Grim fear

Fear gripped me as I wrapped my fingers around the latest deposit from Miss Kim, the receptionist for our newspaper. I grabbed a deep breath from the inmost part of my being and hastily took a glance at the first sentence. "Speared to death by his brother," the sentence started. I didn't want to read the rest. This was the worst part of my job. I had to read how the people died and what they were like. And then make it sound pretty and make all the old ladies at the funeral cry, whether they knew the deceased or not. I am a very dramatic, over-reactive sort of person and that is what landed me this job with the Oval Eagle Reporter. I can write well and people gush over my "gift" but what they fail to realize is that I can't turn this "gift" off; I have to deal with it all the time. Nighttime is the worst. That is why I have resorted to writing in you, my diary. If I write in you, then maybe I won't...but no, I shan't write it. I will not jinx myself. Unless a major turn-around happens in my life, I doubt that I'll have anything in this diary but the sort of things that horror stories are made of. I can't even walk by the movie theatre in town anymore because of all the horror film posters. Only unimaginative people who don't work as obituary-writers watch those films. And now I'm rambling, trying to keep my mind off...

Good-night. That's enough for tonight. I'm just writing in circles, trying to use up all my nervous energy. Maybe I'll go take a walk. Maybe I'll meet Rob again. (more about him in another post)

Farewell for now, my dear horror-diary.