Naru was trembling at the podium, giving her shaky testimony. Poor girl. She was only 6. But it wasn't her fault she was in this situation.

It was mine.

Well...Not really, I suppose.

But it was me who threw a tantrum. It was me who was mad at mom. It was me who opened the door.

I didn't know him well when he knocked at the front door, but I'd seen him once or twice around the neighborhood, so mom must know him, right? Maisey was on the couch, watching me let him into our house. He was nice. He gave us candy. I wanted to be nice, so I took it, but he gave me a mint candy that I hate, so I just smiled and tucked it into my pocket. He asked if my mom was home, and I said yes. I skipped around the corner to look for her.

But then I heard a thump.

And a scream.

I froze, and peeked around the corner in the hallway in time to see my sister fall on the ground in a heap, motionless.

My breath caught in my throat, and I didn't move a muscle. I couldn't. I was paralyzed. I was only a kid. And then my mother came running. She screamed at the sight, and I remembered myself, hitting the panic button on the wall. With the man turned away from me, I caught my mom's eye. She mouthed a word. I couldn't tell what it was, but I ran anyway. I hid under my bed. All I heard was the screaming.

Soon the police came. Two lives. Just me and my second sister were left.

So here we were. In a courtroom. With him. all the evidence was there. We were going to win. He didn't have a prayer. But what do we even get from this? Having to think about this whole mess even longer? It's been over a year, and nearly nothing has happened, even though he has no redeeming evidence. He acts sorry. Like he accidentally broke my sister's neck and stabbed my mom.

I don't believe him.

But even if we do win (which we will), all we get is two new siblings. Two more people to unknowingly remind us of what their "father" did. I don't want new siblings. I want to go home. But I can't. All of this has to be over first. Then they will contact me and Naru's new family, tell them that they will be receiving four new children. Us two, and the two babies they will cultivate to replace the lives lost. That's what the caseworker said. She said that we were lucky that we didn't have to go live with strangers forever, that we should be glad were related. Distantly. But they don't care about us. I've never met them. Just like I've never met the man who killed them.

My 'Father'.

My father killed his ex-wife and child.

He'd never even met Maisey.

He killed a child he'd never even met.\

I watched in silence as Naru began to cry. I don't know why they were hounding her so much. She was at daycare all day, and our carpooler dropped her off right after the police arrived. All she saw was the man being led away, and peeks at the aftermath.

The session was over eventually, and we were sent to our foster home. I was told the trial would be over soon. The sentencing would be next week.

~One Week Later~

Two life sentences.

And two new lives.

They'll take him to prison. Lock him up, away from us. They'll take his DNA, make us two new siblings. Force him to carry them, as part of the punishment for murder. To 'compensate'. As if anything could compensate for the loss of mom and Maisey. It's like rubbing it in our faces, that he lives on in them, and our family is dead. I heard some people name them after the victims. Even I know that's sick. And if they have the ability to make these children, why can't they just make as many stupid babies as they want? Or maybe take care of people and avoid mass dyings in the first place. I don't care what happens to those babies. They aren't my siblings, and nothing will change that.

~Seven Years Later~

Today is the twin's birthday.

They're seven.

Seven years ago today, we were sent to our new family with two new boys, Leo and Levy. One of Aunt Sarah's girls picked the names.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if my father hadn't come to our house that day. If I hadn't opened the door. If my mom and sister were still here. But that won't happen. I can't change that. He ended up dying in prison. Hung himself. Left a note saying he was sorry. I don't think I believe him. He got off easy.

The only thing he ever did for us was give us Leo and Levy. I got to watch them grow up. They really are my family, even if I wish I never had to take them. Naru is so grown up now-- 14! I can tell she resents the twins, but I know that she understands that it isn't their fault.

I love my family. Naru. Leo. Levy. Even my little cousins. I still miss you though, mom. I think I always will. I'm constantly torn between loving the boys more than anything, and wishing you were here instead. But I know you always wanted a big family. I know you would be happy with our lives.

I love you, mom. Forever. Even after eight years, I still miss you.

Thanks for everything you've given me. I'll keep writing this journal, but these entries are for you. Keep them safe. I'm letting everything go, starting with these. And I'm sorry for throwing away this life that you gave me, but I have to. I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't want to be like my father. I don't want to see you dying every night. I can't. I'm trying. I swear I am. And I'll keep trying. For at least a little. But just in case, make a place for me when I see you again.

I love you,

Corynne.

False confessions mean nothing.

