aka. The Heffley Family's Drug Dealing Dilemma
10/3/20XX Saturday
I killed my first person today.
It's 3 o'clock in the morning, and my hands are shaking. I can't even hold my pencil right. My heart's trying to jump out of my chest, and I'm breathing so fast that I probably crossed the line into suffocation.
I'm hiding under my covers right now. The flashlight I'm using shows my sweat covering the places where my hand was. My next few pages are about to be wrinkled, now.
My name is Greg Heffley. I'm only 14. I'm a freshman at Crossland High School. I like playing video games and watching TV. I've also beaten all of Twisted Wizards 3 without losing a life. I bet I can beat anyone head to head at my school on on any game I've played.
Mom and Dad were always kinda mad at me for spending all my time on the screen. At least I wasn't like my older brother, Rodrick. He has his own rock band, Löded Diper. He listens to music that I'm pretty sure is just a string of curse words. I bet he also vapes and smokes pot. But that doesn't compare to what I did today. I'd like to say that I'm not a killer. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.
I'm not a murderer.
I wish it was true.
10/3/20XX Saturday
I guess Mom was right. Sleep does make you feel better. It's only now that I'm starting to be grateful for her advice, ever since she disappeared a month ago. That's what everyone else thinks. Only me, Dad, and Rodrick know that she was kidnapped by some mega cartel.
It was a Saturday. At 10:30, she'd leave to go to the store five blocks away to buy whatever gluten free, salt-free health food for the week. Our family hated the stuff - Rodrick lived on the chips and soda he hid in his truck. Dad also spent more time eating out by himself. Me and Manny were stuck gagging bland, coarse grains of quinoa-kale-chia casserole down our throats.
That stuff takes a toll on you, I swear. It's like every Mommy mag preaches feeding your family superfoods, like some legal Xanax for hyperactive kids. If I ruled the country, I'd make it illegal to deprive your kid from the amount of sugar in two Snickers a day. Sugar is, in my opinion, an essential nutrient for success. The night before Mom had been snatched, she and I had faught about her grocery selection. I presented my arguments - pretty convincingly, if I say so myself - to her. She shut me down, telling me that I'd thank her when I got out of college. I wouldn't even graduate from high school in another four years, I replied. Mom didn't accept the rebuttal. She grounded me for two weeks for "insubordination".
Dad noticed that something wasn't right the moment he stepped through the door connecting the garage to the laundry room. He always got home by 6, on the dot. The lack of the smell of boiled bean burgers or whatever Mom copied online tipped him off, I think.
I was busy trying to beat Twisted Wizard 4's City of Shadows DLC, so I didn't notice anything wrong until Dad was asking me about Mom in a tone I've never heard in my life. He sounded scared. Dad might've preferred building his WWI figures in the basement compared to some horror movie, but he'd never flinch at the stuff I'd see in my nightmares.
He shook down Manny and Rodrick for where Mom was, but nobody knew. It was then when our phone in the kitchen rang. Dad took the call. He started off with a polite "Hello?", then started speaking with his "Let's talk, Friend." voice I've heard only once before.
A year ago, some guy who looked like Rodrick on meth (That anti drug speech they had in middle school scarred me.) tried to mug me and Dad in a parking lot. He pulled out this wicked sharp knife and told us to hand over our wallets, or else. Lucky (or, unlucky) for me, I was, as always, broke. Dad, however, had words for this guy. I didn't hear what he said, because he dragged the mugger to a nearby alley, but the Rodrick lookalike was bawling by the time Dad told me to get in the car. If Dad could get some hardened thug begging for forgiveness, I sure as heck didn't want his wrath. I stopped fooling around around him since then.
But when Dad used that same tone again on the phone, I knew something was up. As far as I know, he only used that voice for people waving knives at us. That had to be serious.
Dad hated us eavesdropping on our phone calls, but curiosity got the better of me. I pressed myself against the kitchen entrance and listened.
Looking back, I regret it. I guess nothing would've changed even if I hadn't heard what happened to Mom. I mean, she's still kidnapped to who-knows-where, under the watchful eye of some huge drug dealing gang. Dad's still working with the drug people on the side, sending papers to suspicious people at 4 AM. And I still killed Dad's coworker in our own house.
I feel better now after 9 hours of sleep. I'm kind of in a haze right now. Some part of me thinks that this is all some sick nightmare, with me in a coma for the past month. Like I just gotta pinch myself hard in the cheek and it'll all go away. I'll have to deal with Mom's crazy ideas to get me a role model and stuff, but I'll take that any day now. Though she probably won't forgive me for bludgeoning someone, dream or not. I'll still take it. I hate to say this, but I really, really miss her.
