Journal #1.0
2.8.53.
1600 hours
Today is February 8supth/sup of the year 2053, the day before me and my twin sister's 13supth/sup birthday. My father, who left to go on a space mission only a few days ago, with my brother, gave me this Journal in a small package before he left. I don't know what else to do with it other than this. I plan on writing about everything from boys to the imaginary letters I will "send" to dad and Matt in space. I'm not sure if or when I will show Katie this, but for now I think I want to keep this to myself. Katie would be mad at me for weeks, I'm not sure I could bear that. I suppose it's finally time to tell my story…
Even if it is only in my Journal.
As I recall it, it was not my plan to have my life flipped upside down in such a manor. I was walking home from my study class at stifling the gasps of pain, from the previous night of beatings. Though many of my past life memories have faded over time, I can always remember this one, I don't think fate would ever let me forget this. Fearing that my parents would assume the worst, they were already suspicious, they didn't need to know as far as I was concerned.
I was unsure why I had to deal with this all the time, I knew that people didn't like me. That situation was by no means perfect, but it must have looked like nothing was going on. They threw taunts, telling me that my family would not care if I came home bruised and scared, so long as no one else knew. At one point I stopped telling my parents about these happenings and they were none the wiser. Every time they talked to the district my bullies only beat me harder; I was in constant pain from the beatings I was given. My bullies were relentless, swearing that if I told a soul about the nighttime torment sessions that they forced on me, they would kill me.
The ever-present pain and dealing with school weren't much better, though it was slightly easier to deal with. Was it because of how much I failed in school? Or because of how my family argued in public, and looked at me with disappointment? Because of what did they take every chance possible to pulverize me and to make my life continually then it already was. Some days I would throw myself into fits of crying and indulge myself in hours of endless weeping, dreading when I would have to walk to my evening study class for struggling students. All it did was just occupy me enough to help me forget about them for a little bit while my tutor just thought I was always a little late.
The bullies would always find me after my class. They would yell at me, telling how no one would miss me and that all I was is a stupid little girl. The real torture started soon after the yelling, they punched, kicked, and harassed me. I remember thinking, I got myself into this situation. I suppose I must get myself out of it, no one is coming to help me.
My marks in school at the time were some of the lowest they've ever had in their system and my fixed mindset was depressing. Was it only me or is everything just pointless, we all die at some point. I was nervous and scared out of my wits, I had planned to tell my family about it when I came home, I had even told my parents to wait up for me (they were always asleep when I got home). But they had been disappointed, I had never made it back. I didn't understand at the time how important that small detail would be but then again it isn't important my life wasn't important, not that life anyways.
Dying was never something I thought I could imagine it was just something that existed, and I acknowledged that I had to die at some point, I guess that's now. As I stood in the middle of the road with a small gang of boys and girls surrounding me, one hard punch struck deep in my side, and one punch to my throat, they would soon end me, and I knew it was going to be a painful death. Then again, I never said I wanted this to happen, maybe acknowledgement of death is not the same as fearing it or experiencing it. No one can ever truly say that they have conquered the fear of death, at least not the way I think of it, for we do not understand truly what it is to experience it, for we do not know what is beyond the veil of death.
I saw all the good things in my life flash before my eyes, in that moment I had expected nothing of the sort. I could see all the projects I had not failed, My parents smiling faces, I saw what I had done right, what I was proud of doing, not the things I regretted. It was like death was pointing out to me how much of a good person I had been even if everyone else hated me. No one ever said death was merciful, but I thought if this is how I was going to go, might as well go strong, as strong as I could. I stood straighter and let my arms fall to my side.
If you are going to kill me…" I said my voice constricting, "Quit being cowards and do it already!" I finished in a deafening scream.
I started panting, I must have looked mad. That's when it happened, I felt the pain before I saw the knife. It was driven hard through my throat. I choked, feeling the blood clot in my mouth bubbling up in my wound and cutting off my air. The pain must have been unbearable, but somehow it was only a dull throb in comparison to my sadness. Never again would I see my family or anyone else in that life. My time had come and gone, but now I have nothing left but to die. My vision went dim as I fell to the ground like an old rag doll, and then everything went pitch black.
The next thing I knew I was standing on top of dark black glass. I knew immediately that I was dead. All around me was black, even the ground which felt like hard glass, was a cold metallic black. Within a moment I was in a large elevator, everything was blindingly white. I spun around unsure and disoriented. I then felt a sharp jolt, and the world started falling. I stumbled forward, my silky black hair falling in my face, I once again thought about how mad I must have looked. I was terrified, scared about what everyone would think if they could see me now. I was then assaulted by all my worst memories, my bullies hitting me, my mom yelling at me, getting scolded for the F on my report card, and all the other times I had ever felt out of control or scared. That's when I lost all reason. I fell to my knees, hot tears streaming down my cheeks, my hair in my face, I at some point started screaming, begging anyone to make it stop. I lost complete track of time, desecrating into the desperate little girl I was.
I only woke when I felt someone put a hand on my shoulder.
"Who are you?" I whimpered.
They said softly, "Child…"
"Please don't hurt me," I muttered.
"I am not here to hurt you child," they said, "please, look at me."
"You're not?" I stuttered; I must have been visibly shaking when I looked up at them.
"Now that's better, isn't it?" the person said as they wiped the tears off my cheeks.
"Who are you?" I had muttered.
"Their lips moved as if trying to say something, and that was the last thing I remember before everything went black.
I regained consciousness in what I assume was soon after that. Now on the subject of death, reincarnation, and rebirth I will stay impartial. Having died myself, I don't truly have much more to say about it, other than the saying "you only live once" is not true.
The fine details of rebirth, though I would rather not imagine, of which I will spare you, I greatly regret having my wits about me during such a process. I have few my memories, which alone is not surprising to me. I have only general knowledge of my life before. I clearly remember my death, but almost nothing else. Having these recollections greatly helped me, but the question of why still irritates me. Death is alien to me and yet just doesn't seem quite right, to the point where I suspect there's intervention beyond that of the natural causes. The questions of why I am here and what my purpose is, has yet to be answered.
Signing off, Hallie Holt
