I want to start off by saying I’m sorry. I really mean that this time. It's not like before when I’d say I’m sorry only to make fun of you for begging me to stop, only to inflict more pain and this time harder.

     What I did was wrong, and I can see that now. I wasn’t always like this.

     Playing with tinies when I was growing up was regarded a lot differently than today. Now, it's almost expected of people to have tinies, and it's even legal in some places. As a child and adolescent, playing with tinies was treated a lot like how drugs were in the early 2000’s. Everyone would tell you that its bad (Because we still saw tinies as humans back then), and you knew it was wrong, but you also knew everyone has done it at least once in their life, some more than others.

     My parents were very avid on the fact that drugs were bad. They would also say how important it was for me to go to church every weekend, despite never being inside a church themselves in fifteen years.

     I remember the first time I ever questioned my parents belief that hurting tinies was wrong. I was 11, playing with my older brother’s hand-me-down toy cars on the living room floor, when we heard a knock on my door. It was two representatives from the salvation army. They were asking for donations to help stop the trafficking of human tinies. My dad slammed the door in his face without a second thought, and he went back to reading his newspaper. I don’t think my mom ever stopped to look up from her phone.

     That was by no means the time when I decided I’d start hunting down and playing with tiny people of my own. That wouldn’t be until later.

     I’m writing this diary here as a way to make sense of the way my life turned out. Everyone is so evil today. It wrenches my heart to see how everybody treats tiny people. Things were different back when I was young and it was just me and my friends torturing tinies as a way to get back at a cruel and uncaring world.

     I’m 28 now, and I feel my life is at a stand still. I need to move on from everything I have done if I ever want to get my life moving again.

     I’ll never forget the day one of my tinies told me I was Satan’s daughter. I got such a high off of that, and her words didn’t do any favors to the tinies that came after her.

I've tortured, I've maimed, I've killed. And I've enjoyed the whole things.

I want to end this, again, by saying I’m sorry.

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This chapter was just a prelude to her diary, the story begins next chapter. I'll add more tags as the story progresses and Haley starts to do more things, but for now, I hope you enjoy!

     The first time I kill a tiny, it was because I was scared.

     Sophomore year of highschool was a shit show for me. I dated a boy named Eric, and he was nice at first, but he became extremely manipulative. As time moved on, he ostracized me from my friends, not that I tried to stop him. I became a real bitch to everyone who wasn’t him. It didn’t matter if nobody else in school liked me, as long as he did I would be okay.

     Then he broke up with me. He started telling everyone I was a slut, even though we only slept together ONCE and he was the ONLY person I ever had sex with. I became an outcast at my own school, and nobody wanted to talk to the 5 foot 3 inches whore.

     Things weren’t going well at home either. I’m surprised I didn’t see the inevitable divorce coming. The way my parents used to come at each other’s throat was far from love. But to a 15 year old girl, their constant bickering was the only form of love I was exposed to, outside of my own toxic relationship that ended a month prior.

     When I got home from school one day in late January, my mom and dad were bickering in the kitchen. They didn’t even notice I had walked in. The first thing I did was slipped off my Mary Janes and planted them in the shoe covert, leaving me in my navy blue stockings. I stood there for a moment, waiting for my parents to turn around and greet me. They never did.

     I did what every little girl did: I blamed myself. I remember thinking, ‘if only I had been a better daughter, maybe mommy and daddy wouldn’t be so unhappy.’ My grades were slipping in school, and I spent most of my time alone in my room. I was really ungrateful to my parents when I was dating Eric. I feared they resented me for that. I was too naive back then to realize they never really noticed.

     I headed to my room, trying to stomp my feet against the stairs as loud as I could to get their attention. I slammed the door as a finishing touch, but I could still hear their yelling through the walls. Pulling my hair helped me release a scream I was holding in. I unslung my school bag and threw it onto my bed. The zipper on my bag was undone, and a few books and papers fell out with it. I sit down on my bed next to the scattered notebooks and worksheets. I go to shove them back into the school bag, but that’s when I saw something that shocked me to my core.

