i hate this. first you say that we should drive to france and then you say we should go by plane. make up your fucking mind helena!

fuck. the trip wasn't all that it was made out to be, was it helena? i did promise that fucking idiot zombie sean not to tell his little secrets, so i won't. but he'd better watch his ass when we meet the next time. but as helena says he is alright, i must believe her.

fucking pack trust and all that stupid crap. shit!

why does everything like this have to happen to me?

i want to be a normal fucking girl making normal plans like normal people do. i want to worry about meeting the right guy. i want to worry about whether he is serious about his relationship with me. i don't want my anxiety to concern what kind of tentacle will try to eat me next. or if i will live to see my 25th birthday.

yeah, that's right. i'm only 24.

and i have already killed more people in my life than any serial killer you can imagine. all in the name of 'good'. yeah. right.

get a grip, now shall we, amanda?

my story? you're interested in my story?

i don't believe you, but here goes.

i was born in 1974 in a better part of pretoria, south africa. and yes. i am white and i really believed in apartheid. it was all i knew for christ's sake.

anyway. at a party at this really expensive disco for my 16th birthday i finally made my first 'transformation'. i flipped out after drinking some spiked lemonade. one other person survived. i think he still is locked away in some mental hospital somewhere. stark raving mad. you know the type, 'wallowing in their own crap, chewing on their tongues'-mad.

they said i was killed too. they blamed the terrorists in anc. oh, sorry. the evil fucking leaders of apartheid blamed the good struggling fucking black organisation anc. it amuses me somewhat to realise that if i were to change today, the tables would be turned. the rulers would still blame some terrorist organisation. i know i don't fucking care who is charge anymore. they're all men anyway.

so. here i am again. and i haven't killed the fucker sean this time either. helena actually made a dash for it, but her heart has never been into ripping and clawing, really. fuck. who am i to judge her, anyway? still, it was half past eleven and we were at tower records trying to find helena's old buddy. or at least some godawful old fucking movie of his. having just seen his 'epic' damocles i must say that i wasn't too fucking thrilled about seeing the rest of his crap. but helena and that fucker rudolph and his even more fucked up friend elmer or whatever wanted it that way. constantine wasn't even there for me. stupid git.

oh fucking god shit hell suck this! i am getting domesticated. i hate the way these fucking stuck-up brits speak. and still i imitate them. fuck again.

hmm.

julianne, i need you! you hear me! talk to me!

tower records. yeah. fuck. helena suddenly went all fucked up at this really fucking stupid bitch behind the counter. the girl couldn't add two and two together and even i had to control myself. but helena flipped. fucking stupid helena. in the end sean and i pinned her sorry ass to the floor and dragged her out of there. but not before sean had gotten himself a real serious wound across his left arm. he. serves him right. his fucking righteousness is so fucking sickening.

time to sign off, eh?

till later.

go to the first page that have written.