Dear Diary


I need to make a confession.

It is something I regret. Something I am not particularly proud of. Something that, in many ways, I wish no one would ever know.

A few days ago, I was at a party with Melissa from work, floor -16. A good lady. A very good lady.

She had given me a chance to go out with her. Obviously, I wasn't going to say no when someone like her wanted to go out with me, so I took a gamble. I went out with a human like her.

The party was fun. She was wild. She drank and danced like a goddess.

But then there was Mickey.

See, Mickey is one of the guys who lives next door to her. I don't like Mickey.

He is single. He used to abuse his wife, and she left him. Mickey is always staring at Melissa. Sometimes I feel like he wants her.

I have this great need to make him move away.

It amazed me when I saw Mickey bump into Melissa at the party. A party twenty miles away from his house, and somehow he was there.

I was Melissa's future husband. I decided I needed to act.

I was going to show him what happens when you touch someone's gold. Someone's treasure.

I walked straight toward him when I saw Melissa's white dress covered in red wine—the wine Mickey had been carrying.

It angered me.

But before I could even punch him, Melissa pulled me away.

She asked me to help her find some towels, so I did.

And when I came back, I found Melissa on the phone.

She was talking about how she wanted him to die.

Him to die.

Mickey should die.

That is what I heard.

And so I did.

I made him drink it.

Twice.

Then thrice.

Frice doesn't exist, but I did it for the frice time. For death's sake.

I actually feel better saying all of this. It cools my head off.

I friced him.

Deep down his throat.

I really want Melissa and I to become something everlasting. I hope she can feel okay now that he's gone.

I probably should go see if she's all right.

I love this new journal I got as my diary.