Diary Greg Novels & Stories

What do you mean? "Damn, no I will not tell you. You go home! Your father will get mad, it's already four thirty." "Tell me." "Come on, Lorry Cuenca." "Tell me, are you a stalker?" "Hello no! I just liked you when I first saw you at a gig!" Greg felt shy because he confessed his feelings easily and this is the first time he told his true feelings with someone. "At a gig? Aah.. hell yah! It was my uncle Azza's birthday!"

It is old but seems to be well cared for. “Diary? Who uses a diary now? ” I whispered to myself as I hurried to open it. I was not mistaken. It was indeed a diary. Stoney isn’t a pure stone at all. He’s a softie. Funny that there were still drawings around the notebook cover back then. This is really it. I can already feel the MMK-like story of Cormac. . . the story that will win us over to AFA 2020. The first entry in that diary came to me. It was dated sixteen years ago. March 21, 2004.

Wide brown curious eyes. "Greg has been so out of hand lately. He absolutely insists on hanging out with you," she says with a laugh. "My apologies," I say with a smile. Greg and I did play around town this week. I think we might have played around at the dock, tipping some of the fisherman's nets into the sea when we were running around the docks. Oh well. Also other stuff that me resumé would hate to read off. "Oh don't sweat it," says Diana with a wave of her hand. "I've never got to meet you officially, but I'm Diana, Greg's mom."

I replied then just like that he got up from his seat and went back to his room. I sat there, surrounded by memories of my father, staring at the old leather-bound diary in front of me. Our relationship had always been strained, to say the least, but I never expected what I found within its pages. As I delved deeper into the diary, I discovered a history of pain and bitterness that left me reeling. My father's words poured out onto the page, raw and unfiltered, revealing the deep hurt and regret that he had carried with him throughout our lives.

Old records. Old concerns. Earlier fears I have not acted upon due to survival instincts. Then I leave the file very carefully back to the fire and unfold into both parts across the table. Financial discrepancies. Trade authorizations. Detainment approvals. Witness statements. Gregory's name found on pages and pages of documents, spanning decades. On the bottom of the last page, one name is written in dark ink. Dario Creek. I gaze at it for a while. Then lastly, pick up my coat.

Episode 49 – The Confessional Diary The attic smelled of dust and forgotten things. Ophelia’s fingers traced the spine of a leather-bound journal, its surface cool and smooth, tucked away in a cedar chest that had belonged to her grandmother. She hadn’t been looking for secrets; she’d been looking for old photo albums. But the moment she lifted the diary’s cover and saw the elegant, looping script, her own script, from years ago, a peculiar heat bloomed in her chest.

I was outside mowing the yard under the hot summer sun which left Chrissy to do what bratty little sisters do -- go through big sister's stuff. Chrissy went back into Mom's bedroom. "Hmmmm, I wonder if she still keeps a diary. She used to keep it right here," she said as she opened Mom's nightstand drawer. "Son of a bitch! She still keeps a diary!" she chuckled as she pulled the booklet out of the drawer. She sat down on the edge of the bed and started to flip through the pages. "Let's see what sis is really up to these days."

I say. He thinks about this. "Smaller things," he says. "More specific. The first notebook has the large things, the family diagram, the topics from Irina, the questions and answers. The second one should have the daily things." He pauses. "The way Gregor brings his coffee to the east wing every morning before he starts the archive work. The way Reth moves through the compound like he knows where he is needed before anyone tells him. The way Marcus puts the newspaper down when something important is happening but he pretends he has not put it down."

And that hurts. ----------------------- Dear Diary… I am sure this fool of a man is losing it. He has forgotten I am here! He promised he would be back with food and still no food. Leaving me sitting alone in a dark and dingy basement to ponder over my own thoughts. While he can go home to his own cozy home, how wonderful for him! Well, let’s face it, he was never going to be up for Grandfather of the fucking year awards was he?! ----------------

Dear Diary, I'm so sorry I didn't have time to write yesterday but trust me the wait was worth it. I didn't even get back to my dorm room until 4am and at that point I was in no state to write an entry. Honestly I still don't know exactly how to even begin to explain the rollercoaster that was the past two days. I mean last time I wrote everything was so much simpler than it is now. I mean I literally feel like a different person right now after kissing three different girls and yet I feel more scared than ever to come out. I'm sorry I'm getting a head of myself, let's start with yesterday before I spoil the whole story.