She

The Diary

The Diary

Darkness kisses every corner of the room and barely anything can be seen.

A sudden click and in a flick light from a desk lamp reveals a young maiden seated on her bed.

She took a book underneath her pillow placed it on her lap. A sturdy yet tiny book with a mechanism that seems like a lock. She swept her hair away from her neck to reveal a necklace with a key as a pendant. She then took it off and placed it carefully on the book's keyhole.

She hesitated for a moment, wiping off what seems like tears in her eyes. After letting out a heavy sigh, she continued, opened the diary and recalled her story.

Page by page she reads through her memories inked in paper. She smiled, giggled, and had some laughter. It seems that her heart was filled with glee, but such glee seems to not have stopped her from feeling the misery.

As she turned to the next pages, she stopped smiling. The pages are somehow written in pencil lead, she never why she did it, but now it seems apparent why. She took a pencil from the desk beside her. She held it tight, real tight, as she lifts arm and wiped her eyes.

For a second you might think that she was to write something, she also thought the same, but she didn't. She turned the pencil around her fingers, the eraser now facing the paper.

And as soon as it touches the first lead written word, her tears fell onto the page. She rubbed the words clean in haste that felt like anger. Frenzied and crazed, she swept clean every page. Her hair is wet from her flooded eyes and her breathing jolts as she cries.

She then stopped and swallowed, staring blankly onto the final page. Unlike the other pages, only a few words are written.

Dated yesterday, etched are the words, 'It was good while it lasted."

After a few more tears drop from her eyes, she finally finds strength to remove the words.

She pressed the eraser onto the paper and in a few stokes the words vanished forever.

She closed the diary, sniffing, then suddenly smashed her face onto her pillow. The cushioning muffled her screaming and with shrieks inexplicable pain she fell asleep weeping.

She unknowingly tossed the diary open when she went off her bed realising she's late. Jumped off to open the window and lit up her room. She must've been used to this because for what seems like in a blink of an eye her clothes has changed. She then grabbed her bag and left in haste.

She must've forgotten what happened, whatever it was, she should have.

A gust of wind from a window left open rushes to the untidied bed then flips the leaves of a diary left open, passing through those of ink and unto empty pages.

Empty pages with etchings of words erased and wrinkling from being wet and dried.

She might have erased the memories but not the feelings she scarred upon it.

In the same way, she could make herself forget but she could never make herself unfeel."