     It was you, Owen. That’s what you told me your name was when I screamed like a little girl and asked you who you were and what you were doing.

     “I’m Owen, I go to your school.” You yelled. I almost didn’t hear you. I could’ve moved closer to hear better, but I had already jumped out of my bed and you looked too much like a bug for me to want to go near you. “You dropped your books in the tiny passing lane and pushed me into your bag when you went to pick it up. You need to be more careful.”

     I could tell you were mad. Your tiny fists were clenched so tightly that they started to get red like your face. I wanted to show you how sorry I was, so I moved back onto the bed next to you. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, really.”

     “You giants never ‘mean’ to do anything to us tinies.” You yelled. “Just that that giant man didn’t ‘mean’ to step on my sister when I was five. You’re all the same.”

     “No, really I’m nothing like that.” I could see I wasn’t convincing you. I felt horrible for what I’ve done, and I just wanted to make things better. But then you said something gut wrenching.

     “You need to bring me to your parents. They’ll help me.”

     I couldn’t tell my parents about this. If they found out I accidentally kidnapped a tiny, they’d be furious! They were already so mad at me, and I was scared that if I did anything else to upset them, they’d split up. “I’m sorry, I can’t do that.” I picked you up and moved you over to my desk. I placed you down gently and turned on the desk light.

     “Don’t you fucking touch me.” You scream, moving back in your steps. I saw fear in your eyes, but mostly I saw anger. “Get your mother.”

     “No.” I said. “I can bring you back myself.”

     “I don’t want to be with you any more.” You said. “You fucking psycho.”

     I lost control, and I slammed my fist down beside you. The force sent you falling down on you on your ass. “Last time I checked you were the weirdo who was two fucking inches tall. I don’t think you’re in any position to choose what happens to you.”

     The fear that I saw earlier consumed your entire being then. Your body shook dramatically, and I realized how twisted what I said sounded. Then, for the last time for nearly a decade, I genuinely apologized to a tiny. “I’m sorry.” I said, my voice shaking too.

     Then we heard footsteps coming from outside my room. I gasped, tilting my head to the door. I wanted to tell you to be quiet, but you were already shouting.

     “Help! I’m in here! She’s going to kill me.” That wasn’t true. I wasn’t going to kill you. I didn’t want to kill you. I wanted to help, but you wouldn’t let me.

     “Shussh.” I tried to get you to lower your voice, but you kept screaming.

     “Haley, is everything okay?” My mom’s tender voice came from the other side of the door.

     “Miss, help! Please, you’re daughter’s a freak!”

     “Shut up!” I whispered to you. You kept screaming.

     What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion, despite occurring in less than a second. I launched my hand at you. I couldn’t have my mother hearing you. You wouldn’t listen, and I convinced myself this was your fault. I pinched my forefinger and thumb on your head. I just wanted to shut you up, but I was afraid your miniscule muffles might still make a ripple loud enough for my mother to hear.

     This was your fault. You refused my help, and now you were facing the consequences. I rubbed my forefinger down my thumb, effectively twisting your head and snapping your neck.

     The crunch was louder than any scream you had ever produced, and I realized my mother probably never heard a thing. Shame poured over me. I couldn’t admit to what I did. The best thing for me to do was to hide the evidence and forget this ever happened.

     “Yeah, I’m okay mom.” She doesn’t respond, I just hear her footsteps patter away.

     I grabbed a tissue and covered your dismangled body with it. Your head turned a 180, and it made me gag. I carried you to the bathroom like a chemist holding a vile of dangerous chemicals that could infect him if it got to close.

     I opened the toilet seat and dropped you in without a second thought. I hold my nose and flush the toilet. I watch the swirl of the water swallow you up. That was it. I disposed of you, and Owen wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

     I went down stairs, too afraid to go back into my room. Terror was written across my face, and I thought if anyone saw me I’d be exposed. But my dad never looked up from his paper.

     For the first time, I had killed a tiny. I killed a living person. And for the first time, I was happy that my parents weren’t paying any attention to me.