Diary of a Hairy Beast

Dear Diary,

I am a failure. I could see Dad through the window of the hotel he was staying in after spending a year searching for him. I had the knife in my hand and he was alone. I could smell evil radiating from his body, hear the beating of his black heart.

And I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The window was open and the moment I had been waiting for wasn’t what I expected it would be. For if I killed him, what would make me any different from him? So I left my Mum in her grave, with her killer at large while I could have killed him, avenged her death. And I am still breathing.

I have lived off next to nothing these last few months; any money was spent on drugs and alcohol. I became dependant, the euphoria and the happiness I gained from them blocked out the horror that was my life. Now I can’t live without.

No money. No home. No family.