Anne Frank Diary Audiobook Novels & Stories

The one with the password " My Voice" " of course I remember my diary Khalid" I answered and he handed it over to me. " Well it's no longer your diary, it's now our journal of happy memories, nothing sad. I want you to read the first entry" He replied as he stared at me. " Just type in my voice and start reading" He looked excited. " you look happy" I typed in the alphabets and the lock opened. " I'm always happy when I'm around you" I heard him say as I flipped the cover of the diary over and looked at the words he scribbled down, right there on the first page. " read it out loud"

Those who had resisted were beaten, the children of Dorsal Finn now brutal task masters for their ruthless cause. They had grabbed Agnes from the library, but not before destroying all the literature on The Third Reich as they screamed ‘lies, lies, lies!’ in high pitched, frenzied voices. When Agnes tried to intervene, they had turned on her, knocking her to the ground and threatening her with more violence if she continued to interfere.

If she could stop him from reading that journal, if he hadn't already, then the likelihood of making it out of here alive would be greater. Unfortunately, from the teary blaze his eyes took when he stared at the journal, she had an inkling that hope was too fickle to save her. “Shhh, it's time for my story,” Raphael murmurs as his gaze sweeps through the journal in his hands. From the other side of the room, Anne stirs and her eyes fling open. As soon as she spots Elsida, her face contorts, her voice cracking as she tries to form coherent words from her dry throat.

The first image nearly knocks the air out of my lungs. A woman. Beautiful. Fierce. Eyes sharp with intelligence and sorrow. Blue fire dancing effortlessly in her hands like it belongs there. And in her arms. A baby. My breath goes shallow. That is not a legend. That is a memory. I turn the page. And freeze. This is not a history book. It’s a diary. Handwritten entries. Personal notes. Dates. Emotions bleeding through ink. Why would a woman’s diary be locked away in the forbidden section of the academy library.

I said, grinning from teeth to teeth like a child. We walked into the library. It looked like it had been a while, since it was in use. We went through several sections which included, finance, self-improvement, ethics, business amongst all. I caught a glimpse of a book I had been wanting to read, “Atomic Habits” by James Clear. I picked it immediately, and started going through it. After a while, I noticed I wasn't hearing any sound from the cook. I looked around and found her wiping tears off her eyes with the hem of her apron.

“Yes. She gave it to my grandmother after she passed away and then my grandmother passed it to my mother and my mother passed it to me.” “Interesting,” Merfoy uttered while drinking his cup of tea. He seemed unsurprised at all. “That was my great-grandmother’s diary.” Geuron handed it to King Ciaran as if he wanted him to read it. King Ciaran was a bit confused why the boy handed it to him instead of Merfoy or the other two. Ciaran look around and everyone was waiting for him to read it. He opened the booklet and saw handwriting in mistral. Some words were erased, but the words were clear because of the tinted black ink used. Half of the pages were torn, it was obviously scraped out of the b

The first image nearly knocks the air out of my lungs. A woman. Beautiful. Fierce. Eyes sharp with intelligence and sorrow. Blue fire dancing effortlessly in her hands like it belongs there. And in her arms. A baby. My breath goes shallow. That is not a legend. That is a memory. I turn the page. And freeze. This is not a history book. It’s a diary. Handwritten entries. Personal notes. Dates. Emotions bleeding through ink. Why would a woman’s diary be locked away in the forbidden section of the academy library.

My beautiful babies. My aunt had children? I had never known that. What had happened to them? What had the family done? I sat there on the couch, rocking slightly, breathing too fast. The diary felt like poison in my hands. I had to hide it again. I had to pretend I hadn’t seen it. But I couldn’t unsee it. I couldn’t unhear the desperate repetition. My babies. My beautiful babies. I stood up on shaky legs and put the diary back behind the books.

I said, laughing a little. I hung up and walked to the corner of the room. A cardboard box sat on a low shelf, its edges stained with gray ash. I pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook. The smell of smoke still clung to it. This was the diary Gideon risked his life for in the West Wing fire. I sat on the floor and opened it. The handwriting turned into a man's sharp, controlled cursive at the end. I found the last page Gideon had written while I was gone.

I heard a voice and someone turned the lights on. I saw a lot of pictures, women, all of them. Their photo’s stained with blood, as if it was disgrace to have met them. “What will you save?” the old man’s voice echoed in the room. I looked around. “Your mother’s journal, her whole life, what she wrote since childhood until the day she died. Or this boy.’ “What is it gonna be Aurora?”