FicWad

Just a note from me, the author.
It would be very much appreciated if you could review, tell me what I'm should improve on and such. Thanks and enjoy :)


Well, its not every day you get a birthday, but it is every year. And every year it’s exactly the same. Cakes, crappy presents, a day to do “what you want” which ends up being bowling or staying home because what you want to do isn’t aloud or whatever. Its pretty stuffed up but you know, another year older, another year close to death which is another year close to freedom. I cant wait to get off this earth, out of this misery and somewhere so much better, somewhere I can be happy. I deserve that, don’t I?

Today is actually my birthday, October 31st, and well I think this might be the best birthday I’ve had. I got up late today, like I usually do everyday now cause I don’t see a point in getting up anymore, and stumbled down to the kitchen where my mother sat staring out the window with a cup of coffee. I walked past her and made my own cup and left to the lounge room where there was a hard, flat, wrapped up gift on the couch labelled with my name. Frank. So obviously I picked it up and opened it as carefully as I could. Apparently I had never been the type to just rip off the paper, the wrapping paper is usually the best part of the gift and I needed it. I’ve been making a very big, colourful collage on my bedroom wall (It’s taken me all year just to fill half my wall) to revile you. My journal. I was pretty surprised when I saw it actually because I'm not usually the one to own something so great looking. I flipped through your pages to find an envelope inside, also on it was my name, and opened it. It read:

Frank,
I know every year I have bought you something useless like a boring geometry book; or a pair of socks or even that year when I bought you a Barbie doll, I thought I would sober up and actually be here for your birthday.
I bought you this journal because you never open up to me, you bottle your emotions inside and that’s defiantly not good for you, so I’d hoped you would write in this and get everything off your chest.
I know it’s going to be a change, but if you ever have something you need to let out, let it out to the pages of this journal. It would be glad to listen.
Love, Mum.

Now, its not everyday I get a letter or a sobered up mother. I think I actually smiled when I read the letter. I picked up the wrapping paper and the journal and went back to the kitchen, hugged my mother, who smiled and looked partially sober, and went up stairs to do what I'm doing right know. Writing in you.
I'm going to try and make a habit of writing in you every day from now and until your full, I honestly will try. Ill tell you everything because my mother was right, it helps a lot. Well, the doorbell’s ringing, so I better go answer it. I doubt my mother will. She fears it will be the cops. Whatever she’s done now I will never know, I'm not sure I even want to this time. Bye!
Frank, 31 October.