The Derelict Chronicles: Choosing A New Heir


Entry 1.

I don’t know why the hell they’re making me write this shit down.  Journals are for girls and pansies.  But what the fuck ever. If the parents want me to write a bunch of useless shit for a few months and then they’ll buy me a new car, then who am I to bitch?  At least I’ll get a new car.

You know what I hate about school?  One, the learning thing. It’s dumb. I can learn just as easily on my damn computer at home. Least then I could be eating Cheetos and chatting with the ladies.  In my boxers. Because, really, there is no other way to eat Cheetos or chat with the ladies.


Entry 2.

Oookay… so now what the hell do I say? Something about my family?  Well hell.  There’s Ella.  She’s a total ass but she’s fun to scare the shit out of. It’s pretty easy to do, too.


Ariana is cool.  Well, as cool as a little sister can be.  We get each other. That might be because of our penchant for prank wars, usually with Ella getting caught in the crosshairs… but whatever.  Ella can handle some water spraying all over the place when she goes to wash her hands.


Mom is Mom.  She works in the garden a lot and she’s annoying all the time. She’s either pissed that I stayed out too late, pissed my homework isn’t done, or pissed I still have my dirty socks all over my floor.  Or, she gets annoyingly lovey and tries to hug me.  Jesus, Mom, I’m not eight. I hope you really do read this, too, Mom!


Dad is slowing down.  He’s cut back on his days in the force and spend a lot of time puttering around.  Look at all those grays.  According to mom, they’re my fault. I think she’s just trying to take the blame off of herself. If she nags him the way she does me – God.

Entry 1.


I have been sprayed in the face for the last time.

I swear to God, someday, these urchins they call my siblings will pay.  I am sick of getting caught between them.  I am sick of hearing Brayden and his stupid, pathetic voice while he talks to his millions of floosies.

I am sick of watching Ariana gloss her lips a million times on the school bus.  I am sick of seeing her perfect, pretty blonde hair.


And I’m sick of my parents always taking their side.  ‘It was a harmless joke, Ella.’ Or ‘Dish it right back to them, Ella.’  How about you guys be real parents and discipline them?!

I doubt the people who call me their daughter will ever read this. They tell us to keep a diary for a few weeks and, if we do, they’ll buy all of us new cars. Pathetic.  I don’t care about a new car.  I just hope they do read this and see what hell they put me through.


My only real friend is Annabelle.  She’s so old now.  I’m worried she’ll die soon.  She still seems spry and young.  But you never know with cats.  One day they’ll be fine and the next…

Whatever. It’s not like there’s anything I can do about it.

Entry 2.


It didn’t take long for me to track down my grandmother.  My mother and father had never spoken about them, insisted they moved far away, even.  Well, I found Angelina quite by accident in the supermarket I work at part time.  She was shopping and I remembered her glowing skin, even though I was tiny the last time I saw her.

She didn’t ask if mom knew I was coming over instead of going to school.  I didn’t supply information, either.

Grandfather was always quiet and didn’t talk to me much.  I didn’t mind, though. He creeped me out.

Anyway. When I wasn’t in their tiny little boathouse, I was evading school by hanging out at the beach.  That’s where I met him – Beau Wallis.


He is crazy, controlling, jealous and a manipulative liar.  He’s older than my mom.  He’s trouble.  And that’s what I love about him.  He doesn’t tell me my dreams are stupid or that I’m too young to know what I want.  When I told him I wished my parents were dead, he didn’t judge me. In fact, he smiled like he understood.


I felt loved for the first time in a long time.

Damn, this diary stuff is pretty nice.  Writing down my thoughts.  Too bad there’s no way in hell I will ever hand this over to the parents.  Fuck them and their car bribe.  Beau can take me anywhere I need to go.

Entry 1.


Hi Mom and Dad!!!  I really really hope you read all of this so you can see how cool school and things are!!!  So, lets start right away, yeah?  So, I spend a lot of time in my room, as you both know.  Not because I am texting friends but because I study. A lot.  And I like sitting and thinking. I’m pretty into the brooding thing right now.

Also! Also, you should both know that I haven’t skipped school ONCE.  (Just ignore what the office says – they always screw up people’s attendance!)


Brayden is a lot of fun.  We like hanging out together. Don’t yell at us so much when we mess around – being destructive is a show of creativity, my art teacher says.  So what if it was Aunt Millie’s vase?  That stuffy old thing was ugly anyway.


School is the greatest! I love my English professor, Mr. Engle.  He’s kinda hot (wink wink mom – dad, ignore this) and he teaches good.  Well. He teaches well.  See?

Entry 2.


I am so sick of Ella!  Mom, why do you always let her bitch about me all the time? She keeps trying to get me into trouble for stuff I didn’t do.  She’s so moody and such a grump.  I’m sick of living with her.

I really wish she would just leave like she keeps claiming she will.   I mean, she even went to prom and sulked and moaned and made a miserable mood for all of us.


Brayden thinks she’s a demon in disguise. Don’t tell him I told.

Anyway, right after prom she started throwing up.  It was disgusting. I was in the bathroom, trying to take a shower, and she barrels in and starts spewing. I don’t know what got into her. It’s not like she ever eats, so I’m surprised she somehow got food poisoning.


Sergio shook his head, closing Ariana’s journal.  “None of them are ready.  Brayden is too full of himself, too reckless.  Plus, he forgets simple commands.”

Layla nodded thoughtfully.  “Ella didn’t even turn in anything to us, but her attitude says enough, in my mind.  She is in the heat of rebellion. She might kill us all if we left her in charge, just to spite us.”

“And who knows about Ariana,” Sergio sighed.  “She says one thing, but I know her. She’s smart and sharp – what she writes is what she wants us to think of her, not who she really is.  Who knows if that is a good thing or a bad thing.”

“What will we do?” Layla murmured softly.

Sergio swallowed.  “We have to choose the lesser of the three evils.”

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