Author's note: Even though Blood and I are still not on good terms right now and probably never will be again, that doesn't change how much I once enjoyed his older works. While I have no more intention to read either of his current works or anything new he writes in the future (and not due to shock value), I would read the final chapters of this story should he ever come back to it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Lucky Star or this fic. If anyone has questions about it, go talk to Blood. He did tell me before that this whole story was based on a true personal story involving a cousin of his.

PROLOGUE

Darkness. It was the solid shade of black that endlessly engulfed the world of which I was slowly returning to from a deep and unconscious state. For the past several hours, I thought I was dead. As my senses returned and I could hear the activity around me, I still believed that I was no longer of this world with the numbness I felt. Though this wasn't the first time I was numb. The past three months had felt like one long stay in a mentally frozen wasteland, depleted of all warmth and hope. What would make a difference now? I couldn't come to any logical conclusion as I continued to lay stretched out in this infinite world of shadows. I couldn't even tell if I was resting on something or even if I was standing up anymore. However, it wasn't all bad in these past three months. I became best friends with these miracles…these substances that took all of my pain away, if not for a few hours. Every second after that however was nothing but pure hell. Pure…fucking…hell.

I don't expect you to feel sorry for me after you hear what I'm about to divulge to you. The things I have done to not only myself, but also to the people I love are enough to make anyone sick and angry with rage. My family went crazy with sickness and rage over what I did to them so I expect you will too. First off, you should know who I am. I am me…but I'm not. At least not anymore. I was pure and innocent once, just like my fraternal twin sister. My twin sister. I loved her so much…and I still do…but after our last encounter, I don't think I can safely say she feels the same way anymore. Not after what I did to her…or the rest of my family members, especially my oldest sister. I come from a large religious family of four children…all of them girls. I never minded it…but I'm sure my dad probably did sometimes. Still, I feel I have a message I must tell you…because it could directly affect you one day…even though I don't know you personally. I had it all at one point. As I rest here in this darkness, I can't help but make my first astute observation regarding myself and where my life is right now. I fucked it all up. Before I tell you my story, I need to give you a quick preview of what I've done.

Those old days of happiness and tranquility are long over for me. My decisions made extra sure of that. I had alienated everyone and everything from me. I traded everything that was beautiful in my life for the most petty and disgusting of commodities, yet for some reason they gave my life meaning and joy. I couldn't live without these substances. I needed them. I sometimes felt that I needed them more than I needed air to breathe or water to drink. My only question for myself at this point was why. Why? Why did I do all of this to myself? What have I become? Why did I become addicted to so many drugs?

What am I now? I honestly forget what I am. As far as I can tell at this point, I'm nothing. I'm just a cloud of consciousness that has no solid form. I'm just a cloud of thoughts and questions trying to figure out what is happening to me…or better yet what I am. Am I human? Am I an animal? I have this feeling now that I have a memory somewhere in my history where someone was standing above me calling me his dog. Am I a dog? Am I simply someone's pet? I remember times where I was used and abused like some animal to get the substances I craved to satisfy my needs. I surrendered my status as a smart person the day I started taking drugs…but I made it worse by surrendering my status as an honorable woman the very second I climbed into that first car to satisfy that old man for money to get my fix. That was the night I began my career as a prostitute and it only kept going downhill from there.

I remember crying for hours after he was finished with me and my pocket was full of money. Even though I had no romantic feelings or any sense of attachment to him, he threw me out of his car door like I was garbage and that's exactly how I felt. I sold him my virginity for an hour of being high on crack. It was the drugs that took this pain away and thus, the vicious cycle marched on. When one high would wear off, the pain would take its place so I needed to start all over again. Car after car, night after night, perversion after perversion, all the while I became more and more numb.

Sometimes simply standing on a street corner wearing the most degrading and promiscuous clothing to capture a lonely guy's attention wasn't enough. Some nights the streets would be flooded with cop cars, forcing me to find another way of raking in the money. Coming from a religious family, I had already disgraced every principle they ever taught me so I figured what was the harm in breaking yet another one? I used this twisted thinking to justify my stealing habits. I was a natural at it in the beginning…because people trusted me…and I took advantage of that. Who would've ever thought that I of all people would be the one who raided your drawers or jewelry boxes looking for my next big bounty?

