Keeping a journal has always seemed unimportant to me. I'm basically talking to myself; can't I do that in my head? Alas, my "shrink" says that it would be helpful for me to write out the events that have led me to therapy in the first place because "I don't seem to want to communicate to her verbally". Whatever. So here goes. My name is Sage Autumn Reynolds. Sage..what were my parents thinking eh? Anyway, before any of this…stuff happened I was just a normal 16-year-old girl who thought her life was basically perfect. I mean, don't get me wrong I had your basic teenage issues like a curfew and punishment for bad grades but I never considered my life to be a nightmare. I guess now I'm supposed to write about the day I found out that I was wrong.
It was the first day back to school after summer, in my junior year. Exciting stuff. My parents were both professors at some community college about 10 miles from our house. I had a pretty standard family life. Two loving parents, complete with an annoying infant brother named Liam who never seemed to be happy long enough to stop crying. The only thing even a little out of place was our family pet, Pork. He was my pot bellied pig that I begged my father for for three straight weeks after I found him, persistence pays off. Anyway on with what this stupid journal is actually being written about.
Anyway, like I said first day back after summer break. I woke up and did my morning routine; you know, hair, brush teeth, clothes. When I got down the stairs my parents were at their normal seats around the table while Liam was strapped into his highchair, nothing out of the ordinary…but for some reason I couldn't help but feeling like something was wrong, but since I could see nothing out of place, I shook it off as me being tired.
"Morning mom, Morning dad" I said while bending down to give Liam a little peck on the cheek. I ended up getting smeared in the face with his soggy cheerios. Brat.
"Oh, hey honey, can you make sure you come straight home after school, your mother and I have something to tell you."
"Ok sure dad" I reply, noticing that my mother looks….terrified.
And as I walk out of the house and start my short walk to school, the feeling comes back and this time I don't bother trying to shake it. Something is definitely wrong.
