posada_20_nyy

"Wilkes' and Rosier's Final Mission"

Thu, 12 Feb 2009 22:52:02 GMT

Title: (as-of-yet untitled)
Chapter: "Wilkes' and Rosier's Final Mission"
Characters: Wilkes, Evan Rosier, Alastor Moody, Frank Longbottom, OC Andrew Flint
Summary: January, 1980. Graham Wilkes and Evan Rosier are discovered by Alastor Moody and Frank Longbottom in Borgin & Burke's. (Sorry, I'm inexperienced with the summarizing. I'll get better, I promise!)
Rating/Warnings: T, coarse language, character deaths
Word Count: ~2,600
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor any of its characters.

Author Notes: My first ever fanfiction! This is a preview chapter from my as-of-yet untitled Harry Potter fanfiction, in which we follow the stories of future Death Eaters during and after their years at Hogwarts. This preview chapter takes place post-Hogwarts, one year prior to Voldemort's 1981 downfall. I realize you may need a bit of backstory or you'll have trouble understanding some of what's going on. My main character throughout the story is Andrew Flint, future father of Marcus. Andrew's best friends are Antonin Dolohov and Evan Rosier, who unlike Andrew, suffer unfortunate fates before Voldemort's downfall. Also, Frank Longbottom was in Slytherin and happened to be Lucius Malfoy's best friend until the ill-fated father of Neville Longbottom parted ways with his friend to become an Auror.

January 27, 1980

The sun was setting on a brisk and wintry evening in Knockturn Alley. The dark and narrow alley was deserted, save for two men in black cloaks who had just turned the corner from Diagon Alley. The leader was a tall confident man with shiny dark brown hair, the other a very slender young man with wavy blonde hair. Each was clutching his cloak tightly about himself and holding up his collar to block the biting wind that pursued them from behind.

When they came upon Borgin & Burke's, the taller man turned and stopped his companion. He said softly, "Now Evan, we shan't be here very long. Say nothing and keep out of trouble, hm?"

Evan pulled his black scarf down and glared at the other man. "I'm not a child, Graham," he replied indignantly, brushing past Graham. He looked through the window into the dark store before trying the handle on the old door. It opened with a creak.

Evan suddenly felt apprehensive and halted on the threshold. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and a strong urge to run away. He turned slowly back towards Graham, feeling sick.

"Oh, honestly. Still afraid of the dark, are you?" Graham said bitingly as he shoved Evan aside and entered the dark store. After shaking off his bad feeling, Evan followed.

Both men removed their gloves as a small flurry of snow followed them into the store. Evan closed the door, shutting out the failing light from outdoors. They squinted, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the light coming from the large stone fireplace at the opposite end of the large store. A small man sat in an armchair with a book opened on his lap. The man, however, appeared to be asleep, a thatch of black hair falling over his closed eyes.

Graham cleared his throat loudly.

Caractacus Burke awoke with a start. "Ah, gentlemen," he greeted them and put his book on the mantle as he stood up from his armchair. After recognizing them, he forced a smile.

Evan, intrigued by the objects around him, reached out and grabbed a vivid green candle from a nearby shelf. He looked at it closely, and then sniffed it. The scent stung his nostrils and he threw it hastily back onto the shelf, knocking a pack of cards to the floor. His eyes began to water as an unpleasant and bitter taste filled his mouth.

"You want to be careful, young Mr. Rosier," Mr. Burke said, his voice as greasy as his hair. "Poisonous candle, that." He grinned toothily. He then turned to Graham, "Mr. Wilkes. How are the wife and son?"

"We're here on business, Burke," Graham replied impatiently. Glancing around the store, he noticed the dust floating in the air. The staleness of it was very unpleasant. "We're here to pick up the item He requested last week."

Mr. Burke's smile faltered. "Of course. Just trying to be friendly," he muttered as he turned around and walked into a back room.

Graham smirked and answered in a falsely pleasant tone, "I appreciate your effort, sir, but I find that "friendly" is a waste of time." He glanced at his watch.

Evan reached towards a dark mahogany box next to the poisonous candle and was about to open it, but Graham hissed, "Stop touching things, Evan." Evan glared at Graham as he pulled his hand back. Out of spite, he continued to look closely at the various items on the shelves.

