Freedom Writers Diary The Book Novels & Stories

He ordered the maids to prepare breakfast for Erina, specifically requesting medium veal steaks, the first cranberries of the season juiced, and toast, getting particular with the doneness of the toast down to the second. Erina was a noble and elegant white wolf, after all, and it was only right for her to be very particular with things so that they would be done properly. After that, he went to the headquarters as usual, planning to read up on the reports that had come in from the trade centers at the borders. Seconds later, a document was placed on his desk. Larry looked at the document and frowned when he read the title. It said, "Application Form for Leaving the Pack."

I shook my head and turned back toward the studio. She did not follow. She remained there on her knees until nightfall. Anna later told me she had kneeled there for four hours before security finally helped her away. When she left, she was still clutching the soup container tightly in her hands. Anna said, "The blood from her knees stained the gravel red." I lowered my eyes to the blueprint. The tip of my pencil dragged across the page, leaving behind a long, uncontrolled line.

The airport was freezing cold at night, and it was pouring heavily outside. Jessica's post on social media ruffled my feathers to no end. I gripped my phone tightly, resisting the urge to throw it. This was the 99th time Derrick had stood me up. An uncontrollable tremble ran through me. The last trace of hope in my heart had utterly vanished. Just a week ago, Derrick had publicly abandoned me at a banquet, exposing me to ridicule and scorn, all because Jessica had been locked out of her house.

As Flora looked at me, startled, I said calmly, "I won't get in the way of your date. Goodbye." I was not sad. Flora was the one who had bought me those cartridges. The models were ruined, but I could always buy better ones. The locked diary was filled with the thoughts of a teenage boy, yet the dazzling girl in those memories was no longer the same. All that love had turned into something absurd. What was there left to cherish? In the days that followed, Flora did not come to talk to me. She was busy showing off her love with Sean. All of our friends knew how deeply she loved him.

He had been both storm and lesson, bruise and awakening. And somewhere deep down, she knew he’d understood the message she hadn’t needed to send. She sat up, pulling her journal closer. Her handwriting had changed lately softer, looser, as though her words had finally exhaled. “Freedom doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it hums.” She smiled at that, closing the notebook gently. Her phone buzzed a text from her editor: “Your book’s doing beautifully. People are calling it the quiet revolution of healing. You should be proud.”

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those pictures Ma’am Sloane had sent me. A lot of things just kept running through my head. I was able to do a little from the notes I had written on my task list, but not even up to half of it. I took out my diary from the last drawer of the desk. April 25th. I gripped the pen so hard my hand was cramped. 'I can’t wait to leave this place,' I wrote, the ink dark and heavy on the page. 'Every breath I take here feels like my last, yet I'm forced into a contract like there's really a way out.'

He doesn't know if his father will return. He was two hundred in age, his father was almost thousands. He can still recall his father's order, "If you want to leave, do it. Don't worry about me. Go in a year where peace is at hand..." His diary dated February 1915. He was doubting on leaving his father. It took him hours before he decided on entering the room with the diary clipped in his armpit, the pocket watch on his left hand, and the gold key inside his pocket and chanted the same.

I can’t wait to run to my room and talk to my confidant and best friend,Diary. Dear Diary, Today I felt alive.I never quite understood somethings people do that totally put their lives at risk,never desired the fast life.Now I completely understand.Flying though that field,my mind void of every other thing was wondrous.I might actually be getting an adrenaline addiction with just two exposures.Thing is though,I don’t think I would be able to run as fast with nothing to get out of mind.I think I would be ordinary if I was carefree.The I need all my anxiety,insecurities and doubts to push me across the finish line.

Serenity started to compile the evidence, taking photos of Liberty’s diary together with voice recordings to post on Twitter. Soon, the response of the ungrateful granddaughter went viral with the help of Zachary. The tweet even pushed the gossip about Zachary and Elisa aside, taking the number one spot on the trending list. Liberty’s diary detailed the truth of the events. She was only fifteen, so her writing was unpolished. However, the diary captured the sisters’ emotional turmoil from the sudden loss of their parents, and their relatives’ bullying and demands for a share of the blood money.

She simply gave them the truth and let it stand in the snow, and the men received it in silence, the flat broken silence of a people too cold and too hungry to do anything with a truth but hear it. Then she went back up to the study, because there was nowhere else to go, and she took out the book to burn it. That was her honest intention. The swollen ledger of buried bodies had cost her everything. It had turned Dain into a fuse, started a mutiny, and taught her that every secret in it was a door that opened onto a trap. She knelt at the small cold hearth with the last of the fire she would allow herself, and she opened the book one final time, meaning to feed it page by page to the flame, a