Do you think you’d like to come and bleed with me?
I say. Do you ever have them? Those moments? When you put on your winter coat and your mittens and just tell yourself: “I will leave now. I will go out tonight and not come home for days”. Never happened to you? Well, in that case just drop it. This diary is not for you.
Brief introduction. My name is Marie. But please. Not Mary. I’ve dumped three boyfriends because they made that mistake. My name is Marie. I like my name, which is the kind of thing that makes a girl lonely or a slut. More on that later. So yes – Marie. In fact, I can hardly forgive my parents for not calling me Marie-Louise.
7th of December. Not a lot happened that day, but I’m a good girl (not) and I’ve done my research. Japan attacked Pearl Harbor. First episode of Coronation Street was broadcast. A girl started writing her diary.
Into fourth paragraph now and you still have no idea why you should be reading this. My half-brother, who is a writer (of some kind), told me that modern writing (and I’m trying here) is all based on a hook. “Put a worm in their brain”, Jack said when I first told him I wanted to write. How big, I asked. “Doesn’t matter. But do it early”. Jack knows what he is talking about. Worm. Well, I have a pretty big one for you.
Ready? Okay, here we go:
SOMEONE IS GOING TO BE MURDERED.
There. In your face. Go back and read that again.
Yes, someone is going to be murdered. In 18 days. In cold blood (okay, maybe not). On Christmas eve. So if you thought this is going to be some confessional bullshit, daydreaming and writing romantic poems and kissing boys and freaking out over menstrual blood, you are more naïve than my hamster (and Bart was extremely, moronically naïve). No, this was not inspired by Anne Frank’s diaries. Which were in all honesty rather dull. This is an account of a murder. I have no idea about the crime scene. I know neither the murderer nor the victim. But those are details. It will all come in due time.
Okay. Have to go now. See you all tomorrow. But just so you know. I’m already here. And I’m with you. And I won’t let go.
P.S. 18 days.