STORY ONE
The sudden screeching of tyres woke Miranda up. The sound of a door opening and the crunching sound of someone walking on asphalt that followed made her leap from her bed.
Tugging on her dressing gown, she made her way out of her room and out of her house. She hid behind the side of the house, watching. There were two men. One tall and slim, with blonde hair. Another was short and fat with greasy black hair.
They looked towards me and I slunk back into the shadows. I held my breath and tried to make myself invisible, squashing up next to the house. It wasn't hard to become thin, I naturally was. Even though, I felt like I weighed 300 kilos and was sticking out like a pimple on the prom queen's face.
I suddenly heard footsteps behind me, I whirled around. There was another man, holding a crowbar. The world seemed to go in slow motion, I felt the thump on my head and the pain coming from it. I raised my hands onto it and felt the sticky wet blood. I heard howling and realized it was coming from me, then the world went black.
STORY TWO
Chelsea clasped the book to her chest, rummaging through the rest of her belongings and chucking important things into her duffel bag. She had to get out before her father got home from the pub. She glanced at her watch, 1am. He'd be home soon, within half an hour, she had to get far away before then. She went through the things she had: two T-shirts, two pants, underwear, socks, two warm jackets, the fifty dollars she had saved and her diary. Yep, that was all she needed. She ran down the hall of her house, filling up a drink bottle with water and stuffing the rest of her bag with food. On the table next to the door, she grabbed her lip gloss and the spare change in a dish, as well as the spare key. Then she opened the front door, put on her shoes and made her way out into the dark night.
***
15.1.09
Dear Diary,
Last night I ran away from home. I miss Mum so much and dad is becoming unbearable. I never thought I'd say this, but I am terrified of my own father. I do love him, but I am afraid he will kill me if I go back! I have to get far away from him. It's morning now diary, 6am to be precise. At least it's summer, so it's not cold. I've just got one of my jackets on. The shed keeps the wind and rain out anyways.
I don't know where I'll go next, all I know is that Dad can never find me, never EVER find me.
STORY THREE
PROLOGUE
I think I shall never forget Angelica Ingrid Sanford. Especially that fateful day when she was murdered. I still remembered her beautiful black and multi-coloured hair she always had cut in that beautiful style, her golden brown eyes and her smile that lit up the whole world and made you forget your worries. How she didn't care what people thought of her 'scene' style and that she found something beautiful in each person. She wasn't judgmental and she loved people, the environment and her life. Angel was the most lovely person I had ever met and probably ever will meet. Her murder was one of misunderstanding, of a father who didn't believe that Angel fit into this world just because of her views. The word 'emo' or 'goth' were forbidden in his life. When Angel came home one night with her once golden blonde hair dyed black with purple, pink and blonde tips and instead of calling herself Angie or Angelica she called herself Angel, she was a devil in his eyes. He let her go with this style for about six months, hoping she'd grow out of the phase. Angel didn't. This style was something that let her finally speak for herself. From this day, I still don't know why he killed her. Angel never went bad, she was still kind, funny and generous. She still cared about her family and loved everything. Angel never changed, but her father didn't understand that.
The day Angel died, my life was torn apart. Angel was my rock, the one person who I truly could depend on. She didn't care that I didn't follow her style. She said she was happy I had my own style. Unlike some of the other 'scene' people in our school, she didn't mind hanging around with people of different 'types'. She had friends that were 'emo', 'goth', 'geeks' and 'norms'. The 'preps' often wouldn't speak with her, so she didn't like them much, but she would never judge a group of people, just the one mean person in it. The name Angel meant Angelic, and that suited her perfectly, she was an angel, a gift from above.
Angel was my best friend forever.
Thanks!
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