Date: 2/4/ 10
Time: 9:45 pm
I and my family always lived on NH 34, India. No change of location, house or room was required they said and I uncertainly accepted it. They said our home is paradise, I accepted it. They said I have no option but comply, I agreed.
I was merely a teen back then. I was merely a child back then.
I didn't know what I was. I was just, not human.
My father was a lawyer, successful I might add for a certain period of time before the bottle came. Finance was never a problem during the first 8 years of my life, but we lived a rather extravagant lifestyle than his means could support. This house was bought just the moment I was born.
My mother always makes me remember during my birthdays that I didn't cried when I was born, soaked in blood, I smiled at the doctor.
Our house was 3 storied; large, spacious and dark. My father had a good taste, my favorite place was the living room but it was not because of the glandular design; of course it was the T.V. But I barely spent time outside my bedroom. My bedroom was large per say, one of the walls' black with miniscule white circles which my father described as "Stars" or whatever they were; I never looked up during night time because I was too distant with it.
Don't get me wrong, I love my family. By the grace of whatever up there I got a loving father and a mother who spoiled me rotten ever since I was born, though it was with exchange of 80-90% in answer sheets. I would have loved to comply with it if the school didn't just test memory; even one of the psychiatrist said I had a great IQ level (I am not bragging, really). Though they missed one thing while giving it all; understanding.
But now when I think about it, I never needed them; I had it with me.
During my first two years, I slept with my parents and at the beginning of 4; my room was shifted upstairs where I had no mommy to comfort for the initiation months. That's, during night when I would brawl and my parents would be sleeping soundlessly downstairs, didn't perhaps care what might happen; I felt.
Soft, soft hands running on my head; Smoothing out my messy mop of black hair, blowing air in my ears, making me giggle. And a voice so small that it might have gone ignored.
Smooth.
As if on cue, I slept longer than I mostly did.
Your companion,
L
YOU ARE READING
Diary of images
Paranormal" They don't know, its real, they don't believe. They lack understanding, they say I am insane. Is it true?" Entries in a diary of a girl with a fantasy prone personality. (Image from flickr)
