised her or something. She bled a lot, and she was screaming. Tape helps. I didn’t have time for needles and thread. Tape is convenient. LEARN FROM IT, DIARY.

I’m crying again. What’s that? Ooh. I don’t think she’s dead yet, Diary. I can hear her moaning. Can you hear her, Diary? OF COURSE, YOU CAN’T, dum-dum. You don’t got ears. Stupid Diary. Hee.

Oh, wait! You can have my dad’s ears if you want. He doesn’t have much use for it now. And they’re pretty big ears, too. So you’ll have a nice and good listening.

How’s that? The glue’s holding, thank God. Can you hear me? (oh, sorry. I guess I didn’t have to type that. I’ll shout again. Nod if you can hear me.)

YAY!

Can you hear it, Diary? Sound good, huh? Like Beethoven. Or Bach. Which one do you like most? Mozart? Hm. Me, too! We have so much in common! No wonder we’re friends. Hee.

Ooh. Speaking of my dad, I guess it’s time to introduce him!

See, he’s a priest. HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH! i don’t have much of a voice, so i’ll just write it down, i guess.

He’s so full of holiness that what comes off his ass is HOLY SHIT!

I’m laughing, Diary. That was funny, right? RIGHT!? hee.

But he’s not holy, Diary. No, sirree. What did the Joker say? You know, from our favorite movie? M Hm. He said, “My father was a drinker…and a fiend.”

The Joker must’ve been our brother, huh? Coz we had the same dad! or probably cousins.

He was a drinker, my dad. In fact, you could even say that his veins circulate booze. You can prove it by smelling his sweat. And he has the hugest beer gut ever. Like, people would stick flags on his belly button when they reach its summit!

So how did I kill him?

Opposite to what I did to mommy. Y’see, there’s a lot of things you can do with plastic tubes. M hm. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? DUMMY.

I stuck the tubes to his veins, like mommy. I siphoned out all the booze from him. He must’ve drank a lot of wine. Coz the booze that spilled down the bottles on the other end of the tubes were dark.

He didn’t make a sound, Diary. My daddy was a brave man. He heard mommy’s screams. So he comes down, all bombed, hair was a mess. He lumbers towards me, right? And guess what, Diary? He stumbles and landed on my knife! Well, you know what they say: Brave need not mean Smart. Hee.

Hm. I guess now you know my parents. God rest their souls.

Hm. You hungry, Diary? I am. Wait, diaries don’t have stomachs! Hee. Lucky I’m smart, huh? This friendship wouldn’t work out otherwise.

***