Prologue To Our (goin'-to-be) First Novel

Somewhere in ‘05,

Dear Reader,
It’s 3 O'clock in the mornin’. I don't remember the date ‘coz I haven’t been updating the journal for quite a long time. For weeks I’ve been tryin’ to face myself, the person I am, the person standin’ in front of the mirror. But tonight when I was going through some captured memories of my precious, I realised just how amazing those moments were! I couldn’t hold myself from feeling gracious and smiling at the vivacious little acts she used to put together just to see me smile. Today, even though she’s not with me, she has made me smile after a very long time. I look at myself in the mirror, see myself lively and smiling, and question “Do I deserve to smile? Do I deserve to be happy?” Maybe not! But I can’t help feeling happy, satisfied and complete whenever I think about her and grieve at the same time that I can no longer be with her, or have the things I had, no matter how hard I try. Seems like I will always be hollow inside, filled with nothin’ but regret and agony. The darkness will never go away, the mistakes I have made will never stop chasing me, and my tattered soul will never be whole again. So am making the last entry, to my diary and to my life, ‘coz my soul can’t have a second chance to make things right again, ‘coz my life is left with no meaning other than conveying its mistakes, ‘coz my conscience tells me that I deserve to die.
I don’t know who you are but you'll come to know me real better when you read this journal of mine, whose epilogue you are going through right now. If you're starting this journal from this entry, you might be wondering who am I, what’s my name, and what’s the reason I am dead? Honestly and to be straight, the answers to the first two questions don’t really matter ‘coz if you're reading this you either already know me or will be knowing me after you’ve read this journal. And if you don’t wish to continue then you definitely do not bother about me. Yes, it could've taken a word or two to explain who am I, but I kept on saying things that are ambiguous, ‘coz I see the world differently and that’s the answer to the last question, the reason I am dead. Am not a coward, am not scared of anything, am not running' away from my responsibilities, then why am doing somethin' that am doing, because my death is the only way for the world to know my memoir.
Well, am not a guy who keeps memoir of everything he does, but then I started with this habit when I felt handicapped to understand the things that were going around me. Pretty crazy you know! Wasn’t' able to keep track of what’s happening when, why am standin' in the middle of a street, sleep walkin', hallucinating, and forgetting things. While sitting' beside my friend’s dead body in the morgue, I realised that my memories were playing games with me and decided to capture them into pictures or words and cage them on paper.
Am an artist by profession, the Artist who can’t part with its artistry, the one who captures the very flowing emotion that never comes back, the beauty of very instant that slips away if not captured on canvas, the beauty I used to come across every day. Now that she’s been missin’ like forever, what’s left in me is mere flesh and bones with running blood streams, walkin’ alone, heading nowhere. The last string that connects you and the world to me is this journal. And through this last page I implore you dear reader, never let go of the love you have, ‘coz there are very few people in this world whom you meet only once in a lifetime. If you lose them, they may never come back. If the story of my life recorded in here helps you in any way, then let it help someone else too. Perhaps that’s the only way I can redeem myself for the mistakes I‘ve made.

Jason Ames (a.k.a Jesse)