04-21-2012, 09:45 PM
This is a read only rp written in the style of journal entries. The first entry is written by the previous owner of this journal and the rest a written by a second owner. This is the history of a character I plan to bring on site in the near(ish) future. If you have any questions, comments, or critique, feel free to pm me. Especially the critique, I would love to know how to better my writing skills. Now, onto the entries.
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Day X
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It's cold, and it's dark. I've read the previous entries over and over again, but it doesn't make sense. The handwriting is mine, and the pages feel familiar under my fingers. I know I wrote these words, these paragraphs, these pages, yet it feels as if I were writing about somebody else's life, and for all I know, I could have been.
I woke up in this dark cell with an aching body and a blank mind. I don't remember anything. Somehow, my body knows what to do though. It knows how to write, how to breathe and how to survive in this awful place. From those entries, I know my name: Natsuki. It's a fairly cruel name as it means 'summer hope'. Well, it's summer, yet I have no hope.
I don't know my age because I don't know exactly how long ago I wrote my last entry. At that time I was three. It could have been yesterday when I wrote it, or it could have been years. I don't know.
As you can see, I ripped the previous pages out. It does nothing for me to see those words. It brings far too much pain to look at them. If you're reading this, it would mean you are in the same position I was about a year of entries ago or it would mean that the cause of my fears has died and his business with him. As it stands, I know the master cannot die easily, and his business shall remain immortal so long as there are those who yearn for wealth.
The main reason I ripped them out though is because they are dangerous. I shall explain this, so that if you decide to continue writing in my journal, you will know better than I did and shall not feel my pain.
When I woke this morning it was with a throbbing headache. I could not think for the pain of it. The brand new light of dawn peirced my eyes and only made it worse. I tossed and I turned, both trying to fall back into the blackness and to remember what had happened, et I could not find comfort. Something was digging into my back. In a fury, I ripped the mattress off of the bed to find this little notebook and all that it contained. Curious, I read all the entries in silence and forgot my aches.
The pages in it described the life of a middle class girl who had lived a happy life with her family. It described her family and her relationship with them in great detail. The girl had loved her family greatly, and her bonds with them were unbreakable. A few weeks before her second spring, she had found herself waking up in a cell. The very one I stood in now. It spoke of how there were other girls there in other cells and how a master took care of them all. Every day, the male would force half of them out onto the streets to get money through pickpocketing, or singing, or playing music, or selling things they had made. The girl this journal spoke of had no true talents so she was forced to beg and learn how to steal. She learned quickly that it was impossible to run, most of the citizens in the city were under his employ. Everyday, she wrote her thoughts. One day, about thirty entries from the end, things began to change. One of the girls had tried to escape and had almost escaped. As a lesson, the master beat her mercilessly in front of the other girls. The poor girl later died of her wounds. This scene forced the writer of these words to seek her own escape. Before she could though, something miraculous happened: she met one of her brothers out on the street. Overjoyed at being reunited with his kidnapped sister, he immediately took her home and a celebration was held. For three days, she lived in bliss. Then the master found her. He had found her notebook and read its contents and had found her home from its details. Before her, he took all her family and brought them back to his base with him. She was locked in her cell and wrote her last entry.
About an hour after I finished reading this, a man came into the cell to take me to a large stage. On the stage were many people, and they all looked familiar, but I didn't know why. Before me, I watched as each were slaughtered. I didn't know why, but it brought a great sorrow over me to watch these strangers die. Every death brought a newly broken heart. It was only after I returned to this cell when I finally understood. The girl who had wrote the entries had been me, and those people had been my family. I had killed them by writing their names and descriptions in this book. Tomorrow, I will return to them, one way or another.
Before I depart for the afterlife though, I will warn you: should you write in this journal, never describe your past. Only the present lest it betray you like it has me. Don't be like me, don't be stupid. I wish you good luck, for you will need it in the life you are about to lead. Trust no one, and never allow yourself to love. You cannot escape, so don't try.
My name is Natsuki. Tomorrow, I will dine with the dead.
---
Day X
---
It's cold, and it's dark. I've read the previous entries over and over again, but it doesn't make sense. The handwriting is mine, and the pages feel familiar under my fingers. I know I wrote these words, these paragraphs, these pages, yet it feels as if I were writing about somebody else's life, and for all I know, I could have been.
I woke up in this dark cell with an aching body and a blank mind. I don't remember anything. Somehow, my body knows what to do though. It knows how to write, how to breathe and how to survive in this awful place. From those entries, I know my name: Natsuki. It's a fairly cruel name as it means 'summer hope'. Well, it's summer, yet I have no hope.
I don't know my age because I don't know exactly how long ago I wrote my last entry. At that time I was three. It could have been yesterday when I wrote it, or it could have been years. I don't know.
As you can see, I ripped the previous pages out. It does nothing for me to see those words. It brings far too much pain to look at them. If you're reading this, it would mean you are in the same position I was about a year of entries ago or it would mean that the cause of my fears has died and his business with him. As it stands, I know the master cannot die easily, and his business shall remain immortal so long as there are those who yearn for wealth.
The main reason I ripped them out though is because they are dangerous. I shall explain this, so that if you decide to continue writing in my journal, you will know better than I did and shall not feel my pain.
When I woke this morning it was with a throbbing headache. I could not think for the pain of it. The brand new light of dawn peirced my eyes and only made it worse. I tossed and I turned, both trying to fall back into the blackness and to remember what had happened, et I could not find comfort. Something was digging into my back. In a fury, I ripped the mattress off of the bed to find this little notebook and all that it contained. Curious, I read all the entries in silence and forgot my aches.
The pages in it described the life of a middle class girl who had lived a happy life with her family. It described her family and her relationship with them in great detail. The girl had loved her family greatly, and her bonds with them were unbreakable. A few weeks before her second spring, she had found herself waking up in a cell. The very one I stood in now. It spoke of how there were other girls there in other cells and how a master took care of them all. Every day, the male would force half of them out onto the streets to get money through pickpocketing, or singing, or playing music, or selling things they had made. The girl this journal spoke of had no true talents so she was forced to beg and learn how to steal. She learned quickly that it was impossible to run, most of the citizens in the city were under his employ. Everyday, she wrote her thoughts. One day, about thirty entries from the end, things began to change. One of the girls had tried to escape and had almost escaped. As a lesson, the master beat her mercilessly in front of the other girls. The poor girl later died of her wounds. This scene forced the writer of these words to seek her own escape. Before she could though, something miraculous happened: she met one of her brothers out on the street. Overjoyed at being reunited with his kidnapped sister, he immediately took her home and a celebration was held. For three days, she lived in bliss. Then the master found her. He had found her notebook and read its contents and had found her home from its details. Before her, he took all her family and brought them back to his base with him. She was locked in her cell and wrote her last entry.
About an hour after I finished reading this, a man came into the cell to take me to a large stage. On the stage were many people, and they all looked familiar, but I didn't know why. Before me, I watched as each were slaughtered. I didn't know why, but it brought a great sorrow over me to watch these strangers die. Every death brought a newly broken heart. It was only after I returned to this cell when I finally understood. The girl who had wrote the entries had been me, and those people had been my family. I had killed them by writing their names and descriptions in this book. Tomorrow, I will return to them, one way or another.
Before I depart for the afterlife though, I will warn you: should you write in this journal, never describe your past. Only the present lest it betray you like it has me. Don't be like me, don't be stupid. I wish you good luck, for you will need it in the life you are about to lead. Trust no one, and never allow yourself to love. You cannot escape, so don't try.
My name is Natsuki. Tomorrow, I will dine with the dead.