"I might be the next to die. I guess I've about another 72 hours before they'll call my name. But, perhaps what I am writing, when, or even if, this is found, will inspire at least one of you enough to do what it takes to make it longer than I did."
The first lines of Jessica's short yet exhilarating diary. Maybe these words are enough to get your attention, maybe not. But give her a chance to explain herself, she's been through so much after all.
" June 14th 06. 07.45pm: Still no sign of my brothers. Harsh as it seems, I'm presuming that both are dead. My mother and I tried our damndest to stop them from taking Michael and Stephen but it appeared that we were too weak. Oh, and of my dear parents, my mother, if the last relevant information I received is correct, she is safely accommodated in the next house. My father, I have had no contact with since I began taking my first steps in the world. Awfully sad isn't it.
The sirens from outside my window are creeping in through the cracked walls, the only source of light in this pathetic excuse for sanctuary.
The haunting bangs against these four walls, the screams which remind me of what's yet to come for me, and perhaps, what in fact, I find to be the most terrifying sense of this situation, is the smell. The stench which seeps through the doorframe into my death cell, the smell, of rotting flesh. Victims of those horrendous people.
And whilst I am staying strong, to write you these words of advice and allow you to follow my story until I can no longer write, the only thought I cannot refuse the rights to cross my mind….How is my life to end…All I can hope is that it won't be half as awful as I am expecting…"
Okay, so perhaps this isn't the sort of happy story you're wanting to read on a day like this. But surely each one of you understands that Jessica is doing this solely for your purpose. To perhaps guide you along the right lines, if you're hoping to at least begin to understand her feelings, and be with her, in writing, for the last hours she has to live.
"June 14th 06. 01:45am: Perhaps you are wondering as to how I am aware of the time, yet confined to live in such a small room that even oxygen is scarce.
The truth is, that time is the only living memory of my beloved father. When I was young, he left me with a sealed wooden box, which I was ordered to not attempt to open, until my 10th birthday. Upon doing so, I was to find the watch I am wearing tonight. This may just be my imagination going slightly crazy at the thoughts of the time I have remaining running wild, but this watch still olds the scent of my father.
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