Categories > Original > Drama

The Talk Part 1

by creativewriter19 1 Reviews

After a man's girlfriend commits suicide, her diary becomes the key to tell a story of a double life, only to play a game of whats real and what is not. All characters are original.

Category: Drama - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Sci-fi - Characters:  - Published: 2013/07/26 - Updated: 2013/07/26 - 550 words - Complete

Quincey's P.O.V.

It's been a month since my ex girlfriend killed herself. I feel horrible. I feel disgusting. My family and a couple of my close friends tell me it's not my fault. They told me, I did the best I could giving her the best boyfriend she's had and being there for her in all her times of need; Good, bad, or indifferent. At the funeral I sat in another room on a chair. All my memories with Angel came rushing into my heart, putting pressure on my mind. Tears started pouring out of my eyes visciously. My crying becomes something that can't be controlled. 'Why did she have to kill herself?' I thought to myself.


I loved her so much. Who cares if she was an emotional hazzard,she had a very special quality to her: The will to forgive. And for whatever reason forgiveness within life and herself couldn't stop her from hanging herself at a local park. Her one, special quality didn't do anything for her. All it did was break the hearts of her closest friends, her family, and me. I remember one night she gave me her diary. It had a lock with a key on it. The thin that triggered her I'm hoping is in her diary that she calls, Martha.


I scroll through our old text messages, thinking back to the first time we made love. She requested that I wanted to be her first. She told me she was ready. All i could hope for that Friday night was iI didn't hurt her when I entered her slowly. The night we made love it was so smooth. So gentle and passionate. Everytime her pale, white hands would touch my body; Everytime she moaned lightly and kissed me involving her tounge, my knees would go weak. My skin would turn hot and my heart would melt at her beautiful smile.

Distracted by the thought of her my dad walks over to me and says "Hey son. How are you holding up?". I mumble "Not good at all". After dinner I sit in my room with Angel's diary in my hands. I take the small key and unlock it carefully.

Febuary 17th, 2002
It's been a couple days since I slept. These sleeping pills do me no good as these bottles of whiskey with coke. This fucking weed is barely holdin me up. I used to be so happy. I used to be so pretty. And now I'm no good. God, I just want to runaway. My tears just tear through my heart. They say if I pray, god will make my depression go away little by little. Honestly, it's all bullshit. My parents don't understand me. No one understands me. They don't know that there own daughter has been living a double life of drugs, alchohol, and prostitution. They also don't know about my recent aborted child. That child didn't deserve a life, anyeay. I lied to my parents and said I'm gaining weight for a lead role at school in a play. I was raped, but I like being raped. No conscent. No emotional needs. Just no shame, meaningless sex. And I'm proud of it.

I put down the Diary for a minute and cry my eyes out, intensively.
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