Ah, July 11, the day I love. So free, free to leave my house, free to see my friends. freedom is good. To feel the wind from the open window on face, while listening to a good CD with my friend in her car, and turning it up loud. To feel the touch of unfamiliar hands after a month of grandparents and aunts and uncles pinching your face and patting your back and tousling the hair on your head. To feel a laugh erupt from your belly, and hear others laughing with you. To feel loved as a voice that you havent heard in a long time comforts you. I am going out tonight. In fifteen minutes actually. With my friends, about thirteen of them. Feels good. I snuck out last night, or this morning. It was at exactly twelve when I walked out the door. My friend was going to go to England at seven this morning, and I had to see her before she left. I walked over to her house, threw a rock or two at her window, and we talked for an hour. We also made toast... I talked to my other friend last night too, after I came home. We talked untill three in the morning. He is a funny kid. We talked about relationships, and how dumb we where in them. He was liking a girl that he hadnt seen in a long time, but he had liked before. I was talking about how when people like me I get scared. Tonight I am going to go to a movie. Hell yes. I dont think He is going to be there, oh well, his friends are cute too. Eleven more minutes untill I leave. I drew a picture today. It was a girl. To her right there was a white angel with bright wings. To her left there was a fallen angel, with black wings. The fallen angel was comforting the girl while the white angel didnt take any notice of her. The fallen angel had bright kind eyes, the white angels eyes where blue and dull. The girl didnt want to be bad, but no one good would take care of her. I was told once that angels where angels because they where being punished. They where humans who did not do the exactly the right thing, so when they go to heaven they have to serve the better souls. I dont know if being an angel would be punishing. I want to be an angel. Five more minutes. Dad: Are you going to go play tonight? Me: Yes. Dad: Who are you going to play with? Me: I dont know. Dad: Well dont get pregnant. Me: Ok. I love you too dad. I was going to go and tube with my duck and another friend, but my mom said that it would be a good idea to stay home in the afternoon so I could play at night. But, on wednesday I am going to go tubing with my duck. I heart my duck. And the almighty was offended by the mere mortals insulting manner, and her anger waxed strong within her, and the world was to be punished. Hollie wept. Three more minutes. I have decided that I like the smell of blood. It is nice. It smells like metal. But softer. It brings vivid images of predator and prey entwined in each others appendages, a seductive battle of survival. A predator sinks its shining teeth into the soft flesh of its prey. The blood flows. The predator lets the warm scent of the red substance to enter its wary nostrils. A spasm, rather erotic, runs through its body. It feels the preys heart beat slower, then stop. Feasting upon warm flesh. in the name of how fucking messed up I am. one more minute.