A brief feeling of dizziness caused Evan to stop inspecting the many Dark objects. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two shadows moving quickly past the store's only window. Before he had time to warn Graham, the door to Borgin & Burke's burst open. The two men were blinded as snow and wind blew into the store.

"Well, well, well," came a gruff voice. "Our anonymous tipster wasn't lying after all. And right where he said we'd find them. Two dirty Death Eaters, doing business with the scumbag Caractacus Burke."

The door closed, revealing Alastor Moody and Frank Longbottom. Moody had quickly pointed his wand in Graham's face, and Frank followed suit by pointing his towards Evan. Mr. Burke quietly slipped out of sight.

Frank's and Evan's eyes met. Frank's expression was strategically blank, but Evan narrowed his eyes and glared at his former friend. Evan noticed that Frank was in the process of growing a beard, and that his hair was a bit shaggier. Evan thought bitterly, "He's abandoned the clean cut look which used to concern him so much; probably at the same time he abandoned his friends." Evan thought Frank looked disgusting.

"Oh, look," Graham said teasingly. "It's the great Auror, Alastor Moody. Come to arrest us?" He became suddenly serious. "You've got no proof that we're Death Eaters." Graham laid a steady hand on his wand in his pocket, but dared not raise it with Moody's pointed directly between his eyes.

"Is that so?" Moody grabbed Graham's left arm and violently pulled back the sleeve. There was nothing on his skin, no Dark Mark. Moody spat on the ground in disgust and disappointment. "Learned a more powerful Concealment Charm, have you?"

Graham laughed, "We don't know what you're talking about, do we Ev-," he glanced at his partner, but stopped smiling when he saw Evan's expression. Looking terrified and all color gone from his face, Evan remembered that he hadn't yet learned the Concealment Charm to hide his Dark Mark. He looked nervously at Graham.

Graham gave him a look of deep disgust, but immediately went back to his laid-back attitude, although it was now unconvincing. "Well then, if we're done here, I'll ask you two to get the hell out of our way, please." He smiled, but was visibly anxious.

"Oho! Wait one moment." Moody stepped in front of Graham as he moved toward the exit. He pushed his wand against Graham's forehead. "Frank, check the boy's arm." Moody had noticed every expression that had been exchanged between the two Death Eaters.

Evan looked at Frank, whose blank expression had turned to one of barely perceptible remorse. He moved to pull back Evan's sleeve, but Graham wasn't going to go down that easily. In one fluid movement, he slapped away Moody's arm and pointed his own wand at Frank's chest.

"Back off, Longbottom," Graham said in a quiet, dangerous tone. He knew he'd just given himself and his partner away as Death Eaters, but they had a chance to win this fight. He smiled evilly, looking forward to dueling these two Aurors.

Moody had recovered and quickly pointed his wand at the side of Graham's head. In the distraction, Evan backed up and pointed his wand at Moody. The air was very tense.

Frank looked around and held up his hands. "Okay, everyone calm down."

Moody growled, "No, Frank. These two are going to Azkaban. One way... or another." He pressed his wand harder against Graham's temple.

Graham didn't flinch and never stopped glaring at Frank. He kept his wand aimed on Frank's heart. "No, we're not," he said quietly. Once again he tried to slap away Moody's wand before he shouted, "STUPEF-"

He never finished his curse, because Moody was anticipating an attack. The Auror Alastor Moody yelled, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" right as Graham tried to stun Frank.

Graham was dead before he hit the ground. There was a heavy silence in the store as everyone stared at his body. Frank was the first to speak, "Alastor, what did you do?!"

"He tried to attack you." Moody was panting slightly. He wiped sweat from his upper lip with a trembling hand. "He might have tried to kill you."

"But he wasn't trying to kill me!" Frank was in shock. "I don't care that Bartemius Crouch gave us permission to use the Unforgiveable Curses! Without proof, you had no right to use one!"

Evan was staring at the limp form of his friend on the floor, ignoring the argument between Frank and Moody. He could feel the rage building in him. He was seeing red. The man who sent my best friend to Azkaban just killed my partner. Without thinking about what he was doing or even what spell he was casting, he threw a silent curse at Moody. A jet of purple light zigzagged towards Moody.