A coerced tale may ring true,

But it wasn't meant to be so.

Perhaps it wasn't intended for your ears

Wasn't crafted in my heart to be spoken at all.

You may think you help

And I will be set free as a bird

But all you set free is resentment.

I built this up inside for myself alone.

These words are not meant to be shared.

They are not meant to be squeezed out of me

Along with bubbling tears and hiccuping sobs.

My soul should not be bared out of shame

Left shattered in pieces on a kitchen table.

A beautiful thing such as this

Was not meant to be wrenched away from me

And laid for all to see

Leaving me in shambles.

Was I built only to be broken?

Or do my words mean nothing

Unless accompanied by hysteria.

You could have waited

Until I was prepared to share myself

But instead, you assume that this confession

Was how it always was.

That it was never a beautiful and careful story

Slowly readying itself for the world.

A forced premature birth.

I crafted these words for me

And anyone I would choose

Not to be falsely rearranged by you

And wrung out of me

Dripping out of my mouth along with any chance you had

At having anything but my

False love.

Do you remember that day? That day in your life when everything changed? The day when buttercups turned to mulch, and steak turned to roadkill, and warm turned to cold but you didn't much care because you couldn't feel it anymore? The day when you woke up a child but felt you were an adult? The day your parents put you down and never picked you up again? The day when everyone around you kept on going as if everything was normal, everything was fine, but it wasn't? The day when rainbows grew tired of color, and the sun decided it rather liked the night-time. The day when you turn left instead of right, and you know that's not where you should go but you want to anyway; if not a destination then an ending. The day you know your mother will cry, but you turn anyway? The day when everything lets loose on you, and you couldn't control your own thoughts? The day when you see the car coming, but you keep going? The day when you know that you should stop, but your hands move for you? The day you want to never ever go home? The day you broke your family's hearts? The day you wrecked your own? The day you thought would never come, but did?

Do you remember that moment? That moment when everything made sense, yet was completely foreign? That moment when you made eye contact and saw the shock that changed your life? The moment when you realized they were alive too? The moment you regretted everything you had ever done? The moment you felt two worlds collide, annihilating each other? The moment a cacophony raged, but you felt in total silence? The moment when everything goes slow motion, and you get to watch every millisecond of your mistake go by? The moment you remembered buttercups and candy grams? The moment you thought of how your brother would always wash your dish? The moment you remembered all the tiny wonders of the earth? The moment you realize that someone was always there for you? The moment glass shattered and metal bent? The moment when your whole life was crashing down, but you were bringing someone else down with you? The moment you realized that person has a family? The moment you imagine everyone they will leave behind because of you? That moment when you changed lives and broke hearts? The moment you ended life and didn't shed a tear? The moment you wanted to live so badly it hurt? The moment you wished you had known how precious your life was before you abandoned it? The moment you wish you never wanted?

...Because I remember mine.

Note: not sure if it counts as not planning because I'm sequel-ing my last entry... But I have not actually planned anything about this, and it's not very good.

As June drove back to her flat, the hallucination stopped her train of thought a total of 11 times. She liked to think that 11 is a lucky number, yet for who was unclear. Her dead mother, or herself.

That night, June received not one call. Of course, this wasn't out of the ordinary, as she hadn't much time for hobnobbing in her six months in Leeds, but it never felt good. It has never occurred to her that inter-person relationships were all that important until she didn't have any.

All of a sudden, the phone rang. This was odd because as stated previously, she didn't often receive phone calls. But it wasnt her mobile phone mind you, but the telephone that came with the flat.

The telephone she had never given out the number of.

The telephone she had only ever used to call one person.

June stood cautiously, as if sudden movement would somehow scare the caller away. She picked up the phone, bringing it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Juniper? Is this you?"

The voice coming out of the phone was low and smooth, oozing out of the phone like treacle. June let out a breath, vaguely relieved, yet also mildly disappointed.

"... Em? How did you get my number?" She breathed into the phone, listening carefully.

"I looked at my phone's logs dummy. Where are you?"

"My flat. Where else?"

"Look, June, I need you to do something for me. I need you to take care of Mom, can you do that?The breath left Juniper's lungs as she froze in place. This wasn't happening

"Look, June, I need you to do something for me. I need you to find Mom, can you do that?"

The breath left Juniper's lungs as she froze in place. This wasn't happening. It couldn't. Mom was dead.

"Emerson, Mom is-"

"She isn't dead, June. You know that. Quit pretending. Do you know how hard it's been for her? You just left, June. You left us with no warning. The least you can do is stay with her."

