February 19 1989
810Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡir6t16X6Jg
Dear Reader,
I can hear the knocks on the door, soft thuds of skin on wood, as the owner comes, thinking he can kick me out of my home. I finally understand why Abigail quit. And finally Dad, I can see the light. As the last rivulets of the bright red liquid ooze from my palms, taking with it the last of my life, I look into the light, ready to move on.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
