A Hellgirl's Diary Part 1

1 September 1998

First day of senior high at Milberg’s Sanctuary. Any normal girl would be psyched at finally graduating from junior high to senior high. I mean, why not? It’s a time when you’d start dating, clubbing… (In Elena’s case, it’ll end with love making at the back of the dude’s Mustang) Oh, no offense.

Yea, right.

In my case, to quote Lemony Snicket, it’s just gonna be another “Series of Unfortunate Events”. And I don’t mean in the Lizzie McGuire kinda way where she messes up and cleans the mess and her life goes on. Not at all. That’s cause…

I’m cursed.

Put it this way, anything I hold will either fall/slip from my fingers or injure someone. (Doesn’t matter who or how, as long as blood is involved.) It’s not that I’m clumsy. It just happens. Anybody who talks to me will meet misfortune the minute he/she walks away from me. (Alan Morris didn’t spear himself through the head with the chopstick.)

It’s me. The unlucky star.

Since that day, everyone avoided me. My mom only speaks to me through her cell when it’s a life and death situation, Dad doesn’t speak to me at all, I’ve got no friends, and I soon had people calling me “Hellgirl”, as it suited me.

I only exist as an empty shell.

I’ll give a short overview of how it all begun...

Long, long ago, in a faraway land…

Who am I kidding? I’m no story teller. I’m writing in this book so when I die (which will be quite soon, given my lifestyle), someone will know what I’ve had to go through.

Anyways, coming back to another day of torture, I woke up at 3 a.m. (I have to wake up 4 hours earlier than anyone so I can reach school before anyone else. And also put on my “protective” layer of clothing which takes up an average of two hours.) No matter what time of the year it is, I have to wear gloves so my “cursed-self” won’t affect anyone else around. Not that it actually works, but at least I would be able to avoid killing someone after I shake hands.

Left my house at around 5.30 a.m. It’s only a 10-minute walk from where I live to school, but by leaving before anyone else, I’ll be able to avoid passers-by. I guess I forgot to mention anyone coming any nearer to me within a 3 meter radius will either trip and fall into a man-hole or cut themselves and bleed for hours.

Why do you think no one ever sits anywhere near me? Even my teachers avoid walking too near my seat. They don’t even look at me. 15 years of my life and I’ve never asked any teacher my questions. Although I wouldn’t mind hurting one or two for always accusing me of thefts I do not commit whenever a problem of stealing occurs among the students. Yet somehow, I’m not failing my subjects. Not that anyone cares. My report card gets posted back to my house but no one in my family would be crazy enough to risk touching anything that has my name on it.

Haha- Now start wondering why I’m still alive. Trust me, people have tried. Mom tried drowning me when I was 3 but felt herself gagging. Dad had police officers lock me up to “teach me a lesson”, but every night, we would have switched places. Nobody could figure out why. In the end, they came up with a conclusion that I had fingers that morphed into keys, unlocked my cell door, walked to my house, lifted Dad up with an enchantment spell and transported me to my confinement room.

This went on for about 5 years till they finally gave up. The last time somebody tried to kill me was last year. Jason Williams, my second cousin stabbed me while I was sleeping. Somehow, the knife managed to twist out of his hands and drove itself into his heart. He was rushed to the hospital, but the surgeons couldn’t even pull out the knife. Like it was glued into him or something.

It doesn’t even work when I try committing suicide. The knife I’m holding would refuse to stay in my grip, the gas stove would switch off automatically just before my heart stops beating, the match won’t light up, my wound would close the minute I pull the knife out. Even if I don’t, the knife would jump out on its own accord.

Like as if I did something to offend God in my previous life. I cried often last time, but now? Crying wasn’t going to solve anything, so why bother? I’m not some 5-year-old for devil’s sake. 15 years have passed since my birthdate- 13/03/1983 and now I’ve learnt to rid myself of all emotions. Including happiness, love, pity… Not a very hard thing to do, since I haven’t got an outlet for my “affections” anyway.

Okay, enough of my sad past and let’s get with my current life of hell, shall we?

I was sitting at my desk, staring into blank space when some guy walked in…