Keep Out: My Secret Diary

Giving out presents

Miss Peregrine had a stack of different coloured books in her arms which she soon plonked on the table. "Children!" She called. The all came running. Please get in a line so that I can give you all a special present." They all did so and Claire was at the front. Miss Peregrine handed her a pink one. "Children, once you have received this gift, you must stay in the room so as to let me explain it." Many of the children groaned; she handed Millard a white one next. Then Fiona got green, Hugh got yellow, Enoch got red, Bronwyn got brown, Emma got orange, Olive got blue and Horace got black.

"What are they?" Olive asked. "I think their journals." Said Millard. "Dream journals?" Asked Horace hopefully. Millard shook his head. "Then we wouldn't have them." Millard answered. "They are diaries. You must write in them just before curfew each night. Its what normal people do, and I am trying to make your lives as normal as possible." Said Miss Peregrine. All the children nodded. "Now, off with your chores!"

**Time skip to just before curfew**
Enoch's POV:

I slid my diary out of my sleeve and began to write in it. It felt odd, writing your days and your feelings on paper - what if somebody found them? I did so anyway, because as much as I hate to admit it, I will always do as Miss Peregrine asks because she is basically my non-blood mother. So, here goes:

So today, Miss P gave us all some books. We have to write in them at curfew. At first I thought it was stupid and weird and wasn't fully with it, but now it seems to be growing on me, despite his weird it is. So, for my first entry, I will finally put my love for Horace into exposure. Not that anybody will read it, its mine. Anyway, so today he helped me pic up some organs from my room to take to the cellar - there are just to many! When we got there, he asked if he could stay. I didn't particularly want him to - I was afraid of messing up in front if him, but I let him anyway, mostly because he didn't go. He said that he wished he was in a twelve year olds body instead just to have fun and play again. I told him my clay wasn't play, but he said it was. I blushed like mad and for a second I wished I could be more like Millard. I just wish he felt the same way. But alas, he never will, because if I said something it would go wrong and think he it was a joke or would be worried I needed help. No fifteen year old god of hotness will ever love a stupid child like me. I don't even look the part, let alone know how to play it!

I slammed my book shut and began to think about what other people would be writing right about now...