Everything needs an end right? But how will this end anyway you might ask. We all know Erica died. She died one year ago today, March 8^th 2003. We never knew at what time. The final instalment of Erica's story is mostly guesses and speculations. I could never be absolutely certain of the events because, well, I wasn't there was I? This will just be what me and Marcy guessed is the way things went down. -J

Warning:

The following story is based on actual facts and is intended for mature readers. Graphic and psychological violence are involved. Reader discretion is advised...

"Hi John its Erica."

"Oh hi Erica whats up?"

"I'm pregnant John."

"You're fucking kidding me... Sweetie I'm so sorry. Its not..."

"Yes it is. My dad impregnated me. He was so fucking drunk a few weeks back I guess he didn't realise what he was doing or what hole he was fucking. John I'm fucking pregnant I don't know what I'm going to do."

"I know you're as against it as I am but maybe you should get an abortion...I mean he will kill you when he finds out."

"I can't do that John. I can't take a life... especially not to an unborn life. I could never do such a thing John. I don't know... I've got to figure this out...Oh my god he is gonna kill me. It was his fault, he never should have done these things to me in the first place."

"Sweetie, please call child protective services like I have asked you a million times. Erica I beg you get out of there before something worse happens. He will beat the child out of you sweetie or... I don't know he will kill you for sure. Go away, get the hell out of there before something happens. I love you Erica, I don't wanna see something bad happen to you."

"I am going to go away soon John. I promise. Why couldn't you live closer John? Why do you have to be so far away? I love you so much John. Not just as a friend but more... I wish we could have been together... I really wish we could have met one day. Bye John I love you."

  I heard the click. Silence...deafening silence engulfed me. I sat back the phone still in my hands and I lit a cigarette. I put the phone down and held my head in my hands. What the hell do you say to someone you want to help and you can't do anything about it? Its not as if I can just hope on a plane and travel the country to help all those who need it can I? I am not a superhero, granted super-human abilities to save the planet. I wanted to help her but there was nothing I could do. I tried to call her but the phone was off the hook. I tried again and again and again. The phone was never picked up. I was left in a state of pure ignorance as to what was really going on.

  Marcy wrote to me the next day, March 8^th close to midnight. She asked me if I saw the news. I told her that no I rarely watch the news because it depresses me. She told me Erica was on the news. Scenarios of her body found in a ditch somewhere were cascading through my head. Scenes of her little twisted body found limp and cold were leaving me terrified. Marcy told me Erica took her life. Erica supposedly took some kind of flammable turpentine and spread it on her fathers mattress while he slept and set it on fire. The reporters were saying that in most cases of death by fire the victim dies of smoke inhalation before even feeling the burn. And that her father being so drunk would explain why he never got up. The found Erica's dead body in the corner of her fathers the room, holding onto something like a sock.

  Marcy asked me if I know what happened. I told her: "No, I don't know... I guess no one ever will." I lied

"A letter to the world that shall not reply"
  Well first off i want to say hi to those of you brave enough to visit me here. It wont always be this serious so dont worry. My imagination runs many paths and I usually ain't this intense or dramatic. Stay for a while and listen...


  So we are halfway thru readers... Its almost over. Erica's anguish is almost at an end. What made her last for as long as she did you ask? I have no bloody idea. She just did. Maybe its a combination of boundless hope and surprising idiotic hope. Hope springs eternal right? -J

Warning:

The following story is based on actual facts and is intended for mature readers. Graphic and psychological violence are involved. Reader discretion is advised...

Erica Jones part 4

  Marcy might have been somewhat of a friend. As close as a real life friend as Erica might have had actually. But no one knew as much about her as Yacko. She had nothing left from her youth. Her dad had simply decided that she needed to grow up and stop hiding behind her dolls and toys when she got her first period at the age of thirteen. Coincidentally that was the last time her dad had ever tried vaginal penetration with her. She thought it was just another wound that wouldn't heal. That the brute force of her fathers cock inside of her had made her bleed. Continuously, for three days with no apparent end. She hadn't ever grasped the concept of a menstrual cycle. Don't ask why she didn't know why either. It was something that she just didn't think of. It would have been to normal to just be like the other girls. Marcy explained it to her, one morning while she caught Erica rolling toilet paper into a wad to line the bottom of her underwear. So her father made what was left of her childhood disappear when Erica asked for tampons. He gave her money and when she got back home from the pharmacy there were boxes of her stuff sitting on the curb waiting to be picked up the next morning. Erica ran up to her room after her father had smacked her in the face, calling her a filthy whore. "Now don't getting yourself fucking pregnant you slut. I've seen you looking at that prick in the grocery store. Just like a fucking whore you and your mother..." So she got into her room and looked under the pillow and found him. She thought her dad would have found him. He didn't. Yacko was still there. Her mom had made her a sock puppet with one of her grandfather's old socks and two mismatched buttons. Yacko was the only true friend she had in this world. He knew everything, The times dad came home drunk from the bar where he had lost 200$ on the game, and of course it was her fault he couldn't get laid. Her mom was so pretty he said as he kissed her with his hot disgusting breath washing over her and making her stomach crawl with putrid horror. His hands clumsily were pulling her pyjama shirt over her head. Yacko saw it all: all the rapes, all the crying. The blood...oh god the blood. Her father liked it when she bleeds. But Yacko was just a sock puppet... what was he supposed to do? Who was he going to call? So Yacko sat there under the pillow and heard it all...

