Romans & histoires Human Diary

The final page of the diary closed with a soft whisper, and the room was swallowed by a silence so heavy it felt solid. Outside, the sunlight was gentle, spilling through the window and casting shifting patterns across the hospital floor. And there it lay— the yellowed diary, quietly resting like a sleeping witness, its ten-year-old secrets finally laid bare. No one spoke. As if even a breath might disturb the shadow pressing on everyone’s hearts. The diary shut beneath Livia’s fingertips, the aged pages still holding a trace of warmth—

I slowly peeled the fabric and it showed off an old leather-covered book. The first page read "Diary of Roma". A smile slipped on his lips and tears flowed in his eyes. It's my mother's diary.

Mia's POV I lock up the door of this old, abandoned house. Running for days because of the zombie outbreak. I find a room with bars on the windows. It looks safe, but then I hear a noise. Zeke stumbles in from the closet. He was bitten last week. His skin is gray and peeling; pus leaks from sores on his arms. He smells of rotten meat and shit. His eyes are milky white. He groans low. I retreat backward, holding my heart because it's pounding. I grab my knife but he's quick.

Because of her photographic memory, her ability to recall exactly what she had seen was top notch. All these years, she had dutifully written down every single vision she had seen, starting with the one of her and Hazel. It didn’t matter if she could change the vision or not. Whether it happened or not. She just jotted everything down. Perhaps one day, the diary entries would come in handy and she would get to save a lot of lives. With that in mind, she flipped to the next page where another entry awaited to be written and she sighed heavily as she wrote down the disturbing title; THE GRUESOME MASSACRE.

"Jackpot." I grinned. What better way to know a person's deep, dark secret than through their diary? And with how hidden this one was, there had to be some dirty little secrets. Some recent dirty secrets because the last date was just a few months ago. I sat down on the floor and began reading the first entry. Some minutes and some pages later, I was already getting bored out of my mind. It was just the usual stuff of how her day went and what somebody did to hurt her. Boring drama but no juicy story.

Even the videos I was speaking in my own voice, laughing in my own way, but I don’t remember any of them. I slowly ran my finger across the screen, trying to comprehend it. There was no trace of my grandfather, nor of Mark, nor of Maysan. No one I knew. They were all new people. I opened an app called “My Happy Diary.” At the top, I found a message titled: “To my dear Iris.” My hand trembled as I tapped on it. “My dear Iris,

When she did wake, she would be wanting me, a lot, and I needed to be ready for that! “Tate?” I hear her voice mutter from the bed. ---------------- Dear Diary… Not sure what has happened. Everything seems to be black. Like I am in a big black hole and I can’t get out. Everything feels so hot, like I have been put inside the sun or a volcano. I don’t think I like this. I can faintly hear Azaria, like she is a whisper somewhere around me, but I can’t make out what she is saying. And Tate, too, he is saying something, but it isn’t clear what he is saying. Does being in the sun make it hard to hear? ---------------

Part of me wanted to drop to my knees right there despite the danger. The panic room door sealed behind us with that same heavy click as before. Red lights came on, showing the small space and monitors flickering to life on backup power. I plugged the USB into a secure port on the panel while Damien checked the screens for more intruders outside. “Shit look at this,” I said, scrolling through the files. Stolen manuscript pages mixed with screenshots of our private emails. The dirty ones. Me telling Damien how I wanted him to fuck my throat till I gagged. Him describing exactly how he’d breed my ass raw.

He crumpled onto the concrete like a puppet with its strings cut. His whole body convulsed as he fumbled inside his coat and pulled something out. A weathered notebook. The yellowed diary had been painstakingly taped back together piece by piece. The creases on the cover had been smoothed flat. Missing corners had been repaired with scraps of paper. He pressed the diary into my hand. "My life... is yours..." Blood kept pouring from his mouth. Every word sounded like it cost him what little life he had left. "Please... stop hating me... alright...?"

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.