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Entry One-

Liza Britchford reread her suicide letter once more, then crumpled it up, tossing it into her wastepaper basket. She massaged her temples, growling slightly. She couldn't even end her life properly. If there ever was a screw up, Liza was sure it was she. Standing, she walked over to her bedroom door, just to make sure it was locked, she felt quite certain that her parents wouldn't be very comfortable with her means of stress relief. Having seen that that it was indeed locked, Liza briskly returned to her desk and opened a drawer. She located the small Razor Blade she had been searching for and, narrowing her blue eyes so that she could get it precise, made a small but deep gash in the frail flesh of her wrist. Liza smiled in satisfaction as she watched the crimson liquid drip down her arm, the small droplets clung to her finger-tips before falling to the floor, staining the fluffy ivory carpet a sickening bloody reddish-brown color. She couldn't quite remember when her life had gone so terribly wrong, but she knew it had something to do with drugs. Cutting had soon followed her first attempt with heroin. As far as Liza was concerned, they had saved her sanity, which had been frighteningly close to leaving her forever. But, that was before she had been introduced to her lovely little drug. Liza would never forget the day when her best friend, Victoria Kyller, had saved her. How could she? It was, after all, every day that her addiction to the drug reminded her of it.

Liza sighed and slumped back into her white and pink candy-striped desk chair. She angrily shoved her unkempt, recently dyed, black hair out of her pale face. Anyone who looked at this room would never suspect that a gothic, suicidal, drug addict inhabited it. Jesus Christ, she needed to repaint this place. Having just inspired herself to do a little arts 'n crafts project, she set about making herself presentable. Glancing in the white-framed mirror she reapplied her black lipstick and eyeliner. Giving her black manicure a quick touch-up job, she grabbed her purse and jacket before running out the door. Liza hurriedly jumped into her brand new black convertible Mustang. Opening the glove box she removed the First-Aid kit, which her mother had forced her to put in, withdrew a Band-Aid, and unceremoniously slapped it down onto her bleeding wrist. Just as she had put the key in the ignition she heard the ever-familiar question.

"Liza? Where are you going?" her mother asked her, running over to her car before Liza could make her 'grand escape.'

"Out." She replied monotonously. Silently praying to whatever divine forces there might be out among the stars that her mother wouldn't ask anymore questions. She was not in the mood to answer any uncomfortable inquiries.

"Alright then." Her mother replied cheerfully. "Your father and I are going to the air-port now. I'll see you in a few days."

Perfect, Liza thought silently. Now's a great time to give my room a makeover.

Liza did not, however, mention this part to her mother. She simply plastered a fake smile, which she was sure was something more like a grimace than anything else. Turning the key, still in the ignition, she relaxed into the calming vroom of the engine. He first stop was the tattoo parlor. However, after hearing the shrieks of pain and terror from the back room, Liza decided she would rather spend her money on a nose piercing. After getting the nose ring inserted into her flesh, Liza went over to Vicki's house, where she could get more heroin. Drug in hand, she headed over to the mall, where she bought dark red sheets, matching pillow and a black comforter. Next stop was the paint store, where she bought three gallons of extra thick black acrylic. She then went over to the carpet sales place and hired a twenty-four hour or less carpeting job.

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By Monday her new carpet was down and Liza had started on the painting. Two gallons were used on the walls, and the third on the furniture. By Wednesday the paint was dry and Liza put her mattress back on her bed and fitted it with her new sheets. Liza starred around her new room with a certain satisfaction. Now not only did it match her personality, but also it would drive her parents up the wall. The phone rang and Liza answered from her recently reinstalled black and silver cordless.

"Hello, Britchford residence, Eliza Britchford speaking." She said boardly.

"Hey!" a familiar voice spoke.

"Vicki!" Liza immediately loosened up. "Wait till you see my room."

"Oh my god! Liza are you telling me that it's clean?"

"Sort of…" Liza nervously glanced around the much darker room. When she had moved her stuff back in she had mostly just dumped it into a large pile in her closet. However, her room itself was relatively clean.

"Oh shit!" Vicki squealed. "I will be right over there."

Liza grinned as she hung up. She could always count on Vicki to be the strangest, and most likely, suicidal case. Just the thought of Vicki coming over made Liza hurry to lock her closet door.

"Well, Vicki." She muttered still grinning. "You're sure in for one hell of a surprise."

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When Vicki arrived it was a little needless to say she was shocked.

"Liza…the only thing that could surprise me more is if you survive when your mom sees this." She muttered. "I can't believe you did this…you did do this right?" she wanted to make sure.

"Vicki you bitch!" Liza snapped playfully. "Of course I did this. Well not the carpeting but the rest was all me."

"Eliza Britchford…"Vicki mumbled looking around the room one more time. "You are insane. Wanna go grab a burger?"

Liza nodded and the two set off. Hey, Liza reasoned with herself. I'm dead anyway.

-End Entry 1-

-Entry 2 teaser:

Liza shivered from the corner of her closet. Where could it have gone? Where would it go? How did it disappear? Why, why, WHY?