Anonymous Diaries Novels & Stories

he ignored my question and called the server. “Do you have anything spicy here?” “Um...like what?” “Never mind, Do you have French fries?” “Yes.” “I will bring it.” When the server left, he turned to me. “Then what’s that note? Any study stuffs.” “It’s my diary. I will write about myself and my daily life. But I don’t feel like writing it anymore” “Why?” he said without taking his eyes off me. “Cause nothing good happens in my life, so why should I have one. I want life to be happy, interesting with a little of passion, adventure, love which I never found.”

But then she completed in the next breath. “I read it all…from your personal diary" She said the last words like a weight was lifted up her chest by telling the truth. "Personal Diary?" Ahn asked. The amusement leaving him completely 'What the hell am I? a 13 year old girl to have a personal Diary?' "Yes love yes. I know all about it. The depression you went through. The anxiety and fear of my rejection that you wrote about in your Dairy pages after pages" "Depression! Anxiety,! Fear of rejection!!" Ahn’s voice increasing after every word.

Thank you. I would love to hear from you guys in the comments and reviews, please. Let me know what you think and help me to get better. Thank you. I also want you to know that, as this story draws to a close, I already have more titles in the Street Diaries series in the work. Yeah, it's gonna be a series. Love you all.

I stared at his near-lifeless corpse for a few minutes, then shimmied out of bed, cleaned myself up, threw on jeans, a t-shirt, sandals, and drove down to the local all-night coffee shop, “The Daily Grind.” Grabbing a decaf mocha with whipped cream and chocolate syrup, I sat at a corner table and flipped through a dog-eared newspaper. If someone described me then, they’d say: 21-ish blonde, long hair over my shoulders, nice D-cup breasts, cute face that looks good without makeup, good legs, and a vaguely pissed-off look.

Also, the names of the characters are randomly selected and is entirely out of the blues. Welcome to Dynamic Diary of Tee. Enjoy the bumpy ride ahead!

“I know you’re curious, anyone would be. You absolutely want to know who the person you’re eating from is. But you have to trust me that he is completely safe to be around and would do no harm. If he wanted to tell you, he would have already and it’s not my business to interpret and do so myself so don’t expect me to say anything. I will take all of my friends’ secrets to grave if they want it to stay that way.” They both grew silent as they stared into each other’s eyes. He held so many feelings in his eyes. He reminded her of a book she read called No Matter What. The main character was called Tim. Tim held the secrets of all of his friends, yet no one knew about any. He would go as far as

MY MOTHER'S BESTIE The aroma of Chardonnay filled the air in his office, seeping out into the living room like it's trying to lure me in. Five of Steven 's friends sit around in his office, glasses in their hands, ice clicking in them. They're laughing about some sweet business transaction that they had managed to get, when I walked in barefooted, carrying a fresh bottle of Chardonnay in a tray. I've been yearning for my uncle's dick for two whole months.

I unlocked it and pulled it open. It was full of A5 diaries, in numerical order, starting from 1994. I opened the first one and it was filled with my handwriting. I began to read it. It began when I was fifteen years old and it described my first teenage relationship. I skipped forward and read the last few pages. It was filled with wolf laws, training with Malachi, stories about Karani, my mother.

The room fell silent. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Because after twenty-eight years... They had found them. --- Dani's hands trembled as she picked up the first journal. The cover felt fragile. Ancient. Important. A piece of history. A piece of truth. Slowly, she opened it. The first page contained only a date. Twenty-nine years ago. One year before Sarah disappeared. One year before everything changed. Below the date sat a handwritten entry. The ink slightly faded. Still readable. Still clear.

Andrew looked for newspapers and came back with one printed two days earlier. At a table near the fountain a man sold notebooks and pens. His face was dark from the sun, thin, with a nose that looked recently broken. He tapped a cigarette on the table while he talked. “Diaries,” he said. “Blank. Good paper.” “Old ones?” I asked. He hesitated, then reached under the table. He laid out a small book wrapped in brown paper. “One left. The rest burned.” I opened it. The first page carried a single word written neatly in blue ink: Santuzza. The rest were blank.