The older woman sat at the desk, her granddaughter's diary just a mere two feet in front of her. She would dare... Would she? This wasn't her granddaughter's personal diary... It was the escritura journal she kept hidden from the world.
'Oh, she wouldn't mind!' the woman thought. She carefully grabbed the leather-covered book, and untied the baby-blue ribbon that held it closed. She opened to the first page, not knowing what to expect, and began...
Once upon a time, there was a redheaded child. She was very young, and her mommy and daddy didn't like each other. Even though she didn't quite understand the situation, she knew it was bad. She hoped the screaming would stop, but it didn't. She wished for the throwing and the kicking and the punching to stop, too. It also never ceased. When the girl walked to school, she was very tired from her mommy and daddy screaming all night. She finally got to school after an agonizing up-hill trip, then fainted, flat on the floor. She was rushed to the nurse's office... Then the guidance councilor... Then home... Then the marriage council. Her mommy and daddy blamed her for all of the neighbors complaining about the noise. They blamed her for the policemen that came to her door and took her daddy. They blamed her for ruining their marriage.
And yes, she believed them. She believed every single word they dicho to her. She felt that supreme guilt and sadness that only came when tu know that tu ruined everything. She felt small, and weak, when she didn't even know that it wasn't her fault at all.
Two years later, that redheaded child's mommy married a new man and gave her a new daddy and sister.
But is that really a good thing?
Happily ever after?
Maybe.
The woman closed the book, tears running down her face.
It was the wrong book.
((AN: Hey, I actually entered this week. Hooray. Yes, this did happen to me, I am the child. I copied the text from my old journal/diary. I found out that Granny read my crap because of the security cameras in her house, I watch them every time I'm there.))
'Oh, she wouldn't mind!' the woman thought. She carefully grabbed the leather-covered book, and untied the baby-blue ribbon that held it closed. She opened to the first page, not knowing what to expect, and began...
Once upon a time, there was a redheaded child. She was very young, and her mommy and daddy didn't like each other. Even though she didn't quite understand the situation, she knew it was bad. She hoped the screaming would stop, but it didn't. She wished for the throwing and the kicking and the punching to stop, too. It also never ceased. When the girl walked to school, she was very tired from her mommy and daddy screaming all night. She finally got to school after an agonizing up-hill trip, then fainted, flat on the floor. She was rushed to the nurse's office... Then the guidance councilor... Then home... Then the marriage council. Her mommy and daddy blamed her for all of the neighbors complaining about the noise. They blamed her for the policemen that came to her door and took her daddy. They blamed her for ruining their marriage.
And yes, she believed them. She believed every single word they dicho to her. She felt that supreme guilt and sadness that only came when tu know that tu ruined everything. She felt small, and weak, when she didn't even know that it wasn't her fault at all.
Two years later, that redheaded child's mommy married a new man and gave her a new daddy and sister.
But is that really a good thing?
Happily ever after?
Maybe.
The woman closed the book, tears running down her face.
It was the wrong book.
((AN: Hey, I actually entered this week. Hooray. Yes, this did happen to me, I am the child. I copied the text from my old journal/diary. I found out that Granny read my crap because of the security cameras in her house, I watch them every time I'm there.))
