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Her notebook were patches of small rough notes filled with her tears and blood.


It was tight shut with the keys of darkness, hate and pain. It was dark inside and if you ever took a look into these dark pages, you might be haunted by the darkest of its demons.


Her notebook was silent but if you ever cared to listen deeply, you would hear moans, sniffles of loud and uncontrollably tears and screams.


The ink was nothing but red as her blood. The writings on the notebook were small on the outside but told so much on the inside. Everything was so different with that notebook of hers.


If you ever saw her notebook, you would feel her deepest pains and hear her loudest cries.


She would keep it under her wet pillow or her darkest closet, filled with her dark clothing. She would write on her notebook daily until her thumbs grew tired first and her entire hands were next.


She grew weak and even weaker until she grew distant from her favourite notebook. She decided to give it the perfect Climax by saying goodbye to all of its dark pages and eventually saying goodbye to Life itself.