by Nathan Boole

Created on: September 28, 2009   Last Updated: September 30, 2009

A Dream of Life

Addendum to my daughter's diary, Mar. 14th 2006

My name is James Fenton, and there is a curse on my family. I discovered the curse when I read through the newspaper articles and case files surrounding the life of my father and my grandfather.
My father was struck by the curse early in his life, going mad at age 15. I only exist because at age 35 my father escaped from the asylum in which he had spent most of his life, and raped an eighteen year old girl-my mother.

Courageously she decided to keep me: the bastard child. She raised me well, and I lived a normal and mostly happy life. Even after I found out about the curse, I believed that it had skipped my generation...

Diary of Jennifer Fenton, March Twelfth, Two-Thousand Six

A story. All I asked for was a story. Then I closed my eyes and listened as my father spoke.

This is a true story. You were a beautiful little girl with big brown eyes that always melted my heart when I looked into them. You always had a cheery smile ready on your face that brightened the day of anyone that saw it, and your laughter often filled the house while you played.
Then the accident happened. You had been playing happily, as usual, and then you started screaming. It was the worst sound I'd ever heard. Your mother was at work, and I was the only one there. I raced to your room to find you lying on the floor holding your face. The carpet around you was red and wet with your blood, and blood was running between your fingers.
I pried your hands from your face to see what had happened, and I had to look away. Your cheek was shredded, and I could see your teeth through the open wound. I put your hands back on your cheek and told you to hold them there. Then I jumped up and called nine-one-one. I ran back to you and held your head in my hands until the ambulance arrived.
You had to get a lot of stitches, sweetheart, and you had to wear a big bandage on your face for a while. Eventually the bandage came off and the stitches came out, but you had a big scar on your face, and you were always scared to play alone after that.
The other children at school made fun of you and called you names. Sometimes they even beat you up or ripped your clothing. So your mother and I decided to take you out of school and teach you ourselves at home.
For the first few years everything went fine, but you didn't have the interaction with other kids that you would have had, and you didn't have any friends. I tried to be your friend, but it's extremely hard

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