April 7, 2028
I realize that this is a day early, and I realize that my notebook has very few pages left, but I just remembered something that I had to put in to words.
Living in this tall tower of doom, I mull over my past, remembering the times I lived. Yes, I am living now, but just barely. In fact, I don’t think spending my remaining days locked in a tower is considered “living.” Now I know how Rapunzel felt.
Anyway, this candlelit writing desk looks over the nearby forest. And watching these particular trees sway freely in the wind just reminded me of my grandmother.
When my brother and I were children, she would always say to us, “When the trees speak, we must stop and listen, for they are all knowing and wise.”
She was a very earthy woman and could make any fruit flourish; I think she had a green witch in her. I’m not complaining though. She started the farm and left it to my father after she retired.
However, she always seemed to know what the trees were saying. She taught us to listen and interpret their whispers.
Sadly, I have not pursued this ritual and now my tree-speak, as I called it, is beyond pathetic.
I have lost my ability to perceive their voices and now I cannot hear anything, just the wind howling like a wolf crying to the moon. However, I might have heard them say “save” or “rescue.”
It is a load of tosh though, even if they were saying such words. I cannot be saved or rescued. It feels as if I am destined to live here for the rest of my miserable life; that sounded melodramatic… oh well.
That is odd.
Just now, I saw shadows moving, five shadows, probably a “pack of werewolves” as my brother would have said. He believed in superstitions like vampires, lycans, and witches, and I shamefully encouraged his belief; he was so funny about it, too. He loved the supernatural, yet he was afraid of it.
I miss them terribly; perhaps I am to die in this hellhole. Maybe my life is in my own hands. No one except the Guards and Phoenix know I am here. I should have died all those years ago. I know now that I was not supposed to survive. So why did he revive me?
It was not out of love, God. No, if anything, he hated my family, and me, even though I was always kinder to him.
This is so infuriating. He has taken six years of my life away. I swear I’ll settle the score with him. I’ll be sure to end his life the moment I can!
Just thinking about it makes my blood boil. My hands shake with the thought of throttling the life from him… Yes, I know it will not replace those lost years, but I will, at least, have a lifetime of satisfaction