Marinette's Diary Mga Nobela at Kwento

The memories came like flashes, first of the men who had tried to rape her, then her head against the tarred road, drops of rain, blood, a blur, and the darkness. The room looked ordinary enough, bright pink coloured wall paper, and fluffy teddy bears that almost took up half the space of the bed all suggested this to be a girl's bedroom, there were loads of other things on the table just in front of the bed, but they looked hardly out of place, instead each item had a sense of belonging of some sort, there was nothing disturbing, nothing eery, the air was fresh, the scent of waking flowers penetrated the room, and even though they hardly appeared taken care of, it felt like a typical mornin

I had to kill Marie who had nothing but hatred for everyone. I remembered how she told me I was part of everyone. That day she escaped, and no one knew. I was walking to exit the compound when she halted me exactly on the opening of the gate. I did not know her then, so I had no idea how she was. I ignored her, and the moment I took another step, she charged at me until she had a few of my skin. I was thirteen then, and she made me cried. And I would hate it if she would make the seventeen years old me cry again.

She did not dare to ask us anymore. *** Dear Diary, All is happening according to my plan and it gives me happiness. I really think I should celebrate my little success. I know, I still have more things to do but my first plan happened well and I think I deserve to celebrate, alone. I do not need someone’s accompaniment since I have done all of this alone. No one knows about my plan. It’s only me and you, my dearest diary. You will know all of my success because you are part o it. You know me well and if you could have a life, I know, you will be happy for me too. If I die, I'll ask my parents to bury you with me and do not dare to open you. I’m anxious that they will know my secret. I wrote

Brandon's smile widened, oblivious to the darkness lurking behind Marinne's eyes. "I am happy to stay with you guys," Marianne chimed in, her voice sweet and innocent. "I promise to make sure Brandon feels safe and comfortable at all times." Her words sent a chill down my spine, but I forced a smile and nodded, hoping that my unease was unfounded. I don't know what's about to happen with the Marine presence in our lives, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong. The way Marinne's eyes flickered with an unsettling intensity made me question if her intentions were truly as innocent as she claimed.

Finally, he held his pen, wrote on his slate and showed it to Dorin. [We won't make it back to camp if we don't hurry.] Again they ran, all 3 of them. They made it just in time, Anastasia was about to close the door to the log cabin when they arrived. "Are you listed in the club activities, too?" she asked Margarette when she noticed the newcomer. "I am here to observe," said Mar, "I am 1st Lieutenant Margarette Gunnar from the Military Department." "I'm not sure..." Anastasia began to say, but Mar had already entered the room.

It's so easy for kids to switch their emotions. For me, it isn't. I still feel sour. I still feel….empty. Marinette's usually out on saturdays. She works—three days a week—at a downtown bookstore that's mostly filled with old couples. She says she likes working there because it reminds her of the happiness she once shared with Gwen's father.

“But he’s not a tourist. He’s been there since I sat down. His eyes… they look cold and sharp.” The café felt smaller, and the sunlight felt too bright. I knew we were in danger. Someone didn’t want us to talk. Marisol reached into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Here,” she said, giving it to me. “It’s a part of Caroline’s diary. It’s the last note she ever wrote. I saved it after… after everything. Maybe it’ll help.” I took it in my hands, shaking. “Thank you, Marisol.”

The handwriting on the first page was delicate, fluid slant strokes written in faded dark ink. August 14, 1995. "That was a few years before we were even born," I murmured, tracing the faded ink. I turned the page. It began as a simple diary—quiet entries about scrubbing floors, ironing linens in the grand estate, and sketches of wildflowers pressed between the pages. But as the entries progressed, they shifted into hesitant, terrified confessions of a young maid who had fallen deeply in love with the master of the house. Marco's father.

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.

*Mansterville Part 2* ~Waverly~ I had finally settled down after the most exciting day I'd had since mine & Shay's last trip to the new mall a couple towns away. What with the sudden arrival of our unusual new neighbors, not to mention the high school stoner's claims of a hairy feral beast running rampant about town. All in all it had indeed been quite a riveting day.