Insanity At It's Best: *** Me Softly

Dr. Grant leans over in his chair and grabs something inside his bag. I watch with curiosity as he pulls out a leather book. He holds it out, exposing the dark leather stitched with silver thread. My eyes follow each stitch, as it flowed and looped to make a large crescent moon. I smile, which has a weird feeling on my face. It strangely tickles.

"Astra, I want you to write into this as often as possible. I want you to write what you are feeling and about your childhood. Don't worry, no one will read it. This is just for you," Dr. Grant sits back and watches me. I trace my fingers on the embroidery and nod.

As I walk away from my therapist for more than 15 years, I can't help but admire my new object. I adore how there is a moon on the cover.

My name is actually Astra Moon Rebs. Once I turned 18 years of age I removed Rebs and replaced it with Moon. I did not want to be affiliated with that last name no more. For two years I've been going by Astra Moon. Nothing more.

The streets of Justice, Texas, were oddly quiet for this time of year. The sky is a deadly black, the air chokes me with it's icy grip. I pull my coat closer, it was so cold. The snow pushes against my clothes, almost trying to get me to take them off. I shake, spilling the flakes across the ground. A man passes me, smiling. I ignore his friendliness.

My home is on Winchester, one of the most promising subdivisions in the area. It's a family heirloom, something my grandmother left her only grandchild. The house is a gigantic Victorian Gothic themed home. It's not lit up like the houses around me, rather living in darkness. I punch in my code at the large rod iron gates and step inside. It was another ten minutes of walking just to get into the actual house. Great Great Uncle James was a nut job; he was afraid the world was after his money. So at the door is another key pad, with another code, and then the key.

I am greeted by no one; I don't believe in being waited on. I only have a elderly woman come in once a week to dust the place. In the 10,000 square foot house I actually live alone. No husband, no children and no pets. I didn't need anyone else in my life, I'm perfectly fine where I am. I walk up the flight of stairs; there are three stories in the whole house. The very top is where I stay. I'm lazy, so I had a bathroom and kitchen stalled up there too.

It feels nice to get somewhere warm. I walk into the suit and quickly get undressed. A chill goes down my spine. The heat is turned up for the upstairs; I didn't even bother for any other levels. The house is silent like the grave as I climb into my king size bed. Something else Grandmother gave me. It's silk, soft sheets swallow me immediately making my eyes droop. Instead of sleeping I take my new journal out to try it out.

My name is Astra Moon, my last name was dropped because I hate who my family is. My biological father left when I was five years old. For years after that all I was told how much of a horrible man he was. How he isn't fit to be a father to anyone, because what he did to me. Apparently when I was just two years old he molested and raped me occasionally. When my biological mother found out, she kicked him to the curb. Or so I was told. That is why I hate my last name, it reminds me how fucked up my family is.

I stare down at the writing. Immediately I frown and scratch out everything but my name. Nobody needs to hear my sad, sloppy story. Angrily I toss the beautiful book across the room and curl up with my pillow. I need my beauty sleep, I'm going to have fun tomorrow.