When you want to scream "fuck" a milion times
The sad thing about writting all this is that i know that only a of few of you will get to read this. Its not a story really meant to cheer you up or to make you feel guilty. My aunt once told me when I found out I had diabetes that some people have it worse. Yes they do. Fuck alot of people have suffered thru a hell of alot more that I have. Some of my friends right now are either recovering from stab wounds or broken wrists caused by some guy who can't grasp the concept of human decency... It just pissed me off. NO ONE deserves to be hit, beaten, physically or mentally abused. If thats your current situation just leave. There are solutions and people who are willing to help you. You have other family members and friends, authorities, court systems whatever. Erica died becuase she kept telling herself things would get better. He was going to stop... He wouldnt hit her anymore... Things would get better... They didn't. You know the ending. Just not how yet. Thank you Marcy. -J

Warning:

The following story is based on actual facts and is intended for mature readers. Graphic and psychological violence are involved. Reader discretion is advised...

Erica Jones part 3

  School wasn't much better, she had no friends but a girl called Marcy who mostly talked with her to copy her answers in math. The rest of her classmates would talk to her would mock her. Often she would show up at school with bruises on her face and arms. Well those were the ones they could see. The other ones on the rest of her body could be easily hidden by strategically placed clothing. Her breasts would often have contusions and discolorations. In gym class she was a klutz so when she told her teachers she ran into a wall or fell down the stairs, the lies passed with ease. Behind her back they would laugh at her and call her names. Even Billy Monroe, the guy she had a major crush on since grade 5, would join in with the others. Calling her names like "Dalmatian chick" and other insults that I'd rather not mention. Sometimes they would break into her locker and fill it with condoms and stuff. Embarrassing her in any way they could. One time they pulled down her sweat pants in gym class and they all could see her bruises. They all stopped laughing. At least for that day. Everybody had a pretty good idea what was going on with her but no one wanted to help. The ever-lasting idiotic theory that someone else will take care of it. But the next day everything was back to normal. Billy would make out with Paula in the back of the auditorium, Curtis would sell his dope next the school cafeteria and Erica would be the mocking stock of school. Marcy at least wouldn't join in. They didn't really like her either because she liked girls. Being a lesbian in high school is extremely difficult. Its at an age when no one understands it and even less people accept it. Marcy felt like it had to be some kind of hidden shame, but she wouldn't leave herself in the proverbial closet. Erica had told Marcy about me. I don't know why it ever came up but she did. That's how I found out how it all ended.

My heart turned black and the sky turned gray...
  Its later in the day. I have been up to no good again and my mind still reels from last night. Erica still wants me to spill it all. She wont let me rest until I am done. I really dont like some of the secrets I have been asked to hold back. But next week is the first anniversary of her death and i have to be done by then. I don't know why... It just works out that way. She would have wanted it that way. Still love you Erica sweetie, sorry i took so long. -J

Warning:

The following story is based on actual facts and is intended for mature readers. Graphic and psychological violence are involved. Reader discretion is advised...

Everything is Eventual...
   This is the first post I make here. I'm not sure anyone will ever read this but I needed to let it all out someway, somehow. Stories have been festering in my head and digging into my brain. Tunneling though my psyche and needing to be released. Some of them are good some of them are not. Everything is eventual and anything can happen here. I will try and post regularly, as much as time will permit. The first story arc is not an easy one. Its the story of a friend who dies not long ago. Erica will be sorely missed and she was very much loved. She told me her story a for the past few years, online, little by little. Whenever she needed to talk, she would tell me about her life in all the details until the early hours of the morning. She often cried at her desk and on the phone when she finally decided to have me call her. I was one of the last persons to talk to her, she died the next day. She told me to write this because no one else would ever know but me and Yacko. She told me to say everything. I have fought over this for a year and have tried to keep it in. But she wanted me to write it. So I will. I miss you Erica, I love ya sweetie. =) -J

Warning:

The following story is based on actual facts and is intended for mature readers. Graphic and psychological violence are involved. Reader discretion is advised...

Erica Jones part 1

    Erica used to wake up early. She said she enjoyed seeing the sunrise. It was a magical moment that no matter how bad things got... she always had that. No one could take that away from her. It was the only time she felt safe. No one to look at her funny like the kids in school did. No one to point at her on the street while she walked back from the store her arms filled with groceries. She hated those awkward moments. Moments when she felt unsafe and out of place. She was terrified that they would see right through her. See the hidden lies she was forced to live with. See that she wasn't just like them. Her dad was still asleep, sobering up from another night of boozing. That's what it was like most days. He would come home from work and slap her around because dinner wasn't ready/cooked enough/over cooked or he just didn't want what she had made. In the morning sitting on the roof of her house wrapped in a blanket she felt OK. She was alone and in her own little world. There was no one to slap her around to yell at her because the sky was grey or not grey enough. No one to stumble into her room at three a.m. and get his way with her. Touching her in way lovers did in the movies. The screaming and the fear. Him felling her body as he ripped off her T-shirt. Making her touch his cock first with her hand then in her mouth. Turning her over so he could shove it up her ass because he wanted to avoid her getting pregnant. She had to bite the pillow to avoid screaming because he enjoyed that. It made him fell like a strong man. Whispering in her ear how she reminded her of her dead mother. Him breathing hard in her ear and moaning her mothers name. Felling his hands on her shoulder as he pulls himself inside her deeper... harder. Causing more damage with a single thrust than a million bullet wounds. Holding back the tears as she slowly passes out while he pulls his pants back on and walks back out of her room. She lies there. Quiet and alone. Broken