- MAY 7

I've resorted to this because, well, maybe I still have the tiniest bit of hope that someone will find this, that I may be rescued from this grave I dug for myself. I'm trying as hard as I can to keep in touch with reality, to stay aware but it's become a lot harder now, I won't lie. I'm writing this because I've been hexed and well...I'm going to die.

If I ever get out of this, if somehow I find myself escaping by a hair's breadth, which is laughable wishful thinking, I will never mess with witches again. No matter how small or grand. Never again.

The madness is so intricate. It goes deeper than I can imagine. At first I kept waiting for something to happen, for some indicator that the magic had fully set in, that it hadn't been all a bluff. I was trying to observe the slightest of changes but nothing came. The quietness was extreme, the silence, the tense atmosphere around me, that was the hell. That was the beginning of the great descent.

There was no fever, no cold sweat, no splitting headache. Just a constant nothingness, a large pit inside of me. Even then I kept on waiting for something, my feeble brain was failing to understand what was truly taking place.

Blood hexes are something I've heard about in stories mostly, rumors, grapevine tales of wicked mages that unleashed their wrath on whoever crosses them. These hexes are one of the most powerful tools in a witch's arsenal. Unlike the other magic they possess or are able to wield, the blood hex takes on the extreme sides of power. It is a vicious and unrelenting magic that will only stop when you're truly gone, a slow mixture of cruelty.

Today is the what I imagine to be the twelfth day since my fall into insanity (not completely sure) and it started with a decent sized bout of hysteria. Dear reader, I've just realized that I haven't had a single drop of blood in almost two weeks! My face feels like a few strewn twigs but held together with some thin wire. My arms and legs don't even feel like mine at all as they feel like furniture, they quickly blended into the room when I plopped down here and started using the last strength in me to write this.

I'm in an ironic situation here, a quick death is an easy solution to this which I know I won't get, but a death-an agonizing one will surely come. Somehow, through all this I still write this, I still have a sliver of hope that someone will find me here.

I can feel my skin peeling off at the elbow as I use it for support and my bones knocking on each other at my knees which rest on the cold floor. I'm yet to embrace the pain because that's a slippery slope if I've ever seen one. Every move I try to make is agonizing so defeat is imminent.

The sun is slowly searing the toes on my right foot just where the glare pierces through the blinds. I cannot be angry or agitated, that too requires energy that I cannot waste. As of now my only true hope is a death that will only come when I have surrendered, when I've wholeheartedly accepted that I have nothing to live for.

If not for this curse of eternal hunger that was already upon me, something that has ensured that I never truly desire to die, I would have been long gone and out of my misery, but that is exactly why I'm in this position in the first place. My questionable choices did not start here, I have a long history with them and that is what makes this kind of retribution truly poetic.

I feel it coming, this pertinent sensation inside of me, it's lingering in the background but I know what it is saying, I know what it is harbinger of. Now that I've slowly become a heap of bones in this corner as flies devour me, this pit in my stomach tells me that I'm truly helpless against this hex, against this vampire curse that I sought out myself.

It's really easy, but I can't go down the path of self-loathing right now. I can't do this to myself, too much damage is already done and adding salt to the wound will do nothing but make me disgust you. This place, this house is big and empty, it's just me, always has been. The lone wolf that thought he had it all covered, Icarus who flew way too close to the sun, but now I feel the walls closing in around me.

- MAY 8

I passed out for the first time in more than a week. I was completely free. I felt nothing, no pain, no joy, no sadness, no anger, no power. I could not feel my bones rubbing against the thin sheath of flesh hanging over them like a shawl. I could not feel my jaw wrenching about agonizingly like it was about to detach, but now I do and it is far much worse than before.

The pain alone made my heart almost give out. I need to move my body and get out of this position but that might just be the last thing I do. I still haven't accepted death's inevitability, you see, creatures like me are not hardwired to. In theory it sounds like a solution but the truth is that it's going to be anything but painless. And what comes next?

- MAY 9

I must have been unconscious for at least 24 hours. The sun is setting again and it does not feel like the same day. It feels like this curse has matured during that period. The stench has definitely worsened.

The setting hasn't changed. It is still me in this dingy living room, just in a corner a short distance away from the stairs. That's how far I'd managed to go when I was trying to leave the house, back when I'd just been feeling strange and void-a minor inconvenience compared to what I'm going through now. I should have treasured that feeling, should have stayed in it, because by the time I got to the bottom of the stairs, the story had changed.

Moving is pain, crying is pain and writing this is pain, but a much tolerable one because it holds a falsified hope of escape from this hell, a hope that I've been desperately preserving. I'm confined to this corner that now reeks of rotting flesh and festering wounds. No one is coming to look for me, my lifestyle has made sure of it. The thought of it alone sends tears hurtling down to the brink and they feel like a thousand glass shards threatening to heighten the torment.

Whoever is reading this, I'm gonna die here. I'm gonna die here. Please, don't let me die here.

***

"That's it?"

A voice emerged from the darkness of the poorly lit room.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," a teenage boy squinting at a diary said.

"That's just, wow. I wonder what this dude was on," the other guy said, finally pulling the diary from his friend's hand.

They looked around for a little while but it was pointless because of the lack of light and the unbearable stench in the house. The diary was at least right about that part.

"Let's get out of here, I don't think there's anything for us to score."

"Wait Joel, we have to figure this out. We have a mystery on our hands."

"A mystery? Dude, come on. Don't forget your duffle. Don't want anyone finding out we were here," Joel said before slapping the bloody book onto one of the worse for wear couches in the living room.

"Dude, I'm serious. Did you not read the same thing I did? And and, look at all this blood," Joel said.

"There's no such thing as vampires, if you wanna stay here that's fine. I'm leaving, this place is giving me the creeps anyway."

And with that, he left through the kitchen where he'd left his bag. That's when Joel noticed that the diary had flipped to a random but similarly bloody page and there was something else written there. The next thing he heard was Chris scream.

***

-SEPTEMBER 23

I know this is all hard to comprehend, but a part of me is still convinced that I'm going to survive this somehow. I've done a good job at keeping this hope alive as long as I can but I don't think I can go much farther than this, I managed to get out of my corner thinking that it would do me good, but it just brought me closer to the end.

Clambered this pile of bones all the way to the kitchen, thinking I could somehow make my way out or reach for my phone but I just killed myself even more, so I have to be honest with you, I'm saving the last bit of life in me for one last thing.

If you're reading this that means you're my meal, my saving grace. I know you will not appreciate this, i know it is going to be tough for you, but it is all about survival, after all. If you too were an animal plagued with eternal hunger, you would understand where I'm coming from. If you're reading this, it means my story is not over after all.