In Evan's anger, his aim wasn't entirely accurate, missing the Auror's heart. Moody glanced at Evan right as the curse was cast. It hit him directly on his nose. It appeared to be some variation of the cutting curse. Moody howled in pain as he covered his nose.

Evan was fuming. He cried and screamed as he threw the curse again. He faintly heard Frank yell, "EVAN, NO!"

Moody yelled, "Protego!" right as Evan cast it. After bouncing off the shield charm, his own curse came back and hit him in the stomach. It seemed to happen in slow motion, hitting him like a huge punch to his gut. He didn't feel pain until a few moments afterwards, and it caused him to drop to his knees as he clutched his stomach. Tasting something bitter at the back of his mouth, he coughed out blood. A lot of blood.

Frank, after initially going to Moody's side, saw his old friend was hit and rushed towards him. Evan looked down at his hands to see that they were dark red. He looked at the ground to see that blood was draining from his abdomen, soaking his pants, and pooling beneath him. Time was moving slowly for him. He was getting dizzy so he sat back.

He gazed at the blood and felt it pounding in his head. He heard it in his ears. He could feel his heart beat; it was speeding up. Looking up and seeing Frank talking, Evan had to concentrate on him to hear what he was saying.

"I'm going to get Andrew to come for you, okay?" Frank looked terrified as he saw all the blood that Evan was losing. "Moody doesn't know what the curse is; he doesn't know the counter curse. Do you know it?" His voice was quavering.

"No," Evan responded slowly, spitting out more blood. "Ask Graham. He taught it to me." He looked at Graham and furrowed his brows, confused as to why he was lying in such an awkward position on the ground. "Graham, they want the counter curse." After attempting to stand, Evan fell back against a black and gold cabinet. He desperately wanted to go to sleep. He closed his eyes.

"NO! Evan, stay awake. I'm going to send for Andrew. You're going to... you're going to be fine," Frank said unconvincingly. He held up his wand and said, "Expecto Patronum." A silvery mist appeared in the form of a hawk. He spoke to it, "Andrew, Graham's been killed. Evan's severely injured. He needs you. Come quickly to Borgin & Burke's." The hawk flew away as soon as Frank was done speaking.

"Frank... we must inform the Ministry." Moody's was holding his disfiguring nose injury, which was bleeding badly, though not nearly as badly as Evan. He glanced at Wilkes, dead on the floor, and at Evan, who was very pale, but still alive.

Frank stood up and paused, torn between Evan and Moody. After an apparent internal struggle, Frank moved slowly towards Moody and the exit. Moody left quickly, but Frank looked back from the doorway at his old friend and whispered, "I'm sorry."

The Aurors left the store, and with a loud crack! they disapparated. The snow and wind blowing in from outside caused Evan to wake up and stay awake longer than he otherwise might have, but he was nearly gone. Short of breath, he called out, "Hel-, hello? Is someone there?" His mouth was dry and tasted of blood.

But Graham was dead and Mr. Burke had long since made himself scarce. He didn't want anything to do with an Auror-Death Eater confrontation.

Evan could no longer see straight, no matter how hard he tried to focus. In his semi-conscious state, he was beginning to suspect that this was all a bad dream. He kicked Graham and said, "Graham, wake up. We're dreaming." He laughed between raspy gasps but stopped due to the sharp pain in his stomach.

Graham didn't move. Evan moved towards him and screamed in pain. "GRAHAM! Wake up, you fucking prat!" He started crying as he lay on his side, clutching his stomach. Next to him, the pack of cards which had fallen to the floor was now lying in a pool of blood.

Evan sobbed. He choked for a moment on the blood that kept appearing in his throat. He kicked Graham again, who rolled over from the force. His dead eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Evan gazed just as blankly back at him for a few moments. Then he fainted.

The next thing he knew, he was being shaken. He heard shouting, heard the panic in the voice. "EVAN! Oh no, oh god. Evan, wake up! Please, open your eyes." Andrew's voice was hoarse. He brushed a few locks of sweaty blonde hair off of his friend's cool, clammy forehead. Evan shuddered.

