The Diary Of An Oxygen Thief Novels & Stories

​The morning air in Oakhaven was sharp, carrying the scent of pine and impending rain. I sat on a crate in the square, my mind reeling as Dorian spread the contents of a rusted metal box across the wooden table between us. It was a time capsule of a life I barely remembered: polaroid photos of faces I couldn't name, letters written in a youthful, looping script, and a dried flower pressed inside a diary.

She set it on the ottoman and opened the latch. The lock was broken. Her breath caught in her throat. “No. No, no—” she whispered. The box was empty. Her diary was gone. Her most intimate confessions, written in the rawest moments of pain and hope. Every twisted memory from Russia. Every wound Cynthia left on her skin and soul. Every moment of self-loathing, every hesitant word about Damian… even that one vivid entry—the night she gave herself to him, trembling, finally feeling safe. All of it. Gone.

Her crazy senses were activated and she immediately removed the frame from the wall. Her instincts weren't bad. There was a locker behind the chassis. She tried to get into the locker, but she didn't make it. She thought it over and placed Hea's date of birth as a password. Fortunately, that worked and the locker opened. She saw a blue diary in front of her and other documentation. She swiftly took the diary and opened it. She took pictures of the pages and hid the diary beneath her blazer. She locked the locker again and put the frame back as it is.

Naomi’s. My gut tightened. If it was here, she wasn’t. That meant trouble. I grabbed it, shoved it into my pocket, eyes already scanning the room for anything else useful. Then I spotted a leather-bound diary tossed on the bed. Maria’s handwriting carved across the cover in firm strokes. I flipped it open without thinking. Pages crammed with her thoughts, sharp and unfiltered: Pages filled with her thoughts. Words about me. "Darian’s eyes cut through me, making me feel alive."

🖱️Victor🖱️ The diary sat in my hand like it was alive, breathing, watching me, judging me, and the blue fire wrapped around my fingers didn’t burn anymore, it just existed like it belonged there, like it had always been waiting for me to notice it. I stared at it for a long time, longer than I should have, my thoughts drifting somewhere I had been trying very hard not to go. Jayden.

I can only conclude because this is not written in the diary either. "Does Duna actually know what a diary is?" I complained. After storing the ID Card and mercenary ID in the drawer, I took some packets of cookies from the cupboard and read the diary again. If I look again, the first few pages have been torn. Maybe Duna used to write a diary, but suddenly made this book into a notebook. Starting from the Xenobeast category, mercenary system, base system, to how to use guns and laser swords. January 27, 3043

Marcellus stumbled through the door of his study, his footsteps heavy and unsteady. The dim light of the overcast sky seeped in, casting long, oppressive shadows across the room. The desk was piled high with documents, but he couldn’t bring himself to even glance at them. Instead, he reached into the hidden compartment of a mechanism box and retrieved the object that haunted him—his diary. Its cover was worn from countless readings, the edges frayed by his desperate hands.

It was a double-drawer compartment under the floor of his study. "Oscar's study! There's a double-drawer in the floor!" Olivia exclaimed. David and Olivia immediately rushed to Oscar's study. David pushed aside the heavy carpet and quickly located the mechanism to open the hidden compartment. Inside, they found several neatly folded documents, a small flash drive, and most surprisingly, an old diary belonging to Oscar. Olivia took the diary with trembling hands. On the first page, written in bold, was:

Cold. I pressed my hand over my mouth to muffle a cough from the thick air. Carefully stepping back, my heel hit something. A shelf. A loud thud hit the floor behind me. “Damn it…” I muttered under my breath, fumbling to pull out my phone. I turned on the flashlight and aimed it toward the object. It was a book. Old. Worn. A diary. I bent down and picked it up. The name on the first page stopped my breath cold.

Dear Diary, I’ve decided to keep a book recording all my days here at High Hill, should make pleasant reading in the future! Well, let’s start with the basics. I’m Gabriel; surname’s irrelevant as I’d rather not link myself to my parents. I’m 15; average height, wavy mousey brown hair, hazel brown eyes, and I’ve just arrived on my first day here. My parents sent me here because apparently public school isn’t good enough for me. But the reason they don’t know is that my parents would rather not have a son like me around them, snobbish twats. I’m just not good enough for them because I’m gay... Oh yes, did I not mention, I’m gay...and single... and full of a house with lots of boys in it. Oh b