Spike turned the page to the next entry, and dread filled him as he glanced at the date of the entry. He swallowed hard, unsure whether or not he could read what followed. Steeling himself, and desperately wishing for some additional form of alcohol to help him finish what he'd started, he began to read.
Dear Diary,
It's not real.
It's not.
She's not...
She can't be...
They said, but...
Mom's not dead. She can't be. I need her. Dawn needs her. I can't do this without her. I found her...on the couch. So still...peaceful. Like she was sleeping.
She was cold. I threw up.
Oh, God. What am I going to do?