James Hiwatari

8th January, 1995 Dear Diary of Emotional Exhaustion, My tears have dried now. I don't think I have any left in me. You can see my writing is much steadier and easy to read. That's because I'm no longer shaking. My feelings, emotions, are all gone. I used it all up in the last few hours. The world turned from bright hospital lights and pungent smells to something grey and numb that no longer holds my attention. I don't care if I'm still here tomorrow. I don't care if I neve

Thanks! I'm glad! The newest scene will come out later today. I hope you keep liking the story (And next week we finally get to see what happened between Nessa and her step-father)

Thanks for the comment! Fairies and people come in all alignments. Bad fairies, good fairies, cruel fairies, saint fairies... And if you stick around until next week (scene 17) you'll see Nessa finally spilling the beans about what happened between her and her step-father. Maybe then you can let me know if you think the build-up to it was properly compensated.

The house was the only way to keep going ahead that didn't involve climbing mountains. Unless she wanted to make a complete 180º turn to get out of the forest the opposite way. Of course, now that we know how bad an idea it was, it's obvious that climbing a hill would've been much easier than what eventually happened, but Nessa was tired of walking, probably sleep deprived, and definitely not on the right mind to make important calls like this one. All I can say about Nessa's agility is that our body's capacity may surprise us when we least expect it...

Even fairies with wigs can't fly - their wings are not "real" as such, just visual manifestations of their power. Vines, though, would've been a great idea. Maybe she should've thought about that when she was thinking of running through someone else's house. Oh, well, it's too late for that kind of creativity now, isn't it?

Well, I suppose it's fair to say he was looking out of his own interests, though whether his interest was "getting on the demon's good side" or "help my beloved step-daughter in a really roundabout and illogical way that involves a lot of lies and deceit" is still a mystery at this point. The good news is that in two weeks or so you'll get Nessa's side of the story in full, so you can make your own conclusions. Fairies are definitely not a hive mind, so there are definitely some that don't care whether other have their wings or not. That said, fairies are probably the most "homogenous" society in this world, because their abilities allow every fairy to potentially keep in contact with every other fairy, even in different continents. As a result, they haven't developed different fairy languages (only dialect). The very real consequence for murder makes them unlikely to "not believe" in the core principles of their religion either (though other details do vary). And as a race that abhors violence, it would be surprising to see them taking up arms to preserve their identity (maybe that's why so many of them are being captured?)

8th January, 1995 Dear Troubled Diary, The interpreter and the nurses have just left. I'm sorry my writing is hard to understand - but my hands won't stop shaking. That interpreter took one look at me, at the wings I no longer have, and told the nurses something very fast and very angry that made the nurses look angry too. One of them took the phone next to my bed and barked orders to whoever answered it. The nurses never stopped staring at me. Only the interpreter turned their

8th January, 1995 Dear Diary of the Sleeping Beauty, I can't believe I slept for so long! I closed my eyes in Mr Stranger's car, and next thing I know I'm in a hospital bed with shape-shifter nurses asking me questions I can't understand. There were 3 of them around me, all wearing those blue hospital gowns and masks like I'm contagious and about to infect the whole country with the murder virus. When I write it down like that, it makes much more sense. Maybe they think mur

5th January, 1995 Dear Diary of Timely Rescue, My Prince Charming is here! With the white horse and everything - though it’s more like a silver super-comfy car! He appeared from nowehere, it’s magic! His strong arms picked me up like a princess and laid me on the backseat of his car. His voice is like silk. 'I'm taking you to the hospital' he said, and I melted. He didn't even ask who I was or what I'm doing alone in the middle of nowhere. We've been on the road for ma

5th January, 1995 Dear Diary of Miracles, I did it. I managed to outrun the trees and the birds and even the stream that tried to drown me when I jumped over it. I'm now sitting in a sandy empty space that stretches forever in the horizon. The last remains of forest end about 100 metres from here, cut off by a paved road that so far remains empty. It's a nice road, though. The asphalt is smooth , new, well-cared for (and too hot for my bare feet! As if blisters weren't enough, I've got

4th January, 1995 Dear Diary of a Marathon Runner, I'm sorry I had to cut you off so suddenly. It's now sunset again, and I can't walk another step without the blisters in my feet pleading for mercy and my leg muscles going on a mutiny against my brain. At least I should be safe for now in this abandoned house made of wood that is too dead to chase me. I ran from sunrise to sunset. Twelve hours. That's about... twelve hours more than I would've liked. But the trees didn't give me

Wrong witch, sorry. Hansel and Gretel won't be saved by Nessa this time (that particular witch lives slightly further ahead). The witch Nessa is about to face is scary for more... personal reasons. Which means she would love to be the one saving the kids instead. She might even rant to (Diana) the Diary about it at some point. She could swear fairy tales were more predictable than this!

I actually like walking... though I don't know if I would like it that much if my feet were my only means of transportation around an entire forest. I would probably spend most of the time being lazy on a tree somewhere too. Particularly if said tree had good fruits that I could eat for the whole day.

