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Dirt Nap Princess
Written and Created by Vember Judgement
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Diary Entry One: June 1st, 2007
I hate this. I really...really hate this.
It's been almost six months now, up in this dusty attic. I feel like I can't breath up here sometimes...but then I forget I don't really breath at all. It's probably one of those...How do you say it, 'psycho semantic' thingies. I never knew ghosts could feel such things.
My senses are getting a lot better these days. I've started to hear him downstairs lately...
I guess when someone dies, they can't just automatically have the kind of 'ghost powers' you see on television and read in books. I mean damn, it took almost two months for me just to be able to carry this pen and write...
Maybe soon I can have the power to turn the doorknob open and leave this nasty place. You would think I could walk through walls and whatnot, but it seems that I can't.
Simply put, I'm stuck up here...
While the person who killed me is downstairs right now, tossing off to some pornographic pay per view.
He hid my body in the floorboards up here, buried in the floorboard insolation. I'm guessing that's why I'm stuck 'haunting' the attic. I guess I should be, you know, really freaked out by that. Knowing that just beneath this table my body is rotting away, a crime that no one is ever going to know about. At least until hopefully someone finds this diary.
Although I seriously doubt someone is going to believe a word of this.
The thought of me as some 'ghost writer' is almost comedy. Weren't there a show called that? I don't remember. Oh well, wasn't as if I watched much television.
God, can't he shut up down there? Seems like since I started hearing him better he has done nothing but watch his precious triple x porno. He's so heartless...He kills me, he kills Bernadette, and the pervert's down there enjoying himself without a care...
Oh Bernadette...
I'm looking at her right now from the attic window, and she's staring right back at me...
That's where Father buried her, in the backyard. I don't know why he didn't keep her with my body, there's plenty of room in the floorboard. But then again, he always loved her more than me. Probably felt guilty and buried her in the dirt under his flowerbed out of some sick sense of honor.
She's wearing what she died in, that cute pink princess outfit I bought her last year. I think she's stuck like me, because doesn't ever seem to leave the backyard. All she seems to do is just stand around Father's flowers, looking up at me. I try screaming down messages to her, but she doesn't seem to hear me. Maybe if I can get strong enough, I can open the window.
The look on her face...She looks so sad. She probably doesn't understand why she's dead. Doesn't understand anything that's going on. Damn. It sucks for me to die at fourteen, but it must suck more to die a five year old...
I really hate this...I think about all this, and I want to fly into a rage. But it seems I can't...I have a strange euphoric feeling up and down my...what do you call this, my 'astral body'.
I think that's what you call it, I don't know. I feel as content as I do when I finish a good book...Considering the circumstances, I really shouldn't be.
I don't feel much like writing anymore...The constant sound of orgasmic whores on Father's television is such a distraction...Although I really should, it's not like I can sleep or anything...At least there are a lot of books for me to read up here...
Well, only the thin ones that is. They are the only ones I am strong enough to read.
------------- Sarah Sadoski
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Time to watch the stars die...
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