June's hands shook with fear and rage. That's not true. She told them both her plans. She showed them the money for the flight. She'd cried in front of them when her mother 'forgot' the money belonged to June. She'd told Emerson goodbye the day she left. He was the first person she called when she got her flat.

" No."

" Please, June, think about her-"

" No."

She hung up the phone, hands shaking. How dare he accuse her of not caring, of selfishness. How dare he ask her to go back to that woman, as if they were old pals.

June sunk to the floor. She couldn't go back there. Not to Hamilton Street, not to Wyoming, not to the USA. She wouldn't. She couldn't. Did Em not remember? Could he just look past all the things their Mother had done?

June sunk to the floor. She couldn't go back there. Not to Hamilton Street, not to Wyoming, not to the USA. She wouldn't. She couldn't. Did Em not remember? Could he just look past all the things their Mother had done?

As June sat on the kitchen floor, she opened up her mind, and let the voices in. The breakups, the longing, the laughter, and the screams. The longer she sat in the cacophony of thoughts, the further she seemed to drift from that little house in Wyoming, and her little brothers plea for help.

June examined the bloodstain on the wall.

“Well,” She said, looking up at the four faces peering up at her. "It's definitely not a suicide." She caught one or two eye rolls as she stood up from her crouching position, and more than a few nasty thoughts bubbled in their heads. It was fair, she really didn't have any place being here, as they often pointed out. Sometimes out loud, sometimes not. June cocked an eyebrow at the officers' faces. Two of the four looked annoyed at a teenager doing their job, one was looking at her curiously, as if working out a puzzle, and the last just looked bored.

She couldn't blame him.

It wasn't a particularly intriguing case. However, it did in fact seem to be a suicide at first glance. A man, sitting at a table flopped forward, wrists cut and facing up. But June could tell that it had been a murder. One who thinks he is clever. Whoever it was is long gone. there were no thoughts floating around.

"Oh don't give me those 'typical of her' eyes Jameson. Look at the blood spats. The bruises. The wrists were cut while he was restrained, and when he was dead and most of the bleeding calmed, he was dragged to the chair and positioned. How else do you explain the pooling blood on the floor and the lack on the table." As she spoke, June pointed to the spurts of blood on the ceiling and walls, along with small bruises alone the wrists and torso.

"We've already-"

"Yes, I know you've decided it was a simple suicide. But you were wrong.”

"What, are you going to bring someone in too?" One of the officers scoffed. June shrugged.

"Perhaps. I'm rather busy at the moment."

She nodded at the men and walked out of the door. She didn’t need to be formal about it; It’s not as if she was working for them. Sure, sometimes she got a bit of pocket money for her interference, but it wasn’t a real job. She wasn't even supposed to be there. She stopped on the third step, hearing a rapid-fire of half-formed insults from the officers, griping at each other about 'the girl'. A few of the nastier ones never made it to their mouths, but they didn't know she knew that. She debated for a moment whether or not she should turn and face them arguing behind her, or simply be on her merry way.

She chose the latter.

June grabbed the car keys from her purse and unlocked her almost-new car. As she hopped in and closed the door she heard someone calling for her. She paused a moment. As she looked out the window, there was no one there. She hesitated before looking back out the windshield and froze. It was her mother. Thin. Pale. Ghastly.

“Juniper…”

June cringed at her full name. Her mother’s eyes widened before the figure screeched a ghostly wail. June shouted, screwing her eyes shut and covering her ears, preparing for a barrage of screams, but it never came. She looked up, and there was nothing but an awfully confused looking pedestrian she often crossed paths with, shooing his small child away from the ‘deranged beast of a girl.’ Those were the exact words the woman had been thinking. June breathed deeply, pulling her long curly dark hair around her face. No matter how many times the visions came, they were never any less terrifying. After collecting herself, she began her drive to the flat she had rented. Why was it even called a flat? Europe was odd. Of course, she had probably made it considerably more so.

Hatred dripping from the

Blade.

Broken hearted ace of

Spades.

Blood spilling off my

Skin.

Pulsing with the weight of

Sin.

See the crimson start to

Glow.

Pooling in the steady

Flow.

Insults carved into the

Flesh.

Most are old and some are

Fresh.

Cut as if the king's own

Hand.

Killed the queen with vengeance

Planned.

But I am not a noble

Vice.

I am a broken heart of

Ice.

My head is being filled with

Millions of pictures,

And thousands of pieces of prose.

