It's Gonna Take A Little Time... A Little Time To Think Things Over...

Chapter 52: Dear Diary

JACKSON
I raised my pencil above my diary as everyone stared at me. I read aloud as I wrote.

'Dear diary,
Exer died. I don't know how, or why you chose to take him away from us, but he's gone. Please bring him back.'

And I shut the diary hopefully. Everyone stared and waited expectantly for something to happen. I slid my smooth hands across the fabric cover and opened it, looking for any childhood drawings or signs of green to indicate something happened. I even flipped to the final page, but no new phrases had been burned in with a green ink.

Hm. Odd. I mean, I doubted that my diary, no matter how powerful, could bring that sweet teenage boy who had so much to live for back to life. But what could I do? It's like my whole life was bound in these crumpled pages, faded pencil scratches and aimless doodles in it. I hated writing in the thing, and was trying not too, even though I believe that it was the thing that caused me the pain in my aching chest.

I had tried to write in different journals, but they didn't extract the poison I felt in my body. They just added to the increasing pain I felt. I could feel the pain subside when I wrote in this cursed object clenched in my shaking hands, and I hated it. I hated it so much. It was the tool of my manipulation, and it was backfiring on me now. Why it was, I don't know if I ever will, but I hated this thing with a passion. It was horrid, so horrible.

What broke my heart the most however was watching the blonde, who had gone through so much pain, and was so desperate to see his best friend again, looking around hopefully as of Exer would just appear out of thin air, which, of course, he didn't.

Pamela glanced around too, but as she looked at Ron, and he looked back at her, they both shared the same thought. It was no use. Exer wasn't coming back. He was six feet under, buried with the curling vines and a bouquet of the poppies his father had loved so much, simply because they reminded him of his mother.

That cloudy day was going to forever be etched in the jagged lines of Jackson's mind. The casket was open, and sitting outside. It was cold and brittle outside, everyone huddled in dark cloaks and coats. No one was smiling. No one was laughing. They were just mourning the loss of a once loved boy, who was known for making people smile, being kind, and making the best coffee in town. Cup O' Cat had closed for a while out of respect.

Mrs. Miller, Linda, Brenda, Ron, Pam, Ken, Jolie, Timothy, pretty much everyone other than some school bullies had shown up for the funeral. Jackson had stood there in the tailcoat he wore at the long forgotten musical, standing next to Pamela and Ronald. Pamela had been crying, eyes puffy and mascara dripping. Ron had cried too. Jackson couldn't. He felt all these empty, guilt filled emotions ready to explode inside his chest.

Jackson had stepped forward to look at Exer, and almost immediately regretted it. The boy had been wearing a crisp suit, brunette curls falling perfectly in place, and those amber eyes were shut. He looked so peaceful, so alive. But he wasn't alive. He wasn't. As he looked down at the boy he had hated and adored at the same time, that's when he started crying. His shoulders had shook with pain, as the sobs racked through his tired body. Someone with gentle hands and quiet sniffles had walked up behind him and took his shoulder, leading him away.

The person smelled like a fresh orange, citrusy and tart. He knew it was Jolie when she placed a kiss on his cheek and hugged him. He sank into her embrace, squeezing her back. He couldn't bring himself to watch Brenda approach her brother's best friend in the casket. Though he squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn't muffle the gnarled sob of pain from the pumpkin haired girl.