THORN

CHAPTER 5

"Oi! Fetch more rubb' for me, would yeh?" said the haggard Scottish man as he wielded the rubber boot. The loud screeching of the machine would always hurt my ears, but living with the man made me become accustomed to the loud noise.

"Yes, sir," I would say before turning on my heel and walking to the outside of the small cottage home we lived in. My hands were dirty from the oil and paint I would have to use to make the shoes seem bolder and shinier than they were on the machine. After all, I live with the famous cobbler in the kingdom. The cobbler shop would be in the center of the village, an eye would never dare to miss it. It has been a family owned business for close to a hundred years. The shop of the cobbler would be downstairs, rows of different styled flats and boots would be displayed precisely along the shelving used for them. I have gotten quite handy with everything since my time here. When I first arrived, I did not know how to chop wood or hang a nail on the wall, but of course I know that and more now. The upstairs would be me and the owner, Oliver Thinnack, would be living. It was quite cramped and quaint, but it was livable. Our beds would be along the wall with a night stand dividing the two, the kitchen would also be quaint, but food was able to be made there along with other necessities needed for us. It was not the life I had dreamed for, but it would be forced upon me. I had to choose this or death.

—

The night was drizzled with showers and thunder throughout when I was supposed to be asleep. I'd toss and turn in my large bed, anxiety penting up in my chest as if I could feel something horrid coming for me. I would squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force myself to go to sleep. It was getting difficult for me to do so, but why? It only felt like a matter of seconds before the bursting sound of my door being slammed open, which startled me to wake up. I would sit up in my bed and to my bleaky, blurry vision, I would see my mother and father along with two of our guardsmen.

"Lady Aleksandra Dominviche, you must come with us at once," said one of the guardsmen as they both stepped up to me and tried to throw me out of my bed. I was never treated like this amongst the guardsmen, what could I be doing so wrong? I would comply with their orders anyway and would step out of my bed, my arms gripped tightly with their metal clothed hands.

The five of us would now enter my father's study room, if this happened then it usually meant that we were in grave trouble. The guards would now sit me in a chair across the desk, my mother and father would sit behind it. My mother seemed teary eyed and my father's face would explain it all, fuming with rage and anger. My heart would start racing fast and my anxiety starting to twist in my chest, what was it I did to make them so upset? My father would not say a word to me before he would reach under his desk, pulling out a small journal and then carefully placing it on the desk. I realized the small journal, it was my diary. It was wilting off the ends and the pages were yellowing because of its age. I've had it since my tenth birthday, and I would write in it every single day hence that point in my life. I'm so surprised that I have yet to fill up the pages in the journal since it was so small.

"Our maids found this diary in your room and accidentally opened it to a flipped page. Can you explain to your parents what you meant here?" He would say rather harshly before opening up the diary, turning it to the page where the marker was left. My mother would start tearing up again. I would lean over, my vision still blurred from being drowsy. I would rapidly blink my eyes to regain it, reading the small and fine printing of my handwriting.

Dearest Diary,

It is so nice to be acquainted with you again. I have yearned to write in your pages once more. It is similar to having your lover's touch at all times, except I would never know what that is like. I trust you, my dear diary, to keep my secrets hidden in your wilting pages. In hopes that my secrets will be buried with you. I have been quite confused with myself everytime I look in my grand hall's mirror. I do not see myself. I see a man with broad shoulders, a chiseled chin, strong arms, and a lean figure. I cannot see myself as a lady with a petite figure and long hair and porcelain features, I feel as if that description does not fit me to be who I am. For all I would know, mother and father would not like me to be a man although I wish I could be. I wish I had short hair, a deep voice, to be manly and masculine. It will be just between you and I, my diary. You now know that I am a man. I know you would never outcast me and you will always keep me to you no matter the cost. Thank you for being my friend. I shall go off and start my French studies and then to my Greek, I will write in you after that, my diary.