It took great effort for Evan to open his eyes. He still couldn't see straight, but he knew it was his friend, Andrew Flint, gazing down at him. Evan tried to smile, but instead coughed up a lot of blood.

"Evan, what happened?" Andrew asked urgently, inches from Evan's face. He was afraid he was going to lose his friend any moment.

Evan felt like the only thing he could do right now was breathe in short gasps. It took him a few moments to answer. "Moody and Frank found us here." He spat out more blood and felt a sharp pain in his chest. He spoke more quickly. "Someone is tipping off the Aurors. Someone who knows our missions." Evan winced when Andrew unfastened his bloody cloak and pulled up his even bloodier shirt.

"What... what is this? Where's the blood coming from?" Andrew asked, panicked. He put his hands on Evan's stomach and tried to wipe away the blood. He was looking for a wound, but there wasn't one. The blood seemed to be pouring through his skin.

"Antonin invented the curse, and he taught Graham. Graham taught me. But Andrew, I don't think I did it right. There's not supposed to be blood," he trailed off and after a few moments, continued, "I don't- I don't know the counter curse. I threw it at Moody, but he used a Shield Charm. I- I got him though, a little bit." With a half-smile he touched his nose, indicating where he had hit Moody. Evan felt himself drifting away, and allowed his eyelids to flutter closed.

"Evan, stay with me! We're going to figure this out. We can, um- I'll take you to St. Mungo's! They'll fix this." Andrew stood up and looked around the dark, empty store. In the stress of the situation, he felt lost and didn't know what to do next.

"Andrew, kill Moody for me." With that having been said, Evan died.

Andrew stared at Evan for a moment before dropping to his knees next to his dead friend. He whispered, "Evan?" Andrew took Evan's cold hand and grasped it, blood oozing through his tightly clasped fingers. He held it to his forehead and tried hard to keep his scream in, but it escaped his lips and echoed through the dark store.

After several minutes, Andrew stood up, blind with fury, and stormed out of the dark store into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Let me know what you think and if you're interested in reading it from the beginning!

"Inevitability" Pt. I

Thu, 12 Feb 2009 05:24:48 GMT

I wrote this story a couple years ago, during my freshman year at college, at the height of my cynicism and hatred for all mankind. The style is deliberately simplistic. I apologize for the vagueness regarding the setting, time, and place, but I do love to befuddle people. :P

Not very long ago there was a man called Jack. Jack was an idealist and had much faith in people. He believed that there was good in everyone and that the world was generally a happy place. He had a lot of life experience, so he wanted to share his wisdom with whomever he met. He set out on his journey with a few essentials and left the cave that had been his home for ten years.

The first person he met was a hunched-over peasant pulling a cart. He walked up behind this person, saying “Old woman!”

“Man.” replied the peasant.

“Man, sorry. I have come to share my wisdom with you.” Jack said cheerfully.

“I’m thirty-seven.”

“I… what?”

“I’m thirty-seven. I’m not old.”

“Well, I can’t just call you Man.”

“Well, you could say Dennis.”

“Well, I didn’t know you were called Dennis.”

“Well, you didn’t bother to find out, did you?”

“Look, I did say sorry about the ‘old woman’, but from behind, you looked—“

“What I object to is you automatically treating me like an inferior!”

“Well, that’s part of why I’ve come by… I have much wisdom and I’d like to tell you that all people are equals. You’re not inferior to anyone!” Jack smiled.

Dennis appeared suspicious and asked, “… Are you selling something?”

“… No. I want to help you.”

“Oh, you want to help me. Oh, how kind of you. How… bloody generous of you. Well, I don’t want your damned charity. Go away!”

And with that, Dennis the peasant continued up the hill with his cart full of filth.

Jack, feeling slightly dispirited, went a different way, towards a cheerful looking village. On the edge of town, he met a small boy playing in some tall grass.

“Hello, young man. Playing safari, are we?” Jack sat down on a large rock near the boy.

The boy smiled and replied, “No, I’m a detective. I’m looking for clues.”

“Oh, a detective. Well, what a coincidence! I have just the book for you.” Jack pulled out of his bag an old copy of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and handed it to the boy.