I like that idea! *reading in sinister narrator voice* What Nessa could never have imagined was that her mother once counted among her lovers a demon of great ambition. However, they parted ways before Nelma found out about her pregnancy, thus never realising who the father of her child really was. The demon, however, knew very well. He could feel the girl's birth his in demon-sized horns and dreamed of the day his family would finally be reunited. 'Morumpi!' He called one day, sitting in his throne of fire stacked over the skulls and empty demon-horns of his enemies. His horns were the biggest, though. He was powerful that way and not at all overcompensating for anything. His most trustworthy servant came forth. 'My Lord!' 'The time has come for your rescue mission to unfold. Go and retrieve my child and lover, so that I can triumph in my final challenge!' He laughed like the evilest villain - which he most certainly wasn't, at least not in his eyes - and would have patted his own back for such a carefully laid plan, if not for the cumbersome leather cape with protruding spikes that penetrated anything that hovered over them. 'Yes, My Lord. Anything you wish, My Lord!' Morumpi left his Lord Master Demon with stary eyes. Finally the time to show his usefulness had come. Surely his Adored Lord Demon Master would reward him well once he returned with the girl and the woman. How happy he would be to finally taste His Lord Mater's huge horns and other crass euphemisms. The rest, of course, is history... *here ends the sinister narrator voice* I'm sure that's exactly how it happened. I blame you for figuring out the plot so early on.

Morumpi was looking for whose best interests? It seems there's a rather important word missing there... According to fairies, though, murder is murder and you'll always be guilty no matter the circumstances. For them it's not about intention, but about the fact that a life has been lost. So the punishment of losing wings and power is technically never "wrongfully" given... Of course, Nessa is heading to an adventure in a land where people don't necessarily think like the fairies do, so whether the "rightful" punishment will remain "fair" in Nessa's mind is not so easily guaranteed...

Thanks! We'll have to see if the diary likes the name Diana too. Seeing as it hasn't said anything on the matter yet, it might be quietly rejoicing that Nessa hasn't insisted on calling it that. Or it might be waiting for valiant souls like yours to strengthen its resolve that Diana is the name. Who knows? We'll have to wait and see. Silence is probably the things that gets to me the most. I can't concentrate without background noise for starters - in everyday life it's even more depressing. I'm glad the sense of isolation came though. It won't be the last time Nessa feels that way, unfortunately.

Thanks! I'm glad you liked it! The work shall continue indeed!

Aw, thanks. Nessa thinks she's adorable too, so thanks for reaffirming her beliefs (and you made a friend for life with that comment, just saying...) This format is a new experience for me too. The closest I got to something like this before was with my story The Orchestra - it's told by the two main characters in alternating chapters, each with their own writing style that is supposed to change gradually as they develop and change too. Creating writing styles that reflected their personalities and changed with them made writing them a much more personal experience than just writing a "simpler" first person perspective in a way. But a diary entry - there's so much more to consider, including the physical aspect of "where I am as I write this" and "when is a reasonable time in my life to write this". That said, I'm loving it. It's a lot of fun having to think about this kind of thing as well as the plot and other story-telling things. Fun fact: my mother was a counsellor (she's now a nun - long story), so I grew up with the therapy stuff. I joke that I have a honorary degree in counselling because of all the conferences I went to as a kid/teen.

4th January, 1995 Dear Cursed Diary, I still can't see your pages all that well, and black ink is the worst possible thing to use when the sun is struggling to get up the sky, but I lost my pink pen at the disaster that was my attempt at crossing the fairy house. I made it to the other side, but I lost much more than pretty pens. I should've known that running was a bad idea - that going through the house was never going to work. I should've just gotten a bit more rest and faced

3rd January, 1995 Dear Diary of Contrived Coincidences, You and your mouth! (page?) You did it again! Just because we were talking about overstaying my welcome, I found a house in the middle of the forest! I'm sort of hiding from it now. It's right in the middle of my path. The river I've been using as my guide goes straight through it. And I can't just walk around the house's perimeter because 1) it's huge 2) the area round it is kind of slopy, and my feet are tired

3rd January 1995 Dear Diary of the Bad Influence, I can’t stand this anymore! I tried to ignore you until you stopped giving me bad thoughts, but all it did was make me think about things even more! I tried everything: hid you deep inside my backpack, hid the backpack under a pile of leaves, made a song about how wrong you are. And yet, now I’m convinced my step-father worked for the same demon who took away dad. That dad somehow miraculously survived the last 14 years and is

2nd January 1995 Dear Diary of Self-doubt, I spent the last hour up in my tree-bed staring at leaves and thinking about what you said. Well, what you made me say. It's tempting to think that I just did what I had to do, that if I hadn't killed my step-father, things would've been worse for me. But I can't — I can't allow myself to think that murder is a solution. That it’s justified. I've lost my powers, but I'm still a fairy. Ending one's life is never justified. Ev

2nd January, 1995 Dear As Yet Unnamed Diary, The sun is just appearing between the trees, so there's finally enough light for me to write. My improvised bed held on well. As hard as it was to build, at least it was worth it. Things would've been so much easier if I could just ask the trees for help like I used to, but I managed anyway. I didn't plunge to my death mid-sleep, so I consider that a success. I woke up long before the sun rose, though. I dreamed about yesterday.

The story is beginning to take shape now, I hope you like the way it's going so far. The good thing about diary entries is that the character can write their innermost thoughts and say things they wouldn't necessarily say to another person. The downside is that they need to be aware of their emotions as they write... or at least be aware of having confusing/conflicting thoughts. And they need to be ready to talk about whatever it is they're writing about. It's almost like a written therapy session. And it can mean that the character in question needs a bit of distancing before they can tell details of their most traumatic experiences. And because this is the first comment for the story, you get a special picture of Nessa celebrating Christmas:

1st January 1995 Dear Diary, This is the last time I'll write today. The sun is setting, it won't be long until it's too dark to see your pages. I'm scared of the night. Though not because of the darkness. I'm a big girl, those things don't scare me anymore. The silence does. I'm not used to silence. To not having friends listening to my ramblings and making me laugh. To not having my family being loud and playing pranks on each other. I can still hear birds. The