Diary Entry 6 – Bernadette


Winter Break.  I haven’t written since…since before.  I couldn’t.  Peter said…all sorts of things.  Didn’t matter.  Didn’t care.  School’s starting again in January.  I…can’t go back there.  Not after…no.  I can’t.  Can’t.  Not ever.  Everyone left is transferring, I think.  Miller North and South are taking a bunch of the…the survivors.  Dad says it’s too far to those schools.  Heard him say that he didn’t see why we couldn’t just stay put.  It’s not like we were there, he says.  Why are we so traumatized?

Didn’t tell anyone what happened.  Not even Tabitha.  Said when we got there we just turned back.  What could we say?  Ben didn’t say anything for days.  I know he had nightmares ‘cuz his room is right next to mine.  At least he could sleep.  I don’t remember the last time I slept.  Every time I close my eyes…No.  I don’t even want to think about it.  What I don’t get is that my power is Sight but I could hear the…no.  Nevermind.

Mom wants to get me a councellor.  I told her I don’t need one.  I can’t really tell her about Peter, ‘cuz, you know, she’s an adult and would wig-out needlessly.  We don’t really talk about… it, but I know he wants to.  I won’t let him bring it up.  He kept trying for the first week after, but now he doesn’t.  Talking won’t change anything.  It won’t bring back two-thirds of the student body and most of my teachers.  It won’t make me feel better that I could See their deaths, their screaming souls writhing above their desecrated bodies.  IT WON’T CHANGE A DAMN THING.

Sorry, Diary.  Had to stop for a few hours.  Once I start crying, it’s like I can’t stop until I run dry.  Oh, and it hurts so much.  I wish it would stop.  I wish God would do something to make it stop.  The images are seared in my memory thanks to this, this gift.  I’m contaminated with it and it burns me all the time.  I can’t eat or sleep or do anything without seeing it over and over again.  Maybe I’m crazy.  Maybe I should go see a shrink.  That’s what crazy people do, right?  And maybe I can get some meds so that I can sleep again.

No, don’t be stupid.  If I go to a shrink, I’ll have to tell him the truth about everything.  And I know their not ‘sposed to tell anyone what is said in there, but I also know that the Council doesn’t care about confidentiality clauses.  If I start going off about the Shield helping out a couple of vigilantes, let alone my own special situation, I’m sure to get a visit from whoever our new Hero is.

Oh, yeah, we had to get a new one.  The Interrogator was found in the school dumpsters.  They say he wasn’t even killed at the school.  They killed him somewhere else and dumped him there on purpose.

Nevermind.  Doesn’t matter.  There’s always another cape waiting in the wings.  Always is, always will be.  Funny how a city bursting with Super Heroes could allow something like this to happen.  Useless cartoons, that’s what they are.  Pointless caricatures of real heroes.  If the cops had gone in when they got there instead of waiting for the Heroes, maybe things might have…

Ugh.  Why is it I can’t get away from that stupid topic.  It happened.  There’s no changing it.  I’m officially over it.

Tabitha’s in councelling.  She feels all guilty because she was gonna go and didn’t.  She’s even guilty about Russell’s…about Russell.  I mean, we spent most of the night bashing him for being all horny and a jerk.  She just keeps saying that he might have been…

Doing it again.  Okay, new subject.  Peter says I’m getting much better with my “gift.”  I’ve been meeting him at his apartment complex.  It’s kind of neat all the nice work he’s doing for all those people.  They have prayer meetings and stuff, which I refuse to go to ‘cuz it’s all a little cheezy.  He did get me to help them paint the new park equipment.  It got my mind off…everything.  The people living there are all kind of, well, dirty homeless people, but they’re pretty nice.  There is one really old guy who flirts with me (he’s, like, 35!).  Eew.  Peter says he flirts with everyone and it’s all kind of a joke.  Still.  Eew.

There are a few little kids there that are really cute.  Still dirty, but cute.  I’ve seen Joan a couple of times there.  She doesn’t say anything.  Just kind of walks by with a nod at Peter and then she’s off to do whatever it is she does.  She looks much better now.  Not so thin and her clothes are better.  All her scars are gone, too.  Peter doesn’t like to talk about her too much.  He says it’s because he doesn’t know anything, but I think he’s doing the whole “protecting me from stuff I don’t need to know” schtick that adults like to pull.  He has forbidden me to look at her with my Sight.  Says she might not like it, like she’d even be able to tell.  I’m gonna do it anyway.  He’s not the boss of me.

I hate to admit this, but I feel better now.  I’m sorry I didn’t write for so long, but you understand, right?  I mean, it’s not like you have feelings or any concept of time.

Until next time, Diary.

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