Until Next Time

11/17/18

It’s been a little over two weeks since he left us, give or take. Mom still rages like her screams can bring him back. Anna cries often, begging her to fetch dad not knowing he’s never coming home. He’s a monster for doing that to her right before Christmas. Reed is more or less the same, neutral about all of the drama that seems to follow us wherever we go. But me? I can’t let this slide, not again. This is the third time he’s done this to her, to Anna. To me. You know what they say, diary. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times? I guess we’ll have to wait and see.

Until next time.

1/6/19

School’s back in session, but my plans are a lot more enjoyable. It’s not like mom has much of the mind to make sure of our whereabouts these days, anyway. For the most part, she spends her time hunched over paperwork regarding the divorce proceedings or drinking her woes away. Anna keeps her preoccupied too, of course. It’s not like you can ignore the fact that you have a growing baby in your midst for long, even if all you want to do is allow the ground beneath your feet to open up and swallow you whole.

The place dad ran away to with that bimbo mistress of his is grand, large enough to engulf our small, ramshackle-excuse-of-a-home twice over. There’s a beautiful fountain out front that spews crystal clear water from a cherub. Funny, that they think to keep a semblance of God in a place inhabited by sinners that choose to cheat and lie to the ones they promised to stand by in life and death. The roof is slick with snow, so I made sure to wear some worn boots. Can’t really afford to slip when reconnaissance is only phase 1.

Until next time.

2/25/19

There have been a few close calls recently, all my fault of course. I upped my scouting days from twice a week to three, but for good reason. A lot of times, they rarely leave the sickeningly lush place. I guess I can see why since just the views from beyond the gilded gates make it seem like it holds everything you could possibly desire and more. My arm hurts a little less these days since I slipped from my vantage point, but it’s nothing I can’t manage. The sight of that baby really did me in. Really goes to show how long good ol’ dad’s been at this infidelity thing. It’s a shame they’ll have to grow up without a father, though.

Until next time.

4/18/19

Shooting’s a bit easier than I thought it’d be. Not as simple as they make it look on TV, but not as difficult as self proclaimed “experts” seem to say it is. I practice here and there at the range, but I try not to be around more than once a week. Not that I can be around much, anyway. It’s starting to get expensive and retail only pays part-time workers so much.

I know people will start asking questions if a freshly eighteen-year-old girl is frequenting the place so often, start to ask questions about my “sanity” and whatever else they can attribute a decline in mental clarity to. I almost wish someone would ask me if I was alright. I’d say no, of course, but I’d assure them that I would be. As long as I hit my target, that is.

Until next time.

5/12/19

Reed’s been a bit nosey recently, but it’s not like I can tell him what I’m up to. He’s smart, but not adept enough to know that I’m lying through my teeth whenever I use the excuse of “senioritis” or the typical “leave me alone” to deflect. Anna’s pretty much back to her old self, but I attribute that to the short attention span of three-year-olds. She still asks about dad, of course, but nowadays it takes little less than a sweet treat to shut her up and keep the memories from resurfacing.

Mom’s been a bit better, I guess, but the bags beneath her eyes betray how tired she really is. It’s no surprise that she’s upset over a fifteen-year marriage falling apart before her eyes, but I wish I could tell her that it’ll all be ok. That he won’t be able to hurt us ever again, much less find someone else to screw. Pretty sure that’s the one thing people six feet under aren’t allowed to do, honestly.

And me? I’m fine. Much better soon, though.

Until next time.

6/1/19

The blood was easier to clean off of my boots than I thought it would be. I guess it helps when you actually pay attention in forensics, though. Thank God for high school electives. I tripped up a bit, setting off the house alarm a little early, but I’d run through the scenario so many times I didn’t need to rush much. I heard her serenity-shattering screams when she finally got into the house, blue eyes probably widening in increasing horror as she took in the scene of her slain family. The baby was collateral. A girl. Her disgustingly pink nursery room was indication enough. Eight, maybe nine, months? I'd honestly forgotten how loud newborns can be and I couldn't have it ruining plans months in the making. I couldn’t help the smile that wormed its way across my lips as I settled against the dry cleaner’s roof a few buildings down, panting in exertion as the thrill of my exploits finally reached its zenith.

I wonder how the proceedings will go. Not that there will be much contesting with a bloodied knife under her pillow, blood-stained sheets and her only alibi of “Wednesday pilates classes” being false. I wonder how dad would’ve reacted to finding that she was screwing someone else. It isn’t like she can verify that she’s been unfaithful twice in the last year, though. It’d bring shame to the Wensforth name, and the elites sure do love a great public image. What a predicament she’s found herself in.

I took the rifle with me. It’ll give law enforcement a bit of a puzzle to figure out, but there’s no fun in giving them all the answers, anyway. I’m relieved, honestly. I didn’t know if I’d be able to pull it off before graduation. Cheers to a bright summer.

Until next time.