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This diary entry is written by ‹~(Shaywee)~›. ( View all entries )
 
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No. Not that again.Category: (general)
Wednesday, 26 October 2011
09:45:16 AM (GMT)
Not another dream with one of them in it.
This time,




Ethan died. 
And the way my imagination works, it was the saddest thing I've ever seen.
He was either hit by a bus or shot in the head.
I was wearing white gloves.
Auntie Julie, you were in your running shirt and yoga pants. You were nervous.
I told you he wouldn't get picked, that we would be fine. It was like the reading,
only the children not picked were just immediately sent to execution.
Why was this reaping in my driveway?
We couldn't see, there were too many kids.
But someone came up to us with a paper bag.
I didn't have to look inside to know it was Ethan's stuffed animal.



I'm ready to pick up the fucking knife again.
What sucks is it's my one month with Armen today.
And I'm crying.
The world is fucked up.
I'm carving "FUCK" into a potato.
I love you, Ethan.
Last edited: 26 October 2011

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