Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

This is a story I'm writing for school. I want to type it up on gaia because I'm lacking word and I want to stay upstairs. So here we go, none of this is serious.




I'm going to tell you a quick story before I blow my head off. I've got a handgun on my desk, as well as a mess of old dishes and other trash. I hope you will forgive my writing too, as I am, by nature, a slob. Besides, it's not like the current situation is at all helping matters.

My name is Ronald, I'm twenty-five years old, one hundred fifty-five pounds, and I live with my parents. I don't need to waste my time telling you this; it'll all be on my death certificate anyway, and I'm sure that will make more sense than the story I'm about to tell you.

What could possabley driven me to killing myself you ask? I have until the oak door to my room breaks down to tell you, then, as soon is this is done and printed, I'm gone.

My friend Jake is a monster. Not a monster you read about in halloween stories either, he is a real monster, a human, driven to the brinks of insanity by a mad lust for revenge.

During my troubled, early, youth, Jake and I were inseperable. No one ever took any notice of him, and no one ever talked to him. He was the same age as me, and looked almost like my identical twin. He helped me cope with my less than normal household and life. At age fifteen my Mom sent me to a man I'd never seen before. I walked into the room where he was seated, it smelled faintly like lavender, and it was very relaxing. Jake was not with me at the time, he was at my house in my room, where he lived.

"Please take a seat Robert," the man said to me. I complied, and layed down on the couch next to him.

After that, he proceeded to introduce himself as a doctor of mental specialization. I payed little attention, distracted, taking in the fine details of his office. He then told me he was here with me to talk about Jack, I agreed, it definately wasn't the first time someone had said something of the like to me.

I went back to the doctor a few times in the next few weeks. Over the course of that time, he conviced me that Jake wasn't real, that he was just a figment of my imagination. In the end, he told me to ask Jake to leave the house, to never return. He wouldn't have any other place to go, so I was slow to agree, but I ended up doing so.

I kicked the leech that Jake was out of my house. I felt no remorce, no pity tword this one who had taken my childhood away from me, the one who was the sole reason I had no "real" friends, the one who made my own parents think I was crazy! He was a prasite! He lived off my life, at my own expense. He needed to be kicked out.

He stood out in the cold October night, looking back at me with the utmost look of sadness in his eyes. I paused, and slammed the door in his face. It was eleven long years before I saw him again.

While he was gone, however, I made friends who were acctually people! I had never in my life felt so happy, although I never moved out of my parent's house. Those years were a cool drink for the hot summer day that was my life.

My life was that way until last night, I heard a snap of a twig outside my window while I was in bed. Do not ask me how I knew who it was out there, or why I did not flee at that exact moment. My blood curdled. I slowly turned my head to look out the window so close to my bed where the sound was heard, but nothing was there but the cold darkness. I didn't fall back to sleep that night, indeed my slumber before I was awoken that night, was the last sleep I fear I will ever get in my life.

When it was light enough to excuse me going downstairs, I did just that. It was halloween day, there were no decorations in my house, only a dismal scilence. Where my parents normally were by the table that morning, there was nothing, save a copious amount of dark brown, drying blood.

Running up the stairs seemed to take an eternity. The warmpth of fear crept up the vains in the back of my head and into my very soul. I was pierced with terror, and I felt like a lone solder must feel behind enemy lines, the rest of his troop killed by men pacing only a few feet from his hiding place.

Indeed my fear was so intense, that I hadn't even realized that I had barricaded my door and windows and was now sitting on my chair in front of my computer, my prize possession and comfort item. There I sat, for heaven knows how long, until the banging on my door started.

That brings me to where I am now. Typing my last words up on the computer, while a large crack has formed in my room's door. Still the bashing continues, my heart falling into rythm with it, its beat pressing against my ribs.

Wait, why do I have to kill myself? Why don't I use the gun on Jake? This is a great idea! If I survive, I'll come back to the computer and tell you what happens.