His Euphoric Ordeal

black-hearted (adj.) - cruel and wicked; corrupt and immoral. · · **‡** · · Dear diary, hey dear it's me again, you must be bored too seeing me come here again. I am trying my best actually to compose myself and not let myself fall into the deeper void but the truth hurts. Knowing he won't be back ever again, wish i listened to him. Wish i never made him jump out of unwillingness. Anyways this is my last note and from now on, I'll make sure I get punished for this even though the police didn't. :) · -:- · Narrator's PoV · She closed her diary slowly, the worn cover falling shut with a dull, final sound. A heavy sigh slipped past her lips as she rested her arms on the table, letting her weight fall forward until her head lay against the cool wooden surface. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, unfocused, as if looking straight through the wall and into nothingness. The room was silent and cold. Pale moonlight seeped through the thin curtains, spilling silver shadows across the floor and walls. It was the only light in the room, faint and distant, leaving most corners drowned in darkness. The quiet should have been peaceful, but inside her mind it was anything but silent. There were voices. Too many voices. They screamed and echoed inside her head, overlapping, colliding with each other until they became nothing but noise. Words were being spoken, accusations perhaps, or memories, or something far worse—but she couldn’t make them out anymore. They blurred together into a painful ringing that never truly stopped. And yet, despite all that chaos, she felt nothing. No anger. No sadness. Not even fear. Just emptiness. She had grown good at pretending. Around people she could smile, laugh, even act surprised or upset if the moment required it. She knew exactly how emotions were supposed to look. She could mimic them perfectly, like an actor memorizing lines. But when she was alone like this—when the mask slipped away—there was only numbness waiting underneath. A vast, hollow numbness that swallowed everything else. At some point, she realized she hadn’t cried in a long time. She couldn't remember the last moment tears had blurred her vision or burned her eyes. It was as if something inside her had quietly died the day the crying stopped. Maybe it was her heart. Maybe it was something worse. Slowly, she pushed herself upright from the chair. The movement felt mechanical, almost distant, like she was controlling someone else's body instead of her own. Her fingers wrapped around the diary again—the same diary that had once held her thoughts, her feelings, her secrets. Now it felt meaningless. She walked toward the balcony with quiet steps, the floor cold beneath her feet. The night air greeted her as she stepped outside, brushing softly against her skin. It carried the chill of late hours and the faint scent of the sleeping world. From the small table beside the chair, she picked up a lighter. The tiny metal object felt strangely heavy in her hand. Without hesitation, she placed the diary on the balcony floor. Her thumb flicked the lighter open, and a small golden flame burst to life with a soft click. For a moment she simply stared at it. Then she lowered it. The paper caught fire quickly. The flame crawled across the edges of the pages, hungrily devouring ink, words, and memories. The gold and orange light danced wildly, growing brighter as the diary slowly surrendered to the fire. Its reflection glowed in her eyes. The flames shimmered within her dark irises, flickering like something alive. Anyone watching might have wondered if the fire reflected in her eyes—or if it had always been there, burning quietly somewhere deep inside her. She didn’t smile. She didn’t frown either. Her face remained still, almost curious, as she watched the pages curl and blacken, turning slowly into fragile ash. Eventually, there was nothing left but embers. The faint wind scattered the remains across the balcony floor. As if it had never existed. She stepped back and sank into the nearby chair, staring out into the empty night. The sky stretched endlessly above, quiet and indifferent. Darkness wrapped around her like deep water, and she let herself sink into it without resistance. The numbness returned, familiar and heavy. A long breath escaped her lips, followed by a quiet huff. After a while, she stood again. Her body moved on its own, guiding her back inside the room. She walked to the bed and lay down slowly, staring at the ceiling for a moment before closing her eyes. Sleep wouldn't come. She already knew that. But at least resting would make the exhaustion fade for a little while. Her small body curled slightly beneath the blanket, trying to find comfort in stillness. The room was quiet again, the moonlight still spilling softly through the curtains. She was only eleven years old. Yet her mind whispered things no child should ever believe. It told her she was better off alone. That she didn’t deserve anyone. That she was cruel. And worst of all, That everything that happened that day was her fault.