Chapter Two

Threadbare Sanity

Author's Note: Sincere apologies for forgetting to include a disclaimer in the previous entry, as well as a few notes. The first chapter was just supposed to be an introduction to reinforce Angeline's insanity, and the chapters that follow it are really the consequences. It will done from many points of view, starting from Artemis, and then progressing slowly to include Butler, Juliet, and Holly. Or more. Thank you for all your reviews, they were enjoyable to read, and please continue to point out my mistakes or offer critical advice so that I can continue to improve.

Trisani: You don't have a guestbook on your blog, so I'd just like to clear up a few things here - no, I'm not cutting myself, my friend is. I think cutting is quite ludicrous (but that's another story), and the reason why I muse so much about it is because I think I'm finally growing a heart. I don't like to portray myself as a problematic teen because I'm really not. Perhaps I just seem to have a difficult life because of the way I pen my thoughts down. Honestly, I used to be in that angsty, rebellious teenage stage, but now I'm pretty much more mellow. You should compare the differences between my two blogs, and you might be able to point out the changes. Cheero.

(Artemis' point of view)

January 25, 2002

Dear me,

It's probably my own self-centredness that I choose to address my journal this way, or if you were more intelligent, you would agree with me and think it was a wise move. Honestly, why do people address their journal as "Dear Diary"? It's all very silly, for how can anyone expect a non-living thing to answer your questions and agree with what you think? Personally, I feel the purpose of a journal is to keep in touch with your inner self, to delve into the depths of your own mind and find out hidden secrets you don't even know about. Or to help you make a character analysis of yourself, for it is hardest to judge your own self. And that in forty years' time, you will flip back the pages of this journal and laugh at how deluded you were, thinking you were so mature, thinking you had the ability to handle all your problems in just the palm of one hand, thinking you were ready to take on the world, when in all actuality you hadn't grown up, and merely stood poised on the brink of wisdom and immaturity.

Perhaps I will use this as a mirror then, and in the midst of writing, I might even surprise myself at finding out the things I don't show outside of my facade. Yes, my whole life is a play, a play to just entertain and please the audience. Sometimes, I get so caught up in acting I forget what true emotion is. So this could also serve to remind myself that I am merely human after all, with dreams, ambitions, fears, feelings, and lust.

It's scary to think that some people in Ireland know what's going on behind the walls of Fowl Manor. Perhaps the news spread because Juliet loves to associate with the boys around here, and sometimes she never knows when to keep her mouth shut. How do I know that the news has spread? Being the social leper that I am, I logged onto the Internet in order to chat with a few people in a bid to try and reach out to the youths my age. Also to rid myself of my own cynicism, which has resulted in me leading a lonely life. At times, these people even serve as a source of entertainment with the way they misspell things, and gossip about Justin Timberlake or Britney Spears, thinking that they're so hip to know the intimate details of a superstar's life.

Or maybe, seeing that I am a growing teenage boy, I would feel the need to satisfy a growing lust. I've begun to take an interest in girls lately. But knowing me, I would never take the initiative to ask them out. My own shyness repulses me sometimes. Somehow, my own genius has resulted in me not knowing how to communicate with people on the same level, and not knowing how to socialise. Somehow, that has caused me to create my own bubble and continue living in it, not daring to approach the world beyond its cold boundaries, afraid of getting my feelings hurt, and because I base my life on too much passion and emotion, bursting that precious bubble would destroy my own fragile existence. Everything would shatter.

But I digress. Today I had the utmost misfortune to converse with a girl who named herself Angel789. The words that tumbled out of her mouth were the typical colour of fuchsia pink, a growing obsession with many girls lately, and she was obviously a fast typist as she screamed *"LOL" after every second. What exactly was so funny I never realised, but the thing about her that caught my attention was the fact that she was probably the worst of the gossipers. I shall now attempt to rewrite our conversation:

Angel789: so where r u frm?

Me: Er, I'm from Ireland.

Angel789: coolx! im frm ireland too

Me: ....Right.

Angel789: lol. so u muz haf heard abt tat loony mother

Me: What loony mother?

Angel789: well, it isnt all tt publicised yet but i heard frm my friend that wealth isnt everythin

Me: I don't understand. What has wealth got to do with your previous statement?

Angel789: LOL! errr...u noe the fowl family? they're lyke, the richest family in ireland or sumthink like tt

Me: Erm, yes.

Angel789: i herd the mother's a bit loony or sumtink, which goes to show sumtimez wealth doesnt bring you happiness.

Me: Oh, really?

Angel789: yep. lol. quite funny, apprently her husband left and she got a bit wacko

Me: ....Oh.

Angel789: ahaha. i pity her son though. wat's gonna happen 2 him?

I would have never thought that my family matters would have gotten this far. Which make things even worse, because then the Social Services might come to get me soon, and I don't want that. What is going to happen to me? Would I be labelled as one of those "Boys Who Have Been Rejected" and put into a home? Or will I be forced to live with one of those ageing, white-haired octogenarians, who are leading as lonely a life as mine? The Social Service workers don't understand: dysfunctional as my family may be, I belong here, and I came from my mother's womb. Somehow there is an unexplainable bond. Why would I want to begin my life anew under two people who happen to be unable to conceive and want a child? They would merely pretend to understand me, hypocritical as humans are, and they just want me because I'm just another boy, nameless probably to them. I'm just someone that can be taken away (regardless of whether he had a mother or not) and dumped in another house so that they can satisfy their miserable longing of wanting a child of their own. And yet, I am not theirs.

And the Social Services delude themselves by thinking they would give me a better life, but how can my life be better if I am receiving fake parental love and pretending to reciprocate it in return? Before Mother went mad I had happy memories, and if only Father were to come back, all of that would return. I suppose I'm simple, really, so don't call me wimpy. In the end, humans were made to love and be loved in return.

Under such pressure I always succumb to the thought of plotting another dastardly act. Somehow it takes my mind away from thinking about the unknown, about what my life will turn out like under another person's care. I miss Father. I really do. If he hadn't left, everything wouldn't have gotten so complicated. I almost hate him, and yet I yearn for him to come back and treat me like the son he always did.

I don't think Mother is the only one going mad. I'm going mad too, I feel my sanity slipping away, slipping away, slipping away. One of these days I may even be driven to a point where I'll commit a crime unknowingly and stupidly get caught for it.

* LOL - abbreviation and Net lingo for "laugh out loud".