Into the void #1

September 15

Dear diary,

 or I think it's called that, I saw my neighbor call one of his stuff books. I never happen to grasp the concept behind why people called their diaries dear, until I started writing in it.

I am James Augustus Spens, I was born in California. A beautiful place with memories which lasted till death.

I come from a family which counted coins to buy bread , a place which looked dreadful than hell or a place one never heard a voice of faith.

My family was beautiful, I had my mom and my dad.along with the grave of my unborn sister in the house.

My mom was an epitome of beauty, white skin with dark brown eyes, she had her hair till her waist which she never tied, her voice was so beautiful so exquisite, she never looks as she belongs to this family unless someone sees her in this house,

Our house.

My father, a man with rich tan skin, who possessed one of the beautiful paired blue eyes. Unlike my mother my father described us.

Our house always reeked of my father, he never leaves the house. He likes to sit on the worn out couch and pretend he rules the entire household. He loves it when people are submissive to him.

My mother was a clerk, she was the only one who worked every day to earn us some food to eat. She worked day and night to earn a mere sum of amount which handled our daily bread, my schooling and the alcohol my dad 'deserves'.

Our house was at the outskirts of the town, which held my dad responsible for the fire at the gas station which killed nearly 35 people of the current ruling party in the town. It was obvious that my dad was thrown out with sack filled with shame and reason to drink and reek us with his filth.

Our house was a simple house with peeled paint and webs which occupied more space than furniture. A beautiful garden, my mom's pride and an attic which held my desires more wild.

I loved the attic than every other part of the house. It had a small window which showed the park outside and happy children playing their hearts...

I was once in the attic looking at those children "why can they laugh so beautifully?" was all I thought. When my thought was interrupted by the creak of the door.

The ominous feel which lingered in my veins shouted their might, but all I could do was stare at the children when the glass shattered on the floor, when the nails scratched the floor and the shouts which were louder than the storm and the voice too scared to sound like my mom.

My dear mother..." why...? Why are the children laughing so beautifully?"

Was all I ever asked in the chaos that filled the dreadful house and the eyes which watered the blood which was never mine to claim.

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