Dear Diary,
Everyone thinks I'm quiet. I don't know why. I hear them in the hallways. They say that I'm almost invisible. People never used to notice me, even when the teachers picked me out of a crowd, I wasn't given any attention. The best way to describe me is that I'm a shadow. I never come out for people to see me that often. I never really speak, but that's only because I'm not given enough reason to. The house is quiet today. But then again, when is it not? I'm just laying on my bed, writing in this thing. Mom always said that if I needed to vent, that I should start a diary. I guess I'm finally taking her advice.
There's nothing to do in this house. All of the books have been read already, and even then, I read them over again just because I'm bored. The people in my school would call me something of a...bookworm if they saw all the books that I owned. It just seems natural for me. That's what I've grown up with.
There's this boy at school, Diary. I'm not sure of his name, but I see him all the time at school. He gets along with everyone so well, you'd think that he was friends with EVERYONE! He seems so friendly, but I wouldn't be able to be his friend. It's just not possible. Not with my 'condition.'
But for another night I shall explain this. Goodnight, love Winnie.
I let the leather covered book slip from my fingers back into the box I had pulled it from. The brass lock clicked shut tightly as I lay back into my overstuffed bed.
It's just another night for me, the silence is overbearing. Like every other night. I let unconsciousness take it's ever powerful grip on me.
