Hi everyone,

Remembered this today, and realised that I had never posted it here before. A few years ago I entered a competition to write an extra page from Laura Palmer’s secret diary. This was my entry, which ended up winning the competition; the first time I’ve ever won anything for my writing. I found one of the places in Jen Lynch’s book where there were pages missing, and then thought about what have happened in between the surviving entries. It’s not the lightest subject matter, and should come with a warning that it contains content that some might find upsetting. Here it is.

Thanks for reading,

Richard

August 8th, 1988

Dear Diary,

I felt her talking to me as I slept; this little thing inside me.  I know she’s a she. For the briefest instant, I thought of names for her. If I called her Donna, then maybe she’d have a life like hers, full of love and hope. My sweet sixteen daydreams came back to me and I thought of a future where she might have what I can’t: the car, the friends, the parents. What a joke. Who would her parents be? A coke addict and a blank space on the birth certificate.

She whispered the most beautiful things. I tossed around in bed, unable to silence her honey-sweet words. My God, she was reassuring me; telling me she loved me and that I could be a good mother. Then we intertwined and shared a glimpse of our future.

A little house far away; small and sparse but comfortable, somewhere where the evenings are as warm as the day. We sat at a little dining table, sharing a meal of chicken stew. I tried to convince her to eat her asparagus because it was good for her. She wore a flower and a dress and was about ten years old. We laughed and talked and her smile; her smile lifted me up to a place where I could see heaven. To my right, though, I could feel him looking at her, savouring her innocence. I couldn’t stop the sick feeling that crept up unwanted inside me. I didn’t dare turn around; he was there just out of sight. If I looked, I knew the dream would end and she would be gone forever. Still, I felt his gaze.  It was BOB and he didn’t want me anymore. He wanted the little one, my little girl, my Carrie with the flower. That was her name: Carrie.

“Why are you sad, Mama?” she said.

I told her it was alright and smiled as best I could.

“I know he’s there Mama. He can’t hurt us as long as we’re together. He needs us to be afraid.”

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to keep looking into her big, hopeful blue eyes. When I turned to look at him, he was gone – his work already done, enough doubt already forced into me. But, just to ram the point home, in his place was a body: a man sitting calmly on the sofa with his head destroyed by a bullet.  I knew I had killed him and that my girl had seen. Sure enough, when I turned back, Carrie was gone. I awoke in my cold bedroom with cold thoughts. I can’t bring her into the world and give her to him. I can’t force that sweet angel with her flower into my filthy life. We shared a meal and were happy together but it would have to end there.  I know what I have to do. I know how he’ll laugh as I do it.

L