“A book? Oh, I hate to read. No one reads no more…” the boy laughed.

Jack frowned. “Well, here. I’ve read it many times. Maybe when you’re older, you’ll be interested.”

“Well, okay. But I can’t read very good.” The boy took the book from Jack.

“What’s your name, son?” Jack asked the boy.

“My name’s Tim,” he responded as he looked through the book. “Hey, there ain’t no pictures in this book.”

“Sorry. You can use your imagination. Tim, you should read as much as you can in your life. Learn about everything. Travel, see the sights, and learn.” Jack spoke sincerely as he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

“Yes, sir.” Tim replied, just as a loud shriek resounded through the neighborhood.

“Ah! Timmy, get away from that man! You get over here right now!” A frantic looking woman was rushing towards them.

“But Momma, he was just—“ the boy started.

“Don’t you ‘But Momma’ me. What have I told you about talking to strange men?” She started yanking the boy towards their home. She turned and screamed over her shoulder, “You get outta here, pervert, ‘fore I call the cops on you!”

Jack sighed and continued down the street. He came across a little girl playing with a doll. He sat down next to her.

“Hi, I’m Jack. What’s your name?”

“I’m Katie. And this is Paris Hilton.”

“Those are pretty names.”

“I’m going to be just like her.” Katie said as she brushed the doll's hair.

“Are you?”

“Yeah. Daddy says she’s a drunken whore. I think she’s pretty. So I’m going to be a drunken whore, too.”

Jack was horrified and replied, “You don’t know what that means, and I’m not going to explain it to you. But when you’re old enough to understand it, I hope you’ll know that that’s not what you want to be. Young ladies are supposed to be sophisticated and have self-respect. Please remember this: Love yourself and be your own person. You are an individual.”

The little girl couldn’t have been more than six years old, but she seemed to understand Jack and what he was saying.

“Okay, Jack.” The little girl smiled.

“Katie… come inside now.” The girl’s mother called from inside the screen door. She eyed Jack suspiciously.

“Bye.” The little girl named Katie disappeared into her house.

Jack continued down the street. He saw a group of boys crouching around something on the ground. They were laughing, so Jack assumed they were playing a game. He approached them and saw that they were poking a baby bird with sticks. He started running towards them to stop them, but just as he got there, one of the boys dropped a large rock on the baby bird.

“What on earth possessed you to do that?” Jack was furious.

The boys showed no remorse and didn’t seem to be worried that an adult had shown up. One of them shrugged and answered, “I dunno. We were bored.”

“Where are your parents?” Jack asked.

The boys laughed, “Who knows? At the bars, probably.”

“With our teachers…” They laughed harder.

Jack felt a surge of pity for these boys, so he knelt down in front of them. “Listen to me. You don’t have to be like them. There’s still time for you to do something great with your lives. Don’t waste time – you only have one life to live.” Jack could see in their eyes that he was getting through to them.

But just then a police car pulled up. The boys ran away and two policemen stepped out of their car. Jack stood up and greeted them politely, “Officers.”

The policemen just looked at each other. The first one said, “We’ve gotten report of a possible child molester in the neighborhood. You wouldn’t uh, know anything about that now, would you, sir?”

“Well, officer, I was talking to a young boy earlier, on the edge of town. I gave him a book, and his mother thought I was a pervert. Then I was talking to a little girl just a bit ago—”

The second policemen asked, “What kind of book was it?”

“Sir?”

“The book you gave the boy. Pornography, perhaps?”

“It was Sherlock Holmes,” Jack replied flatly.

“Oh, so it was pornography.”

“No! Sherlock Holmes, the detective. You know, he lived on 221b Baker St, with Dr. Watson--“

“We don’t want to hear about your sick gay porno. Now get in the car. We’re taking you in.” The policemen grabbed Jack and shoved him roughly into the back of the police car. He decided he’d better not share any wisdom with these two.

When they got to the station, Jack was thrown into the smallest, dirtiest cell, which smelled strongly of alcohol, urine and vomit.

“Officers, this is just a huge misunderstanding,” Jack pleaded as he held the bars.

One of the policemen took his night stick and hit Jack’s fingers as hard as he could, as he yelled, “Shut up, pervert!”

