daniil's Journal: A Sonnet

(A short story loosely based on Shadow Wrought's guidelines. I'm posting this in my journal because I'm an idiot and got myself banned again.)

It all happened one fine Wednesday eve, when I was watching Soccer on TV. I suddenly heard a strange sound, as if someone had crumbled a candy wrapper. I turned around, and something hit my face, something resembling ink, instantly blinding me. The last thing I saw before the darkness set was my Remington typewriter, grinning...

Fortunately, a friend of mine, a retired rally driver, came round and rescued me. An unfortunate accident had left him without both arms, able to eat only plankton. He had two large fishtanks in his kitchen, both filled with icky green goo. These also served as a power generator for his house -- or was it haunted?

He had lost his arms when the car he was driving hit a roadblock. I had thought that this had made him more patient, but I was wrong. Using just his legs, he jammed the damned machine, rendering it powerless -- and useless...

He ended his life falling into a live volcano -- but it was no accident! I know this, because they sent me his luggage and other remaining personal effects. Among these, written on a napkin stolen from the hotel bar, a suicide note.

Which comes first, 7 or 8?