Chapter Text
Year 21, Day 1
Mom just gave me this book for my New Year's gift. She told me to write all of my feelings into it but I don't really know what my feelings are right now. So much has happened in the last year and putting it into words isn't going to happen. I would draw instead but there are all of these lines across the page so I guess I would rather write. It's really hot up here in my room, but I was outside and it's even worse out there. My butt is stuck to my chair haha...
This is dumb.
Year 21, Day 2
I told mom that I didn't know what to write and that the diary isn't working. She just told me to keep going at it even if I can't find the words to say because it's supposed to help me anyways. I did get a big stack of paper to draw on so at least there's something nice about the start of this year. If I have to write my feelings I would say I feel hot, sweaty, and my head hurts. I know that this isn't really what she means but I literally could not tell you how hard it is to find something else to talk about. It's not like I want to write about Aislin or that motherfucker who left us to freeze all alone. Mom says I shouldn't hate her for it because it's not her fault but I know it's not true. I've seen her eyes before and they're bad, evil eyes. Mom just doesn't know her like I did. I can't do this.
Year 21, Day 173 174
Mom found this stupid book. I don't know how but someone spotted it in the hiding place in the garden and told her about it so now I'm in trouble for speaking trash about her. It just isn't fair to me, I don't get it. I was doing just fine recently but then she gave me this book back and I'm thinking about all of that again. None of this is my fault but now I'm grounded for writing motherfucker in a book that no one else was supposed to even read. I've heard both of them use words that are way worse but they're adults so they're above all rules and blah blah blah. I know it's all nonsense but I really can't do much. I turn 14 in a month, so hopefully I'll get a better gift then. My mom is a mythical hero, you would think I get some sort of perks from that, but I'm just locked up in this room that's getting colder by the day.
Year 21, Day 176
My hands are super numb right now. I guess autumn is here, but even then they usually don't freeze up like this. Maybe I'm just stressed or maybe the heating isn't working properly. I remember auntie Entrapta once came in and fixed those in our castle during the winter. She was funny, I liked her a lot. That was years ago, though. I was soooooo young oh man, I must have been like 4 or 5. I miss those days when I would just sit by the big fire with Aislin or moms or really anyone. Ever since that one winter everyone has gotten really distant and I don't have any more friends. There haven't been any new tutors since Gardener, and for the first time I kind of miss school. It sure beats doing nothing all day or walking around the forests outside. Maybe I'll try poetry? I think Aislin used to do it a lot so I'll see if she rubbed off on me.
My hands are really cold,
I think I'm getting old,
In my hand this pen I hold,
This paper I will fold,
I don't really know how poetry works, I'll be honest.
Year 21, Day 180
My hands are turning blue, so I really shouldn't write, but I got the weird urge to do that right now. Maybe it's the extreme boredom or maybe I'm sick or maybe I don't know. My head is hurting a lot right now and it's kind of hard to see straight. Maybe I should go see the doctor. Yeah I'm not gonna waste my time writing right now.
Year 22, Day 1
One year. It's been one year and all I managed to write were 5 little entries. I've gotta take up more pages in this or mom will be sad or something. Time away from, well, everything really helped me on my poetry. I just read that first one I wrote and had a good laugh. I'll do one right now.
Shivering hands write,
Not knowing what they will say,
Maybe it won't matter,
It's not the best, like, I would not be comfortable reading this in front of people, but it's better than whatever I was trying to do last year. I'm a lot more mature now I think. My mom thinks otherwise but I just don't act mature around her because I don't want to. Why should I? D.T. came over a while ago and they thought I was just fine. D.T. is the BEST! They got me this really cool dagger that I had to hide from mom because we all know how that would go down. Who am I even writing this to? I'd rather burn this diary than let anyone else see it, so I don't know why I'm addressing it like someone will. Eh, whatever I don't really care. I'm just going to bed it's too late and too hot to write.
Year 22, Day 2
Home is quite a funny word,
Either building or a bird,
Love is quite a fleeting sound,
Loathing might just be too loud,
O...
Figs and dates and lemons dance,
In the summertime,
Nectarines reach out their hands,
Never touching mine,
Roving watermelons threaten
Oranges and limes,
Canopies of mango weapons
Kill one sullen, stationary
Sweetberry
I'm trying a thing where each letter in the beginning spells out a word. It's really hard to come up with a poem on 9 lines though. That last one felt a bit weird to read. Maybe I just have to work on it more. I get kind of bored after sitting for 30 minutes just thinking about a rhyme for "time" and stuff. Wait, rhyme rhymes with time. That would be a funny poem. I'll think of something tomorrow I'm too hungry.
Free up time left and right,
Until rhymes are neat to write,
Cover up the secret that I
Know they'll never hope to find,
It's not like anyone is gonna read that but if they do, they won't even know! It's genius hahahaha! Okay I'm sleepy, good night diary.
Year 22, Day 6
I've been writing a lot, but not in this diary. I sort of forgot it existed because all day for the past few days I've been scribbling out on larger sheets of paper instead of these tiny lines. But today is her birthday. I know what I used to feel like and I still sort of feel like that but it's really complicated. I don't know if I hate her or love her but more than all of that I just miss her. I miss everything she used to let me get away with, or all of the times I almost beat her at chess, or when she found the first knife that D.T. gave me and didn't take it away. Mom did though. I just wanted to write a little poem for her here.
for my mother, with love, I hope you're okay,
I miss your fuzzy arms and your hair like a bouquet,
not the sky, far above, that we both see the same,
damn the ocean below that breaks me with waves,
my mind is not set on the grandness of life,
every thought that I think is of you, my mother's wife
I closed the diary and set it down. Fires raged in my eyes as they sizzled and boiled in protest of reading such a personal story. I could not bear to read on longer, but I knew that I eventually would. Finn had been such a large figure in my life, and for their words to jump out at me on this page meant something serious. It meant that these were all the words I would get.