The Diary Of An Oxygen Thief Novels & Stories

“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.

Her diary. I felt around blindly, my fingers tracing the lines of an old, wooden chest. I found the catch and undid it. There, under a thin layer of dust, was a leather-bound book. Lira Mooncrest's diary. I grasped it firmly, a silent prayer on my lips. I caught the sound of a noise above me. The floorboards creaked. I remained motionless, my heart pounding in my chest. My name was spoken in a low, male voice, and then there were footsteps, slow and strained.

With trembling hands, I approached it, my fingers brushing against the rough wood. With a creak, I lifted the lid, revealing a treasure trove of forgotten memories. Among the yellowed pages and faded photographs, my gaze landed on a leather-bound diary. It was weathered with time, its once vibrant cover now worn and aged. I knew instinctively that this diary held the answers we had been searching for.

Grace- I went inside my room; I know I’m hoping groundlessly however I still opened my wardrobe to see dresses aligned, coded by colors. Of course, the money isn’t there… nonetheless I rummaged through the clothes and found nothing. I sat down on my bed sighing at my foolishness. And then… my eyes landed on a diary, with a huge ‘Stefan’s high’ written on it. I stood up and grabbed it instantly. What is my diary doing here? P---Phoenix… is he here? I heard a knock on my window, I was not wrong. I rushed to lock the main door as Phoenix entered inside my room.

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 had forgotten all about that book, it had fallen out yesterday night from the top of Phobos's cupboard when I had mopped his chamber floors but I had no time to look into its contents so I thrust it into the box hoping to be able to read it later. I lift my hand to him indirectly demanding for it and he directly gives it to me. A deep inward breath I take in as my heart pounds vigorously in suspicion of what I might see. I know it is wrong of me to wish to invade his privacy this way but this is the diary I was determined to steal when I was eight. The pad of my thumb tenderly skims across the leather covering as memories of our childhood ignite to life within my mind.

I took a deep breath inhaling all the dust that had been stagnating in the room. 'The watchman has become blind ', I thought as I decided to lock the door again when I noticed something. A diary. I walked in and picked it up. Pink I'm colour, had to be a girl's diary. I walked out with it turning off the lights and locking the door again. I opened it. This Diary belongs to Akansha Goenka. The first sentence I read after opening it in fine cursive handwriting. It belonged to Akansha. Not that bad either.

But, The ones above were harder to reach, forcing me to stretch, my fingers roaming blindly across the upper shelves. Suddenly, something solid brushed against my fingertips. Frowning, I pulled it free. It fell to the floor with a soft thud. A black diary falls right at my feet. Frowning, I picked it up out of curiosity. Its leather cover was worn, its pages yellowed with age. My heart skipped as I picked it up, and curiously opened to the first page... A date stared back at me— it was 27th August, 2005. “A twenty year old diary in the bathroom cabinet? What the hell?”

My claws, furs, fangs and glowing eyes all retreat. Really surprising the doctor is innocent. The rouge ain't all worthless. I abandon him shivering and trembling on the floor. His stretched palm currently cover's and protects his face. I huff. Such hilarious defence shield he got. My attention turn towards the half dead fugitive. My claws against sprout. I misuse not waste not time. I plunge them into his skull. I gasp. My head tilts backwards. My lenses slowly hide under my lids. I venture into an unknown omegas mind.

The geometry of an oversight. The desk lamp in Mira’s room was the only light left burning in the small apartment. Outside, the autumn wind rattled the loose window pane, casting erratic, shuddering shadows across the stacks of borrowed textbooks and photocopied municipal ledgers that cluttered her floor. Mira sat rigid in her chair, her eyes fixed on the silver terminal slip resting beside her keyboard. The polished metal surface didn't reflect the blue light of her laptop; it seemed to absorb it, the digital timestamp on its edge pulsing with a cold, rhythmic green glow.