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July 1, 2011

Dear Diary,

I lost my diary, that's why I haven’t written for a few days. I snuck out last night. I ran, I ran as fast as I could! My feet became tired and my face was damp with salty water, I had nowhere to go.  All I could think of was Daren. So today I’m sitting on my bed, writing, and petting Paw.

-Ashley

July 5, 2011

Dear Diary,

The fight was bad, the fight was really bad.  There was noises of breaking glass, Daren and my father yelling, then a gunshot and my mother crying. In my nightgown, I ran downstairs, tripping over my bed, my mother met me at the top of the staircase with tears streaming down were pink face. She wrapped her arms around me for the first time and tried to walk me up the stairs. But I saw dad. I saw him with a gun in his hands and blood on his shirt. I pushed my mother away from me and ran to my room. I locked the door. I screamed. I screamed, I screamed, I screamed! I feel to the floor and cried. I grabbed Paw and jumped out the window. This time I didn’t stop running, my face wasn’t covered with tears, and I had somewhere to go. The police station.

-Ashley

July 6, 2011

Dear Diary,

Paw and I watched my dear, loving father get dragged to jail wearing handcuffs. We also saw Daren being carried out in a stretch. I didn’t want to look, but I did. They didn’t have a body-bag over him, he was shot in the temple. His eyes were open. . . his once blue eye were lifeless with grey.

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I now have all of my clothes packed, I’m not living with my mother. I have my Paw, my only true family left.  I’m going to live with Bell now. I probably should get out of these pjs.

-Ashley

July 12, 2011

Dear Diary,

Today is Daren’s funeral, also his birthday. Its been seven days since his death. My mother didn’t come, but who cares?  My friends were there, sitting right next to me, as well as some of his friends and teachers. This is the last time I can say goodbye . . . how can I do it?

-Ashley.

July 13, 2011

Dear Diary,

I visited his grave. I laid down a single, blue flower (his favorite color) and my poem that I had written for his funeral. I didn’t let a tear roll down my face, yet Paw meowed out to the world as he sat in my arms. I now know that it isn’t time for tears, but a time for strength and revenge. I have to leave the graveside and my diary, Bell is honking the horn to tell me its time to go.

-Ashley

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