Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
A Fairy Out of Her Tale - Dear Diary - 3. Scene 03
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 wind. There's a water stream nearby. And mosquitoes have been buzzing in my ears since I made a bed on the tree tops. But it's not the same thing. Those were the sounds of my home too. I can't bear to hear them and not hear mum's laughter, or my brother's endless ramblings about shape-shifter superheroes, or my step-father's cooking lessons as he made us dinner.
I wish he would teach me to make something tasty out of fruits and leaves.
Everything here reminds me of home. Of the good times I'll never have again. And it's only going to get worse in the dark.
I killed the man who used to tuck me in at night. Who read me books and made me ice cream and taught me how to build the leaf bed I'll spend the night on.
I don't think I really understand that he's dead. That I was the one who killed him. Or that he tried to kill me first.
Someday I'll write all of this down. I'll try to make sense of it. But for now I have to lock the memories away, or I'll have much more than silence haunting me tonight.
I hope you understand. You're going to be my only friend for a long time, I don't want to annoy you.
The sun is sinking really fast. Quick, tell me a joke! Do something amusing!
I must be losing my mind if I'm giving orders to a diary...
Who are you, anyway? I found you under a pile of old books and I couldn't remember where I got you from. A forgotten birthday gift? Sounds like the kind of thing younger me would do. Why bother with a blank book when I got so many dolls and dresses?
But you look too old to be a gift to me. Your cover is faded, even falling apart in places. I'm writing on yellowed pages. Maybe you belonged to mum at some point?
I should give you a name. If you're going to be my only social life for the foreseeable future, that's the least I can do.
How about ‘Bob the Book’?
No? Yeah, I think it sucks too.
‘Diana the Diary?’ It has a better ring to it...
Your blank face tells me nothing. Honestly, grow a spine already!
Look, you got me to make jokes! Sorry if they’re horrible. But it’s good to feel some part of myself coming back.
It’s now too dark to see what I'm writing. But thanks to you I'm not so scared of the night anymore.
What do you think the diary should be called? Are you on Team Bob, Team Diana, Team Other (Please Specify), or Team Why-Are-You-Bothering-Us-With-Such-Boring-Questions?
The next scene will be out on Sunday.
Comments and feedback make for a happy writer. Though Nessa probably doesn't care one way or another...
Anyway, see you Sunday!
- 9
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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