I stole from people I loved and from people I didn't even know. I stole money from my father's wallet and my mother's as well as my sisters' purses. I shoplifted medicine from pharmacies to either get high off of or sell to someone else who planned to use them to make meth or other drugs. I stole whatever I could find that had some value. I broke into cars to steal stereos, cell phones, whatever was resting on the seats. I even recall one night where I was so desperate for cash that I broke a window at some random building just to take a glass shard and use it as a knife and I robbed a woman who was out walking her dog. I threatened to slit her throat if she didn't give me her purse, which she did as she begged me not to kill her. I even stole my friend's high school graduation present, a personalized wristwatch that her parents bought for her, and I pawned it for cash to get more drugs.

After living this newly acquired and chosen lifestyle, the laws of karma eventually caught up to me as I knew they would one day. As good of a thief I was, there was always someone better. I remember twice when I would be on the block for another night of prostituting myself and I would only end up being raped and robbed. Other times, I myself was robbed at either knifepoint or at gunpoint for all the money or material possessions I had just stolen off somebody else. It was the burning and painful memory of another night where I was selling my body that I turned from a junkie prostitute and thief into a murderer.

A married man who was looking for a little something extra on the side picked me up and was going to pay to defile my body, which I accepted just like all the rest. When we were in a dark alleyway, I tried to get him to pay first. I have a business statement that says "no cash, no ass." He had no intentions of paying me and tried to rape me…but I learned from my other encounters that ended badly for me and I snapped and it all went blurry from there. To deal with the horrid guilt of taking another human life, I dove deeper into the drugs and the numbness continued to spread.

Noise. A sudden series of noises began to sound off all around me in this darkness I continue to bask in. I couldn't tell what it was I was hearing. My brain couldn't register it as a valid sound anymore. My brain was by this point in my life too far scrambled to comprehend anything anymore. What was real and what wasn't? What was the difference between the sound of a human voice and the sound of a car horn? Nothing as far as I'm concerned. Everything sounded the same to me by this point. Everything gave me a headache and I couldn't help but feel so many mixtures of hate and sorrow at the same time when I heard these noises. Everything reminded me of a time when things weren't so horrible in this life I was forced to call my own.

"Forget this bitch! Look at her! She's dead! We have to get the fuck out of here now!" One of the noises suddenly formulated into a human voice and screamed such terrified words. It was followed by more horrendous sounds of thudding getting louder and louder until they zipped past my reawakening brain and they got fader and fader until they were gone.

What was happening around me? What were these voices talking about? Were the sounds I just heard the clamoring of stampeding people running past me? As I thought about these things, I decided it was time to try and figure everything out. I now knew I was still alive and remained a physical being, though I didn't know how that was possible. I at one point even forgot I was even a human and suddenly remembered I had eyes and proceeded to try and open them.

It was painful. Why was simply opening my eyes so painful? Every time I tried, it felt like a thousand beestings to my eyeballs. It made my facial muscles twitch as I not only tried to open my eyes, but also tried to reestablish my human functions and figure everything out. As I slowly opened my eyes that were sealed shut with crust and mold, another sense returned to my body. One I wish that didn't return.

I smelled something so horrible. It was all around me and I tried to shift my head away from this putrid stench, only to find that it too was an impossibility, and another painful one at that. I was forced to simply lie here with my nose buried in this rotten odor that made me sick. What was this? I prayed that this was simply a nightmare and that I would wake up soon in my old bed where my sisters and parents would be waiting for me. I could brighten their days as they did for me on a regular and daily basis. Yet they're not here. It's just me and this filthy smell that only got stronger.

Another sense that abruptly returned was my taste. Once again, I would trade it for literally nothing except not having to taste the flavor that was in my mouth. There was no mistaking it now. I was tasting vomit. My vomit. The smell my nose and face was buried in matched the taste in my mouth, leading me to believe that I was resting on the ground somehow in a pool of my own cold bodily spew. But why? Was I sick?

Like fluorescent lights blinking several times before they would become permanently illuminated, the rest of my senses flickered on and off until they stayed on once again. I wished I was dead. So much pain. So much agony. It was all too much and I thought that at any second I would die and to be perfectly honest, I was praying for it. Why did everything have to hurt so badly and smell so horrible?

