it sucKs but oh well I'd say a -5 on the ten-point horror scale
Lol okay I don't cARE
Dedicated to the fan-DIDDLY-tastic BrendanBagwell aka the merch man for My Last Years holla
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Day One.
Yesterday, upon the highest hour of the moon, I watched the light sweep over the top of the stairs. Would it even count as yesterday? Probably not. I shouldn't question it. Kim says I shouldn't question anything, that it'll be best left alone.
Most things are best left alone. When you leave things alone, you hold a piece of tranquility dear at heart--unless, of course, you're watching someone get beaten to death. But, hey, things are best left alone, right?
The moonlight reminded me of the way that even through darkness, things shine. Or, actually, things (the moon) reflect. It's sort of an analogy about a copycat. To some circumstances, you could compare it to the media: the sun is the real star, but the moon reflects in the way it is angled to the Earth. I never really did like the moon.
Darkness is something of a different spectrum, enticing me to each end of the once presumably flat planet. When the day waves goodbye and the plants wish each other goodnight, a certain... Aura surrounds the night's entirety. So many things happen in this common and daily thing that it's laughable at how the ill-advised politicians haven't tried to ban it.
It's against my better judgement to counteract things I'm destined to not be involved with. It's just... Not what I do. I'm scared of the outcome. I'm scared of a lot of things--even myself.
Day Two.
Maybe I was distant to Maddie, my wonderful and magnificent girlfriend. All in all, I couldn't really help it; a dull ache embodied me, but at the same time it struck me with as much force as a sharpened blade, ready to twist my insides out. Truth is, I loved Maddie with all my heart, and it hurt even more to see her fake a smile from my brash attitude.
I don't think I can handle that; I looked away from her and fixed my beanie, molding a smile onto my face, as well. When I turned my head back at her, I saw a twinkle in her eye that was unmatchable. No star in the entire universe could replicate what Maddie beheld, right in front of me. And I'm the lucky guy that gets to witness and be present in her blatant glory.
Maddie could turn any frown upside down with her I'm-cold-let's-eat-ice-cream antics. Wow, you could never really get bored with her. I would do anything to keep her--and if it came down to it, I would push for her to strive for the better of her future. Hopefully, that's with me. I don't think I could move on without her, though.
The entire day we just laid in bed. She tried to console me with Vic's abrupt death. Vic was a feisty lizard, but lovable nonetheless. I won't ever forget him, damn, I won't forget a lot of things. My eighteen years have taught me that life is made of memories. I couldn't bear the thought of developing Alzheimer's disease.
Day Three.
Writing in this squalid, barely decent notebook I found in the attic was somewhat comforting. It was now my solace that I looked forward to each and every day. Though, this is my third day, it has already stitched a spot on my heart. What a dumb thing to get addicted to.
I visited Kim, and she laughed at me, explaining it was my height that she never expected. Thing is, I never really met her before until now. Social media was a sort of religion I never thought I'd stick to, but here I am, broadcasting on this app called YouNow almost every night for people across the damn country. Kim was the only person who actually lived in Georgia.
All in all, Kim was like the little sister I never had. She had bright blue eyes and black hair--which was neatly pulled together by a small smile. She was thirteen, and had a handle on my life that even I don't have as an eighteen year old senior. My college days were coming closer and yet I still, somehow, was obedient to almost everyone. Kinda like I was just naturally compliant.
The time is currently 1:24 a.m. ... I woke up a few minutes ago and had the urge to write this. Maybe today held a strand of significance that my day self wouldn't recognize--possibly, I was just a little too loopy when tired. The latter doesn't seem more plausible. After all, surely, everyone acts the same 24/7; I don't care if you're tired, and I definitely don't care if you're drunk; change takes such a long time, that even your second face will shy away and bleed with the raw audacity of appearing at the wrong, most vulnerable time.
Aside from my dull, dumb, and unneeded emotions, it's like this darkness from the corner of my room is continuously growing, stretching to every inch of my pale walls. It embodies a light that is made of darkness, and is completely different from the night. Yes, entirely different: I don't know how it does it, but it's black as pitch but whiter than snow at the same time. It curls and curls around my dresser and bed; it wedges itself through tiny cracks--and then it curls again, wedging deeper and deeper into everything, like it's forcefully possessing these objects. The curling and wedging is repeated over and over and over, practically letting off this sound of a nail being pounded into my head. Nevertheless, at the same time, nothing hurts: I'm fine and I'm relaxed, stuck with a ratty notebook and a pen in my hand. The darkness is so captivating, that it's splitting me into two different universes.
Day Sixteen.
It's a poison in my veins. Ha, c'est la vie. What could I possibly do? From stories I've heard, that's life. Everyone goes through something like this, I know it--whether it was as a child of through adult years, everyone has this.
Sierra, otherwise known as "Bunny" on YouNow, was energetic in the chat, ecstatically talking about a "thug bug party"... Whatever that is. I just know that one time I found a picture of me with drawn on bugs in a Snapchat story. Can't say I'm too fond of it.
... A lot has happened the past thirteen days. I stopped writing because I'm paranoid that someone is reading through: the pages are bent in places I know I never touched. Possibly--maybe--it was the girl who sits in the corner where the darkness first appaeared. Her eyes are sunken in with dark bags underneath, greasy hair framing her face.
"I could be the Devil, you could be the sinner," she keeps whispering, over and over. I try to tell her to snap out of it--I'm screaming it. She refuses to listen and just sits there, staring at me wide eyes. I offered her a shower to rinse the evident dirt off her skin, but she didn't answer.
It came to a point where I asked her: "What if I don't want to be a sinner?"
She replied with a simple "You can't be the Devil."
This fatty old notebook is hiding something evil.
Day Eighteen.
I can't brave up enough to actually throw this away. I tried to leave it alone but my hand grabbed the pen and decided to intervene. This isn't how I was taught to react, no. I don't trust the girl in the corner; she won't leave me alone, why won't she leave? She never moves. Her lips fumble every once in awhile, and that causes a tooth to spill out of her mouth and plummet to the ground with a plink.
Obedience helps the world go round; it helps keep things in order so there's no rupture in plans or the future. Obedience is suitable, and conforms to the rules of those who enforce this idea. Compliance is made for those under the law, giving them a role that will bend.
But why won't she obey me? I am no where near weak--I'm practically invincable, yes I am.
A/N *screams*
Love ya Brendan lol
