The final page of the diary is smudged with pencil lead and blood and dotted with fingerprints. You can't make out what it says and the bottom half of the page has been ripped away.
Something about it is eerie to you, and you feel a sense of madness permeating from the paper itself.
But it's more than just madness. There's something more, something you can't explain and yet you understand perfectly.
It's hopelessness.
There is no hope in this world and you fully realize that.
You're at the end of the diary and yet you still can't make sense of the world around you. You feel scared about what happened, and you don't want to find out any further, yet something deep within you eggs you on. Inside, you're terrified, for those that had suffered, as well as yourself. What will happen to you? You're horrified by what you previously read, and you want it all to stop.
But it won't stop.
The mental demons that dwell this place are slowly manifesting into apparitions that plague your senses. You hear a low clang in your head and you know that it's all just a hallucination. It's followed by sadness. And pain.
Hatred.
You know fully well what it does to others. You know what it does to you. You've felt it before, that buzzing in your head, that undeniable rage that causes you to lose yourself in a frenzy. You remember throwing something once in a past life. It may have hit the wall or just clattered over the ground, shattered to pieces or stayed intact, you can't recall for certain.
But you know the feeling.
And it's awful.
This pain and this rage and this hatred boils all around you. It drips seamlessly from the diary in your hands. You drop it to the ground.
You know all that you can stand to know.
Even still…
You're not ready to see the truth.