Finally, at long last, I lifted my eyes, breaking the seals of eye crust and I was suddenly embedded in a blurry world. My eyeballs twitched inside their sockets as my pupils began to return to their normal functionalities, yet I still couldn't see much in front of me. The first thing I wanted to identify however was the source of the fetid stink my nose was forced to endure. I shifted my eyeballs downward, causing more pain within my sockets. My two eyes felt like two grapes being crushed in a vice until I looked down towards my nose and saw it. My head was resting in a large puddle of my vomit; some of which was still leaking from my frozen lips.

The puddle was an unholy collage of different colors and shapes. The contents of my insides. It was truly a grotesque and sickening sight to behold, yet I couldn't escape it. My arms and legs still felt like cinderblocks as I continued to shift my eyes around my surroundings trying to figure out where I was. I was not in my own home. I was in some dank, dark, horrible place. I stared forward at a moldy and dusty couch with a rotting wall standing behind it, also with mold and mildew climbing up it. Was I in someone's house? There was a broken and rotting oil painting of flowers in a vase hanging on the wall so this was probably a nice place at one time. Now, it was horrible. The walls were crumbling and I could barely see into the next room through the many holes and gapes in the walls. A single tall lamp with one burning light bulb in the socket was the only device keeping any light in this room alive. The shadows it cast up the wall formed into broken and disfigured geometric shapes, making the persona of the room that much more haunting.

It was soon clear that I was resting on a dirty floor when I shifted my eyes downward again and scanned the empty room. Garbage was scattered in every direction as well as broken glass and to my horror, even the bodies of dead animals, mostly rodents and insects, were littering the dust-covered floor. My face was too close to the dried out body of a dead rat and I felt another vomiting spell coming but I did my best to keep it swallowed. How did I end up here? The very second I asked myself this question, the horrors of the past three months began to replay themselves in my mind as I felt the tears mount in my eyes and sting them harshly. I put myself here. I did this to myself. My parents…my friends…my sisters…they tried to stop me. They tried to save me from myself…but I pushed them all away. Why was I so selfish and so evil towards them? All they wanted to do was help me.

The nerves in my limbs began to return and I shifted my eyes to a new source of throbbing pain in my left arm. To my horror, the skin around the middle of my arm was a combination of green and black. I felt my heart pound in my chest when I saw a syringe with a needle dug into my skin and sitting in my vein around the green and black colors. A belt was also wrapped around my bicep above the needle, keeping my vein pumped up with the needle thoroughly dug into it. Everything was starting to become painfully clear to me. I overdosed on drugs and vomited all over myself when I passed out. I only wish this was the first time I had overdosed on something.

With my sense of smell still returning, a new odor found its way up my nose and this time it was much different. It was blunt and strong…unmistakable to be the smell of smoke from a fire and it was getting stronger. Looking upward towards the ceiling, the single tall lamp with the glowing light bulb in it showed a river of black smoke beginning to form and flow across it. Whatever kind of building I was in, it was now on fire and here I was stuck in it with a needle jammed in my arm and an infection taking hold of the limb. I knew I had other infections from the countless needles I had pushed into my veins, but I still couldn't take my mind off this one. It was the freshest one and perfectly symbolic of my new lifestyle.

Here I laid. Just coming out of an unconscious state brought on by a powerful drug addiction in a pool of my own vomit and probably urine as well. That unfortunately wouldn't be a first for me either. A used needle was sticking in my arm and the limb looked like a porcupine with the device using my flesh to stand on its own. I felt nothing but physical and emotional pain after I would think of all the events that had transpired that led me here to this apparent crack house. The things I did after high school were the ones that haunted me the most. The things I did to my body. The things I let other people do to my body. For the first time in three months, my sense of shame began to return. Now it seemed as if it was too late.

This concept was confirmed for me when my hearing continued to return and I heard the crackling roar of flames begin to consume the building I was trapped in. No doubt that voice I heard a few minutes ago was that of one of the guys I did drugs with. I wasn't able to see his face so I don't know if he was also the one that first introduced me to the drugs…or if he was the first one to touch me…or the second…or the third…or even the tenth or beyond that. I don't even know how many men I've been with anymore. As I felt the room become hotter and hotter, the nightmarish memories of my life once again began to relive themselves before my very eyes.