I see words flowing through my sight,

And paint dripping off the brush,

But in reality,

All is still.

No words appear.

No characters coming alive.

Surrounded by inspiration,

Pens bubbling with anticipation,

For the next masterpiece we shall create.

And yet.

Nothing comes.

I cannot move my pen with purpose

As I used to do.

I go through the motions,

A simple sketch alone.

It has no soul or feeling.

No capacity to grow.

My drawings look uncomfortable,

My dialogue is dull,

Despite my trying round the clock,

To combat this horrid writer's block.

I want to scream.

I want to shout and kick and flail

And show it to you with words

I want to find the letters

And piece them together

Till you know exactly how I feel.

I feel disconnected from the world.

Like I'm falling and there's no safety net.

Like I'm screaming as loud as I can

But everyone's ears are muffled.

I want to run up to you and explain what I left unsaid

But I cant fit the jumbled words together.

Now I'm pounding on the keys

Trying to get the words down fast enough

Fighting to control the pain inside of me

Longing for someone to feel it.

I can't even rhyme

Or make the correct flow.

I just want to scream.

But I cant fit the words on this tiny screen.

I think that anxiety feels like a bunch of pieces of fabric sewn together. The fabric is all the parts of your life, but you are the thread, desperately trying to hold everything together as everyone around you is tugging at the fabric. Eventually, a thread will pop, and then it feels as if everything is coming undone all at once and there isn't anything you can do to stop it.

Notice: I was trying to enter this in a Pen to the Paper challenge, but something went wrong and I had to submit something else. This is what I would have entered.

Ah, the stars. They glimmered... a rainbow of flickering lights surrounding you. You float amongst the stars, slowly growing brighter. Everything is warm... comfortable. Everything is simply... fuzzy. You hear blurred noises, and feel blurred pressure, but everything is happily fitting together, as if you were meant to be here, in the void of nothing and light. You can't help but feel like this is where you were meant to be, as the lights grow stronger, and it's almost as if they are calling to you... Growing louder... louder... so loud...

"Austen!"

I was jolted back to earth, ripped away from the welcoming lights. It was even louder now, chaotic. There was fast beeping from a heart monitor, and a sore burning, as if someone had kicked me in the chest. There were doctors or nurses around me, bustling or watching me. I pieced together the eventful scene, still in shock from the separation from the dazzling lights of death. My mother was huddled over me, gripping my hand, tears streaking down her face. Across the room, my brother was shaking, staring at me.

I was in a hospital.

I almost died.

But... I didn't. A wave of relief and regret washed over me, muddled by the presence of reality. But it was short lived. A wave of horrible nausea washed over me, and I choked down vomit, resisting the purge. My head rushed as splotches invaded my vision, blocking my mom from view.

I wanted to speak, to shout for her to not let go of me, that I didn't want to die anymore, but my mouth was dry and I knew that if I pushed, the vomit wouldn't stop again. I stared at her desperately as she prayed for me, promising that she would be a better mother, as if this were her fault. Before I could think about it further, I was hit by another wave of dizziness, the world blurring heavily. Needles were being jammed into my flesh, fighting the battle for my life. My head and vision were swimming, and there was so much noise all around me, mercilessly shredding my already fragmented mind. Everything was cold... freezing, like the time we went camping in December. Flashes of everything that had led me here popped into my pained head. I pushed the thoughts away, and focused on the trembling hands gripping mine, anchoring me to life. The monitor beeped quickly, and It felt like my body was as heavy as lead, yet I was floating away. Nothing was still, and in the haze of mom and the doctors and the beeping and the pain, I could faintly see my lights. I wanted to go to them, I hurt so much, but how could I leave her? The doctor said something to her in a serious voice, and she looked more frightened than I have ever seen her. Frightened because of me. Tears were spilling over in her eyes was she squeezed my limp hand. She gazed at me in stifled desperation.

"I love you, Austen. It's ok, I love you. It's alright. You can go to sleep. It'll be ok, I love you. You know that, right? I love you..."

She looked more and more frantic as she choked the words out over and over again, trying to convince herself it was true as her eyes begged me to stay with her. But I couldn't. The lights were too bright, and I was floating away. With all the the strength I had left, I squeezed her hand feebly, wishing I could jump up and hug her and my brother one last time, but also wanting to give up. It hurt so much, and staying awake was so exhausting. the stars had created an entire universe above my head, and it was so, so beautiful. I gazed at mom once more, and floated up, to say hi to the stars.