Iscador

Dear Diary,

Undated

I know who he is. I know exactly who and what BOB is, and I have to tell everyone. I have to tell someone and make them believe. Someone has torn pages out of my diary, pages that help me realize maybe . . . pages with my poems, pages of writing, private pages. I'm so afraid of death. I'm so afraid that no one will believe me until after I have taken the seat that I fear has been saved for me in the darkness. Please don't hate me. I never meant to see the small hills and the fire. I never meant to see him or let him in. Please, Diary, help me explain to everyone that I did not want what I have become. I did not want to have certain memories and realizations of him. I only did what any of us can do, in any situation. . . . My very best.

Love, Laura

P.S. I'm giving you to Harold for safekeeping. I hope I see you again. I can't stay sober anymore. I just can't. I have to be numb.

THE PRECEDING WAS LAURA'S LAST ENTRY. SHE WAS FOUND DEAD JUST DAYS LATER