Shin Megami Tensei Fan Fiction ❯ Dear Diary ❯ Prologue ( Prologue )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
I don’t own anything of Shin Megami Tensei: Persona 3/FES/P3P. Not even the main character that I’ve named ‘Haruhi Fujisawa.’ Credit goes to the rightful owner.

Author’s Note: Welcome to my first Persona 3 fanfiction! At the beginning of each chapter, I’ll be leaving links to suggested musical tracks that find aid the mood of the story. I’ve seen this done In a few other stories I’ve read and I’ve enjoyed this immensely, as if often gives a good atmosphere to the chapters. The listening to the music is completely optional, and if you choose to do so, you need only copy and paste the link into another tab of your browser. Here is the suggested piece of music for the prologue: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gsVTQ7duOwc





.~*~.

.~* I’ve been having… these weird dreams lately… *~.

.~* Like… Is any of this for real… or not? *~.

.~*~.






The sun poured in through the window, lighting up the small bedroom with golden hues. He stood in the doorway, glancing around at the now lifeless room- no matter what colors the sun wished to paint.

The bed was still neatly made, as if she’d only gone to school, intending to return that evening. He bit his lower lip with a scowl, feeling the hot sting of tears in his angry eyes and crossed over to it. With a hissed curse word, he sat down upon the soft, plush comforter. He sat there for a long time in a silence only broken by his jagged, unsteady breaths through gritted teeth.

As he raised his head to rub his eyes and straighten his cap, his gaze fell upon her desk. He caught sight of a red canvas book and stood, crossing to the desk to get a better look- her diary? He tentatively lifted the cover, knowing it was wrong to invade someone else’s private thoughts, but he wanted- no. He needed to read them. Needed to feel her presence. Needed to see evidence of her existence.

The first page was blank, save for her name:

Haruhi Fujisawa.

His fingers brushed against the ink in the center of the page, feeling his throat tighten and the familiar sting return in his eyes as he did so. He lifted the book from the desk and carried it with him to the bed where he sank back into the softness of the pink checkered comforter, and, with a sharp, staggering intake of breath…

He turned the first page and began to read…