Dead Girls Aren't Supposed To Talk Back (An Original Story)
My name is Evangeline Woode, and I was of sound body and mind. That is until my dead best friend came back and now we talk every night. She's the voice in my ear telling me what I've done and what I'm doing wrong. I'm going insane, right? Dead girls aren't supposed to talk to you anymore once they've bit the dust, right? I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. Who am I trying to kid? I AM crazy.
This is my journal, read if you wish.
Have I finally cracked? Of course I have. I've been talking with my dead best friend for several months now, if that isn't a sign of insanity, I don't know what is. She appears out of nowhere, and acts as though nothing has happened, and acts all nonchalant about everything. It made no sense at first, but it's all starting to fall into place now. When she first showed up, I realized that I had gone mad as a hatter.
And as time went on with talking to Venia, I realized there's a method to this madness: Venia knew I needed her and now she's back. That's reason, right? Unfinished business and all that typical bull TV shows and movies throw at you. That has to be it. I just can't handle this much longer, seeing her everyday, and talking with her every night just before I go to sleep; I swear I'm going completely mad.
Venia's driving me insane. She asks the same questions everyday: How are you Vange? Do people miss me yet Vangie? Evangeline, does he feel guilty yet? Yes Venia, people miss you and Zach feels guilty? Happy? Because I'm not. I don't think I'll ever be happy again, well, in this sad lifetime anyway.
I want to curl up in a ball and hide away from the world. I want to scream until my lungs burst. I want my dead best friend to stay dead and leave me the hell alone.