Anonymous Diaries Novels & Stories

Abigail's room, the laundry room, the balcony, he searched everywhere, but there was no sign of Flavia. Gladwin tried to calm himself down. He searched for his phone and intended to call Flavia. His phone must be on the nightstand, where Flavia usually placed it after charging. Sure enough, his phone was there. Right on top of an old diary that Gladwin recognized. The diary was covered in leather with the initials "F.Q" carved on it, specially made by a craftsman acquaintance of his. The paper inside was also custom-made at his friend's printing press, featuring butterfly illustrations with the initials "F.Q" beautifully drawn in the bottom right corner. Gladwin believed there was no other d

Or, it may be something that I can work with him on, to get him to accept just like when it happened with Asher and Dan, and maybe even enjoy, but I chose my diary instead of confessing to my husband. It was locked down, the boys and I were on a little break and the only cock I had in my hot pussy was David, my husband. I wanted to explore, but I couldn’t since I'd vowed to the boys that I belonged to them alone. Without the boys, I turned to my diary to pen down how I met my husband.

Dear Diary, It's been a few days since I last wrote to you. Nothing special happens on my day so I can't tell you anything. Only now can I write to you again because what happened to me last night was so good and satisfying. I killed Rhiza even though she did not do anything bad to me. Maybe I was angry with her for what her girlfriend Clarisse did to me. I promised myself that Clarisse will be the one I will kill next so that they will be together in hell after all, that's where they belong. We will also meet there but it will be a long time before I die. I will just kill my classmates first because they deserve it.

All their earlier promises meant nothing then. -------------- Dear Diary… It is a lonely place, a dungeon, when you are locked up on your own and left alone too. I guess he has a home to return to. And I have no wolf to talk to now either. Just four walls to look at. If this is how things go, I am likely to go insane… ----------------

Dear Diary, My first day at college did not go as expected to say the least. My roommate is a little odd, I mean she literally has barely said two words to me. Her name is Annabelle and I think she's like a pre-law major or some shit. Classes haven't even started and I haven't seen her take her eyes off the thick ass textbooks she already bought. I had tried multiple times to start a decent conversation but she seemed less than interested.

She turned the page and read the introduction, scrawled in looping letters: “I’m twenty, and I don’t know anything about sex. I just got my first boyfriend, and I want to be ready before I lose my innocence. But I’m too shy to ask anyone. So I’ve been listening to a podcast where women talk about their intimate experiences. These are their stories, written down in my own words, so I’ll never forget them.” Chloe’s lips parted slowly. So it wasn’t just a diary. It was like a treasure chest of confessions, each one borrowed from real women who had once bared their souls on a podcast. The anonymous writer had captured them, page by page.

Dear Diary, From the very first day I became a vampire, I hated my life and I always thought that God was punishing me for still choosing to work in the tavern even though he did not like it. I stayed in that empty cave alone with nowhere to go after leaving the town. During those lonely days it felt as if death would have been a better option, because there was nothing happy or interesting about life anymore. Until my sister, Dana found me. I call her my sister because from the very first day I met her, that is all she has been to me. She gave me a home with a nice big room, she gave me comfort, she gave me love, and she took me on so many wonderful adventures. It was on one of our adventur

Anna eagerly moved into my room after I left. Deep in the closet, she found an old box containing Spot's toys and a yellowed diary. Anna flipped it open curiously, but her expression grew increasingly grim. The diary detailed every stunt she'd pulled back then, from destroying my mother's portrait to faking her allergies to frame Spot, and even destroying the data in my computer. I'd recorded every single thing with meticulous detail. Her face turned ashen. In a panic, she tried to burn the diary. However, she was caught in the act by Dante, who'd returned early from work.

Its leather cover was cracked, and the corners had begun to peel away. He opened it carefully. The first few pages contained routine notes—coordinates, weather conditions, supply inventories, names of checkpoints. Nothing unusual. Then the handwriting changed. It became less formal. More personal. Noah frowned. “This isn’t a military journal.” “What is it?” Ava asked. “A diary.” He continued turning the pages. The entries were unsigned. There were no dates. Only observations. Volkov argued with the captain again today. Marcus still cheats at cards. Ethan snores loud enough to wake the dead.

**David’s POV** Here in my New York apartment, as the relentless city rain echoes my mood, I find myself repeatedly drawn to the old, worn pages of Scarlet’s diary. This morning, the echoes of last night's indulgence weigh heavy, a migraine pulsing in the background as I numb it with the usual analgesic. But the diary demands attention once again. I flip to the last entry, a letter penned for me, her "Bumblebee," written in a moment of profound solitude and clarity.