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Journal Entry #5, April 8th 1999
Today is my birthday, and Katherine and Wayne got me a type writer. A fucking type writer. What the hell am I supposed to do on this fucking thing. I sure as shit would not use it for school, fuck that. Every day I go even near that fucking hell hole, I wanna slit my wrists and end this bullshit. Yesterday I stole a .44 Magnum in my dad's "secret" cabinet, but it's no secret what's in there, only condoms, cocaine, and a fucking gun. I hung out with Dylan today, we were skipping rocks through the local pond. Dylan told me he couldn't take it anymore. He balled and cried on my shoulder. He then pulled up his sleeve, and showed me his cut marks. I was speechless. He said he was going to kill himself soon, and couldn't stand the bullies. "Big Nose Ugly Fuck" is what they called him. That's when we saw Brendan. This tan, blonde guy in a Radiohead sweatshirt on a motorcycle with sunglasses smoking a joint. We stared at him. He stared back. After about 9 long seconds of staring, this is how the conversation goes...
Brendan: The fuck you guys lookin' at?
Dylan: Sorry, didn't mean to offend you. Brendan: Nah man, I'm just messin' with cha
He sees my .44 Magnum under my sweatshirt on the rock near the pond
Brendan: Woah, what the hell is this?
Me: M-M-My dad's gun...Brendan: You know how to use this thing? Me: Not really...
Brendan: You fucking serious?
Brendan: You bring a fucking gun in the middle of a fuckin' frog fuck paradise, but you don't even know how it works? This ain't no goddamn toy, this is serious.
Me: ..well sorry..
Brendan: Ha...Look kid, I'm sorry. Here, lemme give you a little target practice.
Brendan: Yeah kid, just come over here
Me: I don't like this...
Dylan: Oh c'mon man, this is fucking sick as shit man!
Me: well...fine then I guess....
He goes about 10 feet away, and just stands there. "Shoot me" he says. "What the hell...No!" He kept on insisting that I shoot him.
Brendan: C'mon man, You gonna fucking shoot or not??
Me: I'm not gonna fucking shoot you, man!
Dylan: Eric, a guy is fucking asking you to shoot him. With a fucking gun. I know you fucking LOVE this kinda shit. Just pretend it's like our video project.
Our video project was called "Hitmen for Hire", a video that was kinda like the plot of doom. It showed us shooting other students of our school. Our teacher actually thought it was a very creative dark approach on the idea. Just wanted to inform you..
After about 3 minutes of shouting of "SHOOT ME FUCKING PUSSY" "C'mon Eric! Just fucking do it, Man!" I aimed the gun at him and just shot. Just like that. Aimed right at him. Dylan's jaw dropped. Brendan looked down. "Are you fucking serious?!" I didn't even hit him. He was perfectly fine. I swore I shot him in the head. He was fine. He said "Let's go for a ride." It was about 9:00 PM now, and I didn't know where we were driving. As soon as we were driving we kinda swayed. He was high, so I just took the wheel. He said "Drive down by the strip club, I got something to show ya." We arrived there. We saw this about black guy in about his late 20's or something. He says "Wait here, and keep the car running." He walks over to him. I'm not sure what he said, but he yelled at him. The black guy pulled a gun on him. As soon as he did that, Brendan broke his hand, and then stabbed him with MY pocketknife. I was wondering how he got that, because I always keep it in my pocket. He kicked him while he was down. He stabbed him in the eye, so he couldn't see. He was screaming so loud. "GET AWAY DEMON, GET AWAY, YOU'RE SATAN HIMSELF" Brendan ran to the car. We drove off...
¹Me: What the fuck was that about?!?! How'd you get my knife?!?
Brendan: Chill the fuck out man..I knew the guy..Dylan: Dude that was fucking crazy sick man! Fuck yeah!
Brendan: I think you know why I did that Eric...Ha...
Me: What the fuck are you talking about?!?!We could be in some serious shit!!! How'd you get my fu-
We crashed into a deer on the street.
Brendan: woah haha! fuck yeah!
Dylan: Fuck yeah!!!!
Me: Dylan, we have to get home, what the fuck are you thinking man? You'd never do this shit!
Dylan: What..? What's your deal, man..
I can't remember really anything from tonight, and I'm very tired. I have school tomorrow, and Kate and Wayne grounded me for staying out so late. Shit. They don't get me. I love them so much...but they just make me wanna go stab someone sometimes. Not trying to sound spoiled or anything, but seriously. My 18th birthday, and they get me a fucking Type Writer. This isn't the 1980's, I was a fucking computer. Get a nice apple mac computer... life would be good.
Journal Entry #6 April 12th, 1999
I hate Monday's.Author's note: Not finished yet.