As I said before, I had it all but I gave it all away. I gave away a warm and loving home, two parents that loved me and each other, as well as my sisters. I missed them all…my fraternal twin sister especially. I gave away my great group of friends who always brightened even my saddest and darkest of days. Why did I treat them so badly towards the end? Why did I even put one of them in the hospital? All she wanted to do was help me…but I attacked her. I started hitting her…and I just couldn't stop. Nothing but utter rage and fiery adrenaline was pumping through my bloodstream as I hit her over and over when I pinned her to the floor. I still see the tears in her purple eyes through her broken glasses as she begged me to stop while the blood from her lacerations stained her pink hair. Now she was gone…just like the rest of my friends and family. I traded them all…for whatever was in that syringe or the solid minerals sitting in a glass pipe waiting to be lit up and smoked or even the white lines of madness waiting to be snorted through a straw. I traded everything that was beautiful in my life for drugs.

It all started with one bad decision and a budding wild streak after high school. I had just graduated high school with my fraternal twin sister and we were on top of the world. We were both rejoicing in our newfound freedoms and were bursting with euphoria at the idea of starting college soon. Our parents set so many high expectations for us, as we did for ourselves as well. We promised each other to find ourselves in college and set out to make the world a better place. I never made it though. One stupid night…one stupid party…one stupid decision. After that one stupid decision…my life turned into a domino effect ever since. It all seemed so harmless in the beginning but afterward, I traded everything before my own family's eyes. I'll never forget the look my mother's face created when she came into my room delivering laundry and saw me slide a syringe into my arm for the first time and push the plunger. It tore me to shreds and left a hole in my heart that could only be healed with more drugs. I just couldn't stop. Why couldn't I stop? All I wanted to do was to make my family and friends proud. Now none of them want to even mention my name.

The temperature in the room is rising now. It was when I began to see the walls in front of me begin to glow brighter from the growing flames behind me that I knew something had to be done. I didn't want to be burned alive…but why did I also want to live? I had nothing to live for. I had no home, no family, no friends, no money, nowhere to go, nothing. I only had the clothes covering my body and even they were torn and stained from so many drug trips, fights, and from guys clawing at them to have their way with me. I knew my death would be imminent if I just stayed there and let either the smoke put me to sleep permanently, or let the flames cook me alive. Yet something was still telling me to fight and live.

Feeling the flames begin to nip at my old high school shoes I still wore, I began to slowly crawl away. I couldn't move my left arm so much because the pain that would erupt in it from the needle shifting inside my vein, as well as the infection tearing at my muscles. Fighting through the pain gripping every fiber of my body, I continued to drag myself across the dusty and dirty floor away from the heat and dead rodents and bugs. As an added bonus, I was able to pull myself out of the pond of puke I was bathing in, yet it was only replaced by the smell of mold, dysfunction, and failure. If failure was a perfume…let's just say that by now it would be my signature fragrance. As I said before…I brought this on myself.

I looked away from my left arm in disgust as I lifted my right arm as I launched it forward to keep crawling, only to be met with more disgust. So many scars from razor blades edged into my flesh. I turned my arm into a cutting board one night when dosages of PCP and cocaine ravaged my sanity and turned my consistent down-to-earth frame of mind into a swirling vortex of surreal horrors. I didn't even know I was cutting myself with a razor blade. I didn't feel a thing when I was cutting while another junkie I was staying with was molesting me at the same time. When I turned my arm a certain direction while crawling, I saw my name cut into my flesh, as well as countless other marks and some profane words and slurs.

As I got further away from the rising heat, I looked forward and saw another open door leading to the bathroom. It too was riddled with used joints, syringes, empty pill bottles with some of the deadly pills scattered around the floor. Still crawling forward, I didn't see shards of glass on the floor and I plopped my hand on top of them and this time, I felt the pain as they tore through my soft and weak flesh. The tears came to my eyes once again and I let them flow despite the intense burning and stinging pain and kept going through the glass and away from the fire.

