The list of sinners

...Donovan...

"My sister gave me this block for the New Year holidays. I really like it, especially these beautiful designs on the sides like delicate branches.
I didn't have a specific idea of how to use it, but I think a diary would be a good idea even though Mom says I don't have to keep family secrets.
But I think keeping a diary allows you to focus on what you're writing without being influenced by what others might say. Do you think I'll ever write a book one day?"

The sound of rushing water invigorates me. The warm steam has filled the shower cabin and starts to moisten my bare skin as I step in. The first drops that fall on my skin feel cold at first, but quickly warm up, enough for my body to get used to it. I take some exfoliating scrub mixed with coriander oil and start to massage my skin.

"I can barely make it through those hours at school.
It's hard for me to approach friends and everyone acts as if I don't exist."

I linger longer than usual in the shower. I immerse myself in the water falling with pressure. The water flows down like a thousand small tongues that caress my back all the way down, as I lean against the tiled walls with my hands.

"As I was leaving school. I heard some commotion to stop. Behind the school, some boys had gathered and were bullying incessantly. They were bullying without mercy. After they left, I approached and saw him there like a fist. He started to rise slowly, looking at the marks left on him. I gathered the books that had flown out of his bag and handed them back to him. I also gave him a handkerchief I had in my pants pocket to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth."

When I feel the water starting to cool down, I decide to get out. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I stop in front of the mirror, looking at my reflection. My eyes go to the scar that has now become a mark. I trace it with my finger. No feeling overcomes me as I see the evidence that proves I have paid for my sin. After drying my hair, I put on my bathrobe and head towards the kitchen.

"I stopped in the schoolyard and handed him the handkerchief I had given him a few days ago.
He told me that I had washed and ironed it very carefully. It was a simple white handkerchief that even if he didn't return it, it wouldn't matter.
I let him keep it because it seemed he didn't want to let it go."

"Since that day, he hasn't left me and we stay together even if it's only for a few hours. I say this because he's not in my class and we only see each other during break time and when we say goodbye at home."

It's so quiet that even the house seems to be holding its breath not to disturb it. The room where Celia's body is resting is filled with a gentle sense of unease. There was a moment when I sat at the end of the bed, unable to take my eyes off her. I see her breathing with difficulty. I see how her forehead wrinkles occasionally from the fever, a testament to the battle raging inside her body. I spent the night with Celia and with Diana's writings. The memory of those pages keeps me from falling asleep.

"He doesn't call me by my name but by the nickname he gave me. Red apple. Not because I'm full, but because of my hair even though I wish I could add a few pounds. Red apple. Like the fruit that comes from the Garden of Eden."

"As I opened the bookshelf, a crumpled white letter fell out. It was an anonymous letter where someone expressed their feelings."

I hear faint knocks on the window that draw my attention. I see the first drops of rain wanting to chase the snow away.