Jack screamed as he pulled his broken fingers back into his cell. He spent the night in agony and couldn’t sleep at all.

In the morning, a different policeman opened Jack’s cell and said, “Okay, get outta here.”

“What?” asked Jack.

“I said, get the fuck outta here.”

“… Okay.” Jack left the police station with five broken fingers.

He started looking for a hospital and had to ask four people before anyone would tell him. The first person was a woman, who ran away, afraid that he was a mad man. The second person spat at him. The third person was exceptionally cruel, laughed and pointed him in the wrong direction. Jack, being a trusting person, took his advice and walked for a long while, never finding the hospital.

The fourth person he asked was a kind looking old woman. Jack approached her, not expecting any help, but he was in a lot of pain. “Please, I really need to know where the hospital is. No one will tell me.”

The old woman took one look at his broken fingers and replied, “Oh my, you poor man. The hospital is down that way.”

“Thank you very much.” Jack nearly cried.

“You’re very welcome.” The woman answered kindly.

Before Jack walked into the Emergency Room, he tried to smooth his hair and clothes, which resulted in more agony.

When he entered, he saw all sorts of people – people whose kids were clutching their stomachs, people with cut fingers, people who were just standing there whistling, and people who just plain weren’t in emergency situations.

Jack excused himself through the crowd towards the sign-in desk. The secretary was on the phone, so Jack waited as patiently as he could.

“No way… She didn’t… Does Valerie know about-- … Nuh uh!” The secretary smacked her gum and glanced at Jack. “Hang on, Beth.” She held the phone off to the side and handed Jack a form. “Here. Fill this out.”

“Oh, um. My fingers are broken.” Jack smiled and held up his hands.

The secretary didn’t smile, but just looked annoyed. “I’m sorry, guy, but you can’t get in unless you do the form.” Before Jack could respond, the secretary was back on the phone with her friend, gossiping about their other so-called 'friends.'

Jack carefully picked up the form and turned around to find a seat. There weren’t any empty seats, so he sat on the floor. He could barely write his name, but he suffered through the entire form and brought it back to the secretary.

She sighed, “Sir, you didn’t write hard enough for it to get through to the carbon copy...”

Jack glared at her. “Look at my fingers. They’re broken, and I need a doctor.”

The secretary rolled her eyes. “Okay, I need your insurance card.”

“Insurance card.” Jack didn’t have insurance, so he came up with a story quickly. “My wallet was stolen by the same guys that broke my fingers.”

“Whatever, just go wait over there.”

“Thank you.” Jack sat on the floor again. He had to wait nearly 45 minutes before he could see the doctor.

In the exam room, the doctor looked at his fingers and after a few minutes said, “Sir, your fingers are broken.”

“Yes, yes I know. Can you fix them?”

“Of course I can fix them.” The doctor replied with a chuckle as he wrote on his clipboard. He then left the room.

Jack was very confused for the next few minutes before the doctor strolled past his room, “Oh, you want me to fix them now?”

“Yes, that would be nice.” Jack smiled politely.

