Category : Diary/Journal

Sub Category : N/A

Part of Henry Townsend's apartment seems to have become ours. The chains on the door, the red writing that says: "Don't go out, Walter."
It knocks loudly, thunderously, and fast like the footsteps of a speeding cheetah. Nobody dares to look through the peephole. Or loosen the ties and let the troublemakers in. The male deep voices scold. Their patience has run out. like a gang of crazy lunatics they kick in the front door and squeeze through the now hanging steel chains. Arguing with my mother. Father wants to persuade her to pay again, like a diversionary tactic so that she doesn't notice how the horde clears out everything in this apartment and takes it with them.

I'm just a fragile teenager, and my Younger brother went to school today.
I hope and pray mother won't be mad at me or disappointed that I stood there pinned and frozen in my room. Fear paralyzed and petrified me. Is it still my fault? could I have done something without these doubts?

In my state of shock, I forgot about Marilyn Manson, who awoke from his sleep, interrupted his dream and climbed out of the loft bed to protect me.