I finally made it into the dirty bathroom where the thicker stenches of more vomit and other bodily wastes hovered and made it their home, especially around the dried out toilet. Still wondering why I had such a will to live, I lifted my right arm up and grabbed the fading white porcelain sink, forcing the glass shards deeper into my flesh but I ignored the pain as I kept crying and I tried to pull myself up.

I tried lifting my left arm up but I could still feel the torturous needle still wobbling inside my arm and I had to get it out of me. Still gripping the sink with my right hand, I moved my head towards the needle until I latched onto the glass body with my teeth and I pulled it out. I felt a wave of relief at first when the needle escaped my flesh, but the pain soon returned as I dropped the used needle on the floor. I was able to grab the sink with my left hand again and I hoisted myself up and I was able to stand on my own for the first time in probably more than two days. I have no idea how long I was passed out on that floor with that needle jammed in my arm but I lifted my head and stared into the dirty mirror.

The reflection of a stranger was all that I could see. I didn't see me. This person I looked at in the mirror not only scared me…it also sickened me. Pale flesh with dark greenish circles under her blood-shot eyes, red and purple sores all over her face, chapped lips, long hair riddled with crust and dried pieces of vomit, one side of her hair divided into a pigtail, and the overall look of failure. This person's clothes were also sickening. Simple dime-store jeans torn at the knees with a promiscuous tube top also stained in vomit, saliva, and blood with some tears around it. And this person was so skinny. Too skinny to be healthy as her arms looked like two twigs. This wasn't me, yet this was the image the mirror was throwing back at me.

Seeing a curtain of orange and yellow grow, I looked to my left out the bathroom door and saw fires begin to spread in this ramshackle home. I was in a crack house that was on fire and I was all alone but for once, I was used to it. I remember I always used to hate being alone, whether it was in school or even at home. I hated being alone but my fraternal twin sister was always there for me.

Tsukasa…where are you now? Are you safe? Are you comfortable? Are you happy? I prayed to the gods everyday that you were to all the above. However, I have a sinking feeling that your happiness is lacking, especially because of our interactions the last time we saw each other. That was nearly two weeks ago when we last saw each other. It was during that interaction that I did something that I truly regret. I made you cry. And not just cry…I completely broke you because of what I did. I did something so heinous to our oldest sister, Inori, that I know I'll never be able to go back to you.

Inori…if you can hear me, let me say one thing. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for what I did to you. What I did to you personally…it wasn't human. I'm just as guilty, if not more so, for the crime that I allowed to happen to you. I know you're never going to be the same because of it. Inori…I'm so sorry.

Tsukasa…I remember our old friend Konata once telling us that since we were twins, we could probably communicate telepathically. If you can hear me…just let me also say one thing. I'm sorry…I love you…and I never meant to hurt you or the others…and now…I think this is goodbye.

I looked at the mirror again and stared at the image of this grotesque individual before me. It truly was me I was staring at and this was no nightmare. This was my current life designed and initiated by me and me alone. I made my first mistake but didn't learn from it and yet I only made it worse. I sold every inch of my body to strangers and have done unspeakable things that will always haunt me forever. Despite all of this, the worst part was not the drugs, the sex, the stealing, or even the violence. The worst part was knowing that I would never get the chance to tell my family how truly sorry I was before this fire would take me away.

I still have you to talk to though until the very end…the one who is listening to me now. Like I said in the beginning…I don't expect you to feel any sympathy for me or forgive me for what I have done when I reveal everything I have done. No one has so far…not even Tsukasa. I already know she hates me…especially after what I did to her in the end. However, as I stand here looking at this putrid image of myself, I'll make my last request to you. Please listen to my story until the very end. Please listen to me…learn from me…question yourselves for me. After I'm done, take a good hard look at yourselves in the mirror as I am right now and ask yourselves if you are where you want to be in life. And remember this lesson I learned the hard way; never take anything in your life for granted as I have…because in the end…nothing lasts forever.

Letting more tears fall in the midst of my dismay, I opened my mouth and whispered, "I am Kagami Hiiragi."

A thought came to my mind and I shook my head. Clearing my throat, I tried to identify myself again.

"I was Kagami Hiiragi…"

Note: From before I took down my copy of this story a year ago, I still only have up to chapter 33 of this story. If anyone has further chapters of this or copies of The Diary (I do have everything else), I'll be more than grateful for them.