The Stray Souls ["The Diary Keeper" Sequel; "The Dark Legacies" Series]

Chapter 35: Ink lines

So, there I was, knee-deep in a pile of clutter that could rival the Tower of Babel. I swear, tidying up my room was akin to embarking on an archaeological dig. It's like signing up for a battle I never asked to be in. Seriously, it's like every time I start, I'm waging war against the forces of chaos and clutter. Who even enjoys sifting through a mountain of stuff, trying to decide what's worth keeping and what's gotta go?

But you know what the worst part is? It's not even the actual cleaning that gets me – it's the fact that no matter how hard I try, it feels like I'm just spinning my wheels. Like, sure, I'll tidy up, but give it a week, and it's like a tornado ripped through my room all over again.

As I sifted through old magazines, forgotten trinkets, and misplaced socks, I stumbled upon a dusty old box tucked away in the corner. Curiosity piqued, I reached for it, the layers of dust parting like a curtain to reveal its contents.

My gaze falls on the cover of the notebook:

Hazel Fowler's Diary

Hazel... I completely forgot about her. It's summer holidays right now - plenty of time to finish what I started. I don't care that the clock showed well past midnight. The dreams will wait, and right now I have more important things.

How in the world could I have forgotten about her? I mean, Hazel Fowler... the name sounded so familiar, like an old friend you haven't seen in years but still remember fondly. Was it just the hustle and bustle of everyday life that made me shove her memory to the back burner? You know, the whole routine of homework, school, errands, friends and repeat.

I will read you to the very end. I will study every word of yours, examine every sentence, absorb your slightest meaning. Because the greatest thing that kills us is the unknown.

***

December 20, 1948

Dear Diary!

I must finally admit it - I hate you. For pouring all my pain onto you, but if I don't do this, it will be even harder for me morally. And that's why I also hate hating you, because you are my salvation from even worse pain. And between the complete absence of light and the one single ray in the pitch darkness, I will probably choose the latter.

They say I'm a witch. They call me cursed. Do you want to know who they are? There's no point in specifying - then I'll have to list all the people I've ever met on my path. And they're not worth mentioning, even on paper.

Sometimes I can do incredible things and, honestly, it helps me feel special and unlike others. But what's the point of this gift at all if it makes you an outsider?

Yes, I have a dog and a cat. And I picked both of them up from the street, brought them home, and warmed them up. It's really easier with animals than with people.

My Dear Diary, you have become my addiction and my medicine. But I am completely alone in that life and I have a small choice of conversationalists.

February 2, 1949

Dear Diary!

I have a dream I've never told you about, but ever since I was little, I've wanted to become a florist. It's like this secret passion that's been quietly blooming inside me, waiting for the right moment to burst into full bloom. There's just something about flowers – their beauty, their fragrance, their ability to brighten up even the gloomiest of days – that speaks to my soul.

I guess you could say I spent a lot of time alone in the garden near my house, just me and the flowers, lost in my own little world. It was my sanctuary, my escape from the chaos of everyday life. And as I tended to the plants, nurturing them with love and care, I couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over me.