August 20XX
We just moved in to this suburban area named ‘Dream Fantasia County’. My parents, after my rather unsettling hubbub these few months, decided to move away from our old place into a new environment where we can start anew. Arrangements were made with my school to transfer to the new one near my suburban home, and I told my boyfriend my new address. We even have issued a change of address to the shrink I go almost regularly every two weeks, although I don’t know what difference would it make if I continue seeing him. Not that he would ever believe my stories anyway. No one listens. No one ever listens.
You’re the only one I’ve got who truly, truly believes me and never questions them.
Anyways, I like the house that we’re living in. It was a lovely house really; a double-storey house with a very exotic air lingering around. The best of it all is that it has a swing in the backyard that I could have all to myself, coz my brothers thought it was just too childish for them to be playing with it. Somehow, the swing brought back a lot of childhood memories and I feel a sort of connection towards it.
I was so thrilled with the swing that I played with it every single day after school. I would do my homework or school projects right by the side of the swing sometimes so that once I’m done, I could play with it. I spent most of my time at the backyard; even more time than I should be in my room. I had to be forced back in the house, or else I might just spend the night out there. My father threatened to dismantle it once in a while but I shot him back a dirty look, telling him that he’ll be sorry if he ever does that, period. My mother wasn’t complaining too much about it; she thought at least I was spending more time at home than “creating trouble” outside like I used to.
One day, as I rushed back home to enjoy my swing, I noticed a boy about my age sitting on it. His eyes were sort of blank, like looking straight ahead like that of a blind person. I assumed that he was until he looked up and greeted me. At first I wanted to scream at him for breaking into our home and yell at him to get the hell off my swing, but his smile and his silent nature somehow melted my heart and I made friends with him immediately.
We began spending most of our time at the swing. He seemed to be an upright kid with clean cut hair and innocent looks, and though he never spoke, his eyes danced vibrantly and sent out every word he wished to say. Somehow I seemed to understand what he wants to say even before he thought of it. I would show him my collections of buttons I have throughout the years, shared secrets, told him about you and all that. My stomach fluttered like there were butterflies in it and my cheeks would gain colour as my heart beat faster whenever I am near him. It was like having a secret friend. A friend you never had.
Slowly, the swing became an obsession. Sometimes I refused to go inside the house for fear that the boy would walk away and I’ll never see him again. My parents had enough of me and grounded me in my room. From my room, I could see the boy sitting on the swing waiting for me. I wanted so badly to go out there and play with him, but they even paid my brothers to guard me. The shrink personally came to my home to counsel me, but I didn’t feel like telling him my secret friend. I could go a day without talking to him, just staring out at the window ignoring everything he said as I looked longingly at the swing.
Finally one night, I heard the boy calling out my name. That was the first time I ever heard him speak. My door opened by itself and soon, I found myself in the backyard, the boy smiling at me on the swing. I ran to him and we played until at last I felt myself soaring in the air. Then, everything went black.
When I woke up, I found myself lying on bed with my family, our family doctor and my shrink at my bedside. My head was bandaged and I couldn’t move. When he finished checking on my condition, he took my worried family and the shrink aside, but I could hear what he was saying. He said that I should really go get professional help, maybe even get myself medicated for my weird psychological behaviour and my suicidal tendencies, or maybe even consider getting committed to a home. The shrink made a few arrangements to try and give me more counseling before resorting into that sort of thing.
How could they think I was suicidal? I didn’t want to commit suicide! I’m not that stupid! I just went out to play with my secret friend, that’s all! Unless…
While recovering, I surfed through the internet to find out about the history of the house we were living in. I hacked into the realtor records and found out that my secret friend, whose name was Frederick Clements, was the son of the previous owner. He broke his skull when he accidentally fell off the swing that was at my backyard. He was a very lonely boy with workaholic parents, and it took three days for the neighbours to smell and find his rotting body at the backyard, and it actually took a week for the parents to come back to claim the body. The boy obviously wanted to take my life so that I can be his friend for eternity. They had hired a priest to cleanse the house, but it was obvious that he had failed. I also learnt from the internet that there are certain souls that are unable to be cleansed or exorcised due to the strong aura and attachment he/she had towards a place when he/she was still alive.
As soon as I found out about all this, I found him standing right beside my window looking at me sadly. His eyes were brimming with tears, seemingly very apologetic and didn’t mean to kill me. He just wanted a friend. He just didn’t want to be alone. My heart was overwhelmed with pity and I hugged him, saying that even though I do not wish to die just yet, I would never leave him alone. In fact, I told him I wanted to be more than just a friend as I gave him a kiss.
Right now, as I am writing this, I am with him, sitting on a bed at a secluded corner in a daily home for the homeless. The night I shared the kiss with Frederick was the night I ran away with him, bringing only you the journal along, my faithful companion, and living off soup kitchens and scrounging up anything I could wear to keep myself warm and fed. I don’t mind really. In fact, I like this life. It’s about time I look out for myself.
All I need to do is avoid being found and I’ll be fine.
No biggie.
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