First Page

Jacob's Journal

April 12, 1993: Robert Sundell is shot outside a Las Vegas courthouse and, after being in a coma for a week, died. The previous morning he had been in court on his last attempt of getting and alleged killer off the streets. He hadn't lost a case in 6 years and he wasn't going to let this case end his perfect record. The entire night before the last day of the trial he spent preparing his closing arguments. They had to be just right and, after hours of work, he knew they were. At 11:00 a.m. he received a call informing him that the jury had agreed on a verdict. He threw on his suit and raced to the courthouse. The verdict was guilty. Finally after a full day of deliberation Juan Alvarez was sentenced to twenty-five years to life for the murders of a drug store owner and his wife.
Robert walked out of the courthouse with a well-deserved feeling of accomplishment. He had just pulled out his cell phone to call his wife and tell her the good news when he heard shouting behind him. As he turned to see what the chaos was about he was shot twice in the chest.
He was pronounced dead at the scene.
Nine years later a young boy sits on an old creaky bed in small one-bedroom apartment in a city full of drug addicts and criminals. He sat listening to the sounds of his empty stomach. His eyes burned from lack of sleep due to the screams of helpless women and the echoes of gunshots coming from the street below. In his hands he held a journal that looked as if it was 50 years old. This journal was his only worldly possession and he kept it with him all day and when he went to sleep at night he hid it safely under his pillow.
This boys name is Jacob Sundell. He is thirteen years old. Years ago he used to live in a beautiful house in a quiet suburban neighborhood. His family had a great life. Jake's father was a renowned lawyer for the Las Vegas District Attorney but, because of his long hours at work, he hardly ever saw his only son. His mother, however, was a photographer and she would take him to photo shoots. He loved spending the day with his mother. She was his best friend. These are the days Jake dreams of. The days he prays to go back to so badly.
After his father's death Jake and his mother lost everything. The hospital bills took everything they had. They were broke and homeless.
His mother began sinking into a deep and dark depression. She became a person that Jake didn't know, she wasn't his best friend anymore. Her photographs showed her sadness and she lost all her business. After spending a month living in their car she found a job as a waitress in a diner 30 minutes south of their old home.
The money she made in the diner wasn't enough to support them and her cocaine addiction. On her bad nights when she didn't have money to buy drugs she would trade her body to get what she needed. Those nights Jake would sit home all alone in their old, run-down, dirty apartment praying that he would live until the morning. There was no money for food so often he would have to go a few days without eating unless his mom could bring home food from the diner. This food, although it was old and repulsive, was the best food Jake got.
On the 9th year anniversary of his father's death, Allison Sundell spent the night on a coke binge which left Jacob alone once again. He sat on the bed that him and his mother were forced to share, reading and re-reading the words he had written the night before. Little did he know that the events that he recorded in his raggedy old journal would ultimately lead to his death.

Intro

For as long as I have know how to write I have loved it. I've never been a fan of reading but I know it is important to examine other authors works. It helps us become more rounded writers. I can't say I hate reading because I really don't, I actually like it when I find the right book, but finding the right book turns out to be an extremely hard task.

I write in my journal every night. I love being able to write down exactly what I'm feeling in that moment and then let it go. So many of my journal entries are sad or frustrated because those are the feelings I want to get out and on paper. The things I write when I'm sitting alone in my room are the most personal and tell the most about who I really am. I'm not afraid to write exactly how I feel. I love that. I love not being afraid. I often care too much about what people think but there is that one moment that no one else matters. It cannot be explained correctly.

I often write poetry at night too. It is very alike to my journal because of how personal it is. Every poem has a story and feelings behind it from my own life. I think that is what makes poetry so raw and real. The feelings are real. The pain, the joy, the fear, it's all real. I love being able to express the way I feel in this way. I think poetry is beautiful and I deeply respect all forms of it.

So, basically, I love writing with all my heart. It is the best way to relieve stress and pain and just get every emotion out. I think it is amazing to be able to write down the way you feel one day and look back at it 20 years later and know exactly what feelings you had. I will write for the rest of my life. I don't want to be famous, I don't even want anyone to read my work most of the time. I do it for the satisfaction it brings me just by writing my ideas or emotions down.