“Okay, well you’re lucky that these fractures don’t need surgery. Just some tape and immobilization ought to do the trick.”

~~~

When Jack was out of the hospital, his fingers still hurt, but at least they were on the mend. He was still determined to share his wisdom with the world, so he set out further into town.

As he was walking, he saw a man pull up to a house. A girl got out of the car and yelled, "Dad, why did you stop right in front? Everyone will see your crappy car! And I'm late now, too. Ugh! Damn it, Dad - I need like, 30 dollars for later."

As he handed his daughter the money, Jack heard the father ask, "When will you be home?"

"I don't know! When I feel like it. Go away before anyone sees you!" The girl ran up to the door and went inside.

The man drove away before Jack could talk to him.

Jack was feeling very tired and very discouraged.

----------------

My fellow Entities,

Stay tuned for Part II. Sorry, it's not a comedy story. It almost started out to be one, then it turned into something else - I don't know what. All I know is that Jack represents all that is good and pure in the world. So by the end of the story, the title will make sense. Depending on your world view, you might make predictions as to what will happen to Jack.

Sincerely,
Entity#14006

Friends

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 03:37:52 GMT

This will sound terrible, but I feel like I've never had a good friend. To all my current acquaintances, I know you don't really like me, so don't feel bad. I'm not fishing for any compliments/reassurances. This is how I truly feel. I know I'm a really strange person and not very likeable, but I've tried to avoid coming to that conclusion for a really long time. I've tried so hard to believe that I'm a normal person, but I can't lie to myself anymore. It's embarrassing to remember all those times I tried to be sociable. I actually used to be a very sociable person, in elementary and middle school. I used to be happy and a lot of people liked me. Then I had to move to Storm Lake and my life turned to shit. I hated high school and didn't have a single real friend while I was there. I was invariably betrayed or shunned by every one of my supposed friends. This has lead me to become a very distrusting person. Although I have high hopes for every new relationship I make, I eventually start expecting to be abandoned.

Is it too much to ask to have one good friend? Not once in my life have I had a friend who calls me just to talk, to see how I'm doing. I'm always the person to do that. I always feel like I'm the person trying to maintain a friendship. It seems like no one else cares at all about being my friend. I suppose I'm just one of those people who is destined to be and feel utterly alone, no matter how much I may yearn to have a friend.

Everyone I know has a best friend. I don't know what that's like. A few times in my life I fooled myself into thinking I had a best friend, but in retrospect, I was only another acquaintance to those people. For me, the term "best friend" is used loosely. For me, the term "best friend" is literally the best (most adequate) friend I have at the moment. Right now, my "best friend" doesn't think a whole lot about me. I'm just someone he feels sorry for and someone who he probably doesn't like at all. But he is my most adequate friend. We have things in common and he'll listen to me when I need someone to talk to. But I know who his best friend is, and it's not me. That's how it's been for me - I've never been anyone's best friend.

I suppose I really just want someone to honestly care about me. I know it's a lot to ask for, me being who I am. But I guess it doesn't matter anymore, because I'm going to stop trying. Everyone can stop pretending to like me now. It's wasted effort on both sides.

Venting

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 02:51:11 GMT

I am so horribly frustrated right now. I have so much to do! Lately I've been really depressed, and one of the reasons it won't go away is because my living space is ridiculously messy. I know that if I can just clean my freaking upstairs then I'd feel a million times better. But it's really not that simple. I have six years worth of clutter upstairs and I have this problem where I can't throw anything away. I literally cannot make myself throw away even the smallest thing. I have the worst memory, both short-term and long-term, so I feel like I need to keep everything to help me remember important events. I have so much stuff from my trip to Europe - coupons, itineraries, tags from things I bought, and every single plastic sack which came with the stuff I bought. I keep little things like that from every trip I take, like tickets, programs, and maps. I still have a million papers and folders from middle school, high school, and college. I don't know why I keep all those papers, other than someday I might want to look back at those papers and it will help me remember my school days. Whenever I'm about to throw something away, I feel like crying because I'm certain I might require it someday in the future.

One of my problems is that I tend to attach sentimental value to everything. I'm a very nostalgic person, and I never stop wishing that I could return to my childhood, back when things were simpler and I still had faith in everything and everyone. So anything that reminds me of any earlier point in my life has tremendous sentimental value to me. I know all this sounds crazy, and it's a real problem for me. I'm not sure what to do about it.

Today my grandma came upstairs to try and help me clean and sort through some things. It was a disaster. We did make some progress, but not very much. She kept making everything sound so simple. She's good at breaking down tasks so that they're manageable, but there's this thing in my head which wants to make everything complicated. Also, I can only see the negative aspects of any situation. I attach 'but' to everything. For example, "We did manage to clean the things off the floor, -but- there's still that whole other room that's still messy." I've honestly tried to counter that type of thinking and try to use more positive self-talk. I've been trying to make things sound more like, "This is really messy, but at least I'm making progress." That kind of talk feels very foreign to me, and it's difficult for me to believe. But the positive self-talk really does make me feel better than the negative talk does. It's something I will continue to work on.

Meanwhile, I'm still in a disgustingly disordered environment, and I still feel like shit. So instead of continuing to clean like I should, I'm going to vent some more in a different entry while I'm still feeling extra-emotional.