Closure — That horrible American word

Copyright, Freshta

I got the title of my entry from that book I just finished reading. Mmm.

You know when you have that lump in your throat, and if you speak you know you’re going to cry, so you just keep your lips tightly sealed and blink a lot?

It’s 6:16 am. I haven’t been to sleep yet. I just finished reading a book, took me a couple of hours. It was about a dead 5 year old. Dead. At five. Thankfully it wasn’t a paedophile who did it. It was an accident. There were times when I was given the impression that it was a paedophile and you can just imagine her bloody clothes and her fear and her everything. Powerful writing. It was fiction. A young girl went missing yesterday; Summer. She was found safe though. But it’s not always like that, it’s not always a fiction book.

Remember Sarah Payne? Pretty blonde girl. How old was she? 7? 8? She’s dead. That’s not fiction. I think she was hurt. I wonder where she is now. What if she’s in this room with me? Oh god. Dead children scare me more than any other dead thing. Dead girls especially. Mum used to have a painting of a small blonde kid. I hated it. I thought the kid was dead, caught in a fire. Burnt to death. Sitting here typing means my back is to the door. It’s light and Madonna’s singing Hollywood but I’m scared, that’s why I’m writing. Thought it might take my mind off it. I don’t want to go downstairs, dunno why, probably because if I were going to be killed it would be more likely to happen downstairs. I don’t know why I think that either. We have a cellar. I don’t go in it. It’s dark and there is no furniture in it, the walls are stone. I wonder if ghosts live there. I hope they do, because if they didn’t then they would live in the attic which is right above my room.

If I had an older brother then he could hug me and tell me he wouldn’t let the ghosts get me. If I go to mum she won’t let me out of her sight, when I cry she turns into a psychiatric bloody nurse. It’s good though, it means I’m safe. She bought me a night light, and asked why I’m scared of the dark. I told her about the dollies, I dunno what she thought. Ow, my head is staring to hurt. I hurt.

Your lame opinion is not wanted.

When I was 12 I used to think that I was brave enough to sleep in the dark because I was Buffy. That’s cute, I wish I could be Buffy again. I would accompany my brothers into the dark kitchen to get a drink, protecting them against the vampires. There was no one to protect Buffy though.

Poor Sarah Payne. Rest In Peace darling, please don’t be afraid.

I don’t want to die alone.


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