Little Diary Novels & Stories

I want to spend my weekend in peace. When I reached my place, everything seemed to be normal. I arrived home without getting anything in the mail. I had my dinner, and everything went smooth. I decided to leave an entry today in my diary. I usually put it in the drawer in my bedside drawer. I am sure I put the diary in here since I always put it here. But I can't find it anywhere. At first, I just thought I misplaced it, but I have been looking for it for an hour now. Where's my diary?

Sweat gathered at my temples and Cobwebs clung to my sleeves. The air smelled of cardboard and time. I pushed aside old picture frames, college notebooks, and broken electronics. “Where is it?” I whispered to myself. Box after box, I searched. My fingers were sore and my back ached but then I found it. A navy-blue leather cover…Worn at the corners. The pages sticking out a little from the sides. My diary. I sat on the cold floor, back against the wall, and opened the first page. It was mostly silly things at first.

It laid on the table and it seemed it was inviting me to open it Just one look, my mind whispered. Just to understand her better. Slowly, I placed the plate back down. My fingers moved almost on their own as I picked up the diary and I opened it carefully, not wanting the sound of flipping pages to wake her. Page after page filled with uneven handwriting. Little thoughts. Little feelings. Each page starting with, dear diary. I skimmed gently, not reading every word… until a photo pasted on one side of a page caught my attention.

“You’ll come back, right? Fia?” He lay down on the bed and sniffed at Fia’s scent, and he held the blanket tightly. Suddenly, he touched something hard inside the blanket. He unzipped it and took it out. It was a diary. A very thick diary. He flipped it open and looked at the graceful handwriting on it. Fia Lawson. It was Fia’s diary. The diary was a bit yellow, showing how old it was. He looked at the date written at the top on the second page. It was many years ago when Fia was in her fifth grade.

“Look what I dug up our teen diaries from that first summer here!” Betty’s eyes widened as I pulled out two worn notebooks. “Oh god, no. Don’t read those. I was such an angsty mess.” “Too late,” I teased, flipping one open. “‘Dear Diary, Daisy is so confident with her camera. Wish I could be like her. She makes this stepsister thing feel… nice. Safe. Maybe too safe?’ Hmm, interesting.” Betty snatched it, laughing embarrassedly. “Give that back! Yours probably says I was a boring bookworm who followed you around like a puppy.”

I could feel the blood rushing in my ears, the little flutter in my chest, the way my fingers tightened around my pen without me realizing it. Imagine him standing just behind me, leaning over my desk… lips barely a breath away… oh yes… fuck me daddy. I shook my head, pretending to focus on my notes, but my eyes kept darting to him. My imagination refused to be tamed. “Tell me something,” I murmured to Mia. She looked at me warily. “What?” “If someone wanted to get his attention… how would they do it?” Her eyes widened. “Anna, you can’t be serious.”

I think I need to buy more because what is happening is so exciting for me. In just one day, I use two pages just to tell what happened in my day and how I narrate about what happened when I killed one of my classmates. My diary is literally my friend. He knows a lot about me rathe than a person who doesn’t know even a single fact about me. Even my family does not know the real me. Dear Diary,

I don't need anyone's permission, that's it. I turned the first page and started reading it: "Dear diary, Hi... This is me Ivana. Ivana Williams, sixteen now. I bought you with the money I earned from the first ever salary I got in my life from tutions. You're not only a diary, but also now my friend after Miya.

Five minutes passed and I realized something. My bag felt lighter. Way too light No. No no no. I unzipped every pocket. My heartbeat thudded painfully. Where was it? I leaned down, checking the floor. Maya hurried over. “What are you doing? You look like you’re searching for your dignity.” “My diary,” I whispered urgently. “It’s gone.” Her eyes bulged. “NO.” “Yes.” “No no no no—” “Yes yes yes—” “CHARLOTTE. That thing has every thought you’ve had since seventh grade.”

Sighing deeply, the young woman reached for the diary and opened to the first page, her fingers running across the brown colored paper absentmindedly. She reached out for the blue pen on the dresser, her body slightly quivering in anticipation as she silently contemplated shutting the diary like she usually did, only this time she didn’t want to do that. Only this time, she actually had a story to tell. Sighing deeply again, Natalie uncapped the pen, and for the first time ever, she wrote in the diary; Dear Diary, I met someone today.