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The Pink Journal
Madison sat in her seat, stone hands heavy in her lap eyes closed. Pale faced and glassy eyed with her lips forming an out-of-place smile.
“I can do it.” Madison assured herself. “I’ll do it for you.” She whispered to her heart.
She walked up to the pier with flowers hugging the base with a pink journal in her hands. “‘So, I’ve been going to the same school since 4th grade. I know everything I want to know, about everyone I need to know at my school. I try to only have friends, no known enemies, because it’s rather pointless to have enemies-’” Madison took a breath.
“‘I think, if I had to do it again, I would probably be an outcast and have no friends and no enemies. I would want to be a different kind of person, less caught up in the trivial. School is important if you want it to be, grades, your social life, morals, how people judge you; everything is relative. But, I must have ended up as a friendly, non-trouble maker for a reason, probably my conscience and my human nature.’”
“‘I unconsciously strive to be accepted and loved, it’s my secret purpose. I can’t help but want to talk to people and I know that’s not going to change. Maybe, if I did do it again, I would accidentally end up doing it the same way. I would do it the same way for some minute reason, like that unconscious need to be liked or because of the fear. Fear that I might end up making the same mistake again.’”
“‘The thing I would fear of becoming again is a follower. I hate that about myself, there are some cases where it is beneficial, but only if you are leading the decision to follow. The worst thing about it is that I was convinced I was leading my life, and not until after, did I realize.’”
“‘I was diagnosed with a disease today. A disease many people have died from, and will continue dying from and I will soon be one of them.’” Tears began to fall down Madison’s face.
“‘I’m going to spare you the gory details-’” Madison stifled a laugh.
“‘My sister, Madison, is freaking out about it, so are my parents. I don’t want to freak out, no point.’”
“‘As I was saying, I didn’t realize until after that, that I wished I had led my life a little more. I don’t regret my life, and I will try not to miss it. Maybe I will get to live one again, and maybe I will be an outcast next time, probably not.’” Madison stopped.
“Terry died on the 23rd of June. My sister-” Madison collected herself and closed the little pink book, “She wanted me to read from her journal. So everyone could know that she is alright.”