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Aug. 25th, 2004 09:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
auntiemeeshSo ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
westwindschild has been encouraging me to write some original fiction, which I have done precious little of in the past eight or ten years. God, has it really been that long? Anyway, the moral of the story is, be careful what you wish for, cuz this is what you get:
She opened up the journal, prepared to laugh at the things her teenaged self considered important enough to write down. The laughter faded almost immediately. Right inside the front flap she found several old, yellowed newspaper clippings. Not entirely sure what these clippings might be, but feeling a frisson of unease run down her spine, she carefully unfolded the slightly brittle paper and read through the articles. 'Oh, God,' she thought to herself as she carefully re-folded them and put them back, 'what am I going to find in this journal?'
The first entry was fairly innocuous, easing her into a false sense of security. She knew what was to come, but it had all been such a long time ago. It couldn't possibly still hurt.
Well, yes, apparently it could still hurt. In the first few pages there is nothing too terrible. A girl who's parents have recently separated. The separation was for good cause and she had known it even then. Still, it had caused an upheaval in her life and she was angry. Other than that, most of the first few entries talked about her activities with her friends, the boy she had a crush on, the woman she babysat for. And then there was nothing. For months there were no entries. And when the entries started again, it was with a tragic tale. The story that explained all those newspaper clippings in the front of the journal. The story that was just one of many, not the first and not the last in her life.
She fought back the tears. It was so long ago and she had worked out all those old demons through the years. But the pain and sorrow were still buried inside her, hidden away so well that she was barely aware of them herself until stumbling across this adolescent diary.
In a day or two, she knew, the memories would subside again, the hurt, the anger, the regret would disappear once more beneath the surface of her current life. They wouldn't be gone, however, just unseen. They would be a part of her, of who she was, forever.
Well, on that note, I think I'm feeling sufficiently angsty to go write a bit of 'Courage'.
westwindschild has been encouraging me to write some original fiction, which I have done precious little of in the past eight or ten years. God, has it really been that long? Anyway, the moral of the story is, be careful what you wish for, cuz this is what you get:She opened up the journal, prepared to laugh at the things her teenaged self considered important enough to write down. The laughter faded almost immediately. Right inside the front flap she found several old, yellowed newspaper clippings. Not entirely sure what these clippings might be, but feeling a frisson of unease run down her spine, she carefully unfolded the slightly brittle paper and read through the articles. 'Oh, God,' she thought to herself as she carefully re-folded them and put them back, 'what am I going to find in this journal?'
The first entry was fairly innocuous, easing her into a false sense of security. She knew what was to come, but it had all been such a long time ago. It couldn't possibly still hurt.
Well, yes, apparently it could still hurt. In the first few pages there is nothing too terrible. A girl who's parents have recently separated. The separation was for good cause and she had known it even then. Still, it had caused an upheaval in her life and she was angry. Other than that, most of the first few entries talked about her activities with her friends, the boy she had a crush on, the woman she babysat for. And then there was nothing. For months there were no entries. And when the entries started again, it was with a tragic tale. The story that explained all those newspaper clippings in the front of the journal. The story that was just one of many, not the first and not the last in her life.
She fought back the tears. It was so long ago and she had worked out all those old demons through the years. But the pain and sorrow were still buried inside her, hidden away so well that she was barely aware of them herself until stumbling across this adolescent diary.
In a day or two, she knew, the memories would subside again, the hurt, the anger, the regret would disappear once more beneath the surface of her current life. They wouldn't be gone, however, just unseen. They would be a part of her, of who she was, forever.
Well, on that note, I think I'm feeling sufficiently angsty to go write a bit of 'Courage'.
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Date: 2004-08-25 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-08-26 05:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-08-26 07:09 am (UTC)