A little about Estevan:
My review of Arson is HERE.
Here is an entry in Emery's diary:
i wish i were different. i wish things didnt spiral out of control like they did. Geez, a few years ago everything seemed grate. Well, who am I kidding? Things were never great. Things always just were. I mean, being a preacher’s daughter has its own gifts and curses. More curses, I think. God, this is so stupid. Writing in my little diary? Like some stupid, naïve little girl. Guess its either this or therapy. I friggin hate shrinks. so that’s not really option.
i hate the way my life is more.
c’mon, emery. get a freakin GRIP!!! i wish when I looked in the mirror i saw something other than the scars. Other than the passed that won’t go away no matter how much I try to cover it up. I feel like going to the top of the nearest building and jumping off, but i don’t even think a fall like that could shake it all up enough to fix my dad getting kicked out of the church. Mom’s screaming at him now so im just gonna crank up the stereo. the rock music seems to tune ‘em out most of the time. They hate it though. in about point five seconds Dad’ll be yelling up from his study asking me to turn it down a notch or 2…or seven, so he can think, even though he’s like knee-deep in Mom’s interogation.
Man, does she ever let up?\
I’m so sick of the ‘rents. They think everythings all about their problems. i swear it’s like they forgot they had a daughter. a scarred daughter. You know I bought a copy of 17 mag last week. Had some skinny blonde chick on the front. Hair done up, make-up, air-brushed so her jugs sat all perfect-y on her chest. God, I think she had sparkles or something on her half-unbuttoned shirt. She’d be on playboy next issue, i can count on it. C’mon, Emery, you’re just jealous, my mind says. Yeah, I know. it’s a PHASE, right? Or it’s, oh, what did Mom call it last week? part of the journey of adolecense. maybe I should just be a whore like randomcoverchick. maybe I should lick my ice cream all seductively like that bimbo trying to steel Arson. Maybe I should just disappear and never come back to this stupid, lame town. & they think I’m hiding? they dont know the 1st thing about hiding. Geez, I mean we all wear strange masks. Dad’s hiding from real life. mom’s hiding from dad. emery’s hiding from emery…and everybody else.
God, did I just refer to myself in the third person? this diary crap is a real trip. The ‘rents would love that too. haha. “daughter now has new disorder.” Geez, I guess dysfunctional really is the new normal.
I’m listening to this really cool song on the stereo now. I shut my eyes. its alot lighter than I usually like, but it made it to a mix disc a few months back, before we all wound up here in dull, hickcity. Makes me think of arson. Oh! Makes me think of what-if. makes me think I’m more than a freak behind a mask, a chick that doesn’t want to come out of hiding. i dont even think he notices me. not like I notice him. But maybe, just maybe things can be different w/ him. with arson - that skinny, ash-haired kid next door.
What are you thinking? i’m saying it out loud, in case you’re wondering. oh, god, who am I talking to? Geez, now I have multiple personal…whatever. ALERT THE ‘RENTS pronto. histerical. man, I tend to ramble. This page is like a weak paperback that some writerboy is humming away at someplace. any where but here. Maybe he’ll finish it. Maybe not. i’m prob not gonna finish this crap. who knows? It’s maybe working, maybe not. Maybe’s not good enough though.
I…hate…writing…in…this…stupid…diary. Nope, writing to myself doesn’t help worth crap. Only makes me more pissed.
ahhh…can’t write the rest.