A Page from Ariadne Clifton's Journal

November 24

I found myself writing much more frequently ever since my mom's accident. I hate calling it an accident. People tend to sympathize with the drunk driver who accidentally killed my mother because it was an accident. And accidents happen. It wasn't an accident it was a vehicular manslaughter, a negligent homicide. 




If I've learned anything from this tragedy, it's that life is unfair and full of crap. For one, they never found my mom's killer. "We're doing the best we can." I've lost count on how many times a police officer went by our home to say that. If this was a movie, I would've completely lost trust in them and relied on myself to find my mother's killer, using my intellect and resources. I would've built my own little cave where I would secretly watch the streets of Portland, waiting for the right person, waiting for the killer. But my life isn't a movie. It's just unfair and full of crap.

I found my own personal therapy in writing. Alfie, my little brother, found soccer as his vector to release emotions. My dad resorted to alcohol. Our relatives don't blame him. But I do. I get it, he loved mom and he's hurt. But he still has me and Alfie.

Speaking of dad, I think that was him. I heard the doors open downstairs. I have to leave now. I have to make sure he won't hurt Alfie or destroy anything.


I miss you, mom. Home isn't the same without you. 




Ariadne Clifton is my protagonist in Ethereal, my NaNoWriMo 2015 novel and that was a little excerpt from her journal. I'm basically just procrastinating the 1,667 words I need written today.