The Freedom Writers Diary Original Book Novels & Stories

"I understand, Perer. We are good friends. Aren't we?" "Yes, we are." "Good!" Henry acknowledged. "Now, tell me about this diary of yours you have been writing for almost a year now." “You want to hear all about it?” “Yeah! Tell me all about it.” "Well," I started, trying to bring my diary/book/memoir into a positive limelight, "the book I am writing is basically a diary. Inside it, are events of my life that I have recorded. Though, there are times I would like to see it as my memoir but I can't due to the nature of it. My book is not something you will see on every regular bookstore in the market. It is unique and addresses the reader in a way you have never seen before. I know you know it

I clicked on it and saw that it was from a blogger who documented her daily life. The first pinned post was a romantic birthday surprise. The blogger had prepared a gift for her partner, and coincidentally, her partner's birthday was the same as Chandler's. I scrolled down and saw a picture of Chandler's hand. There was no doubt about it. This was Karen's secret account.

“You gave him the dignity to choose his ending. Most would have ended his life without a second thought. That is the strength that comes from staying soft despite hardship. Something only, you could have done. Well done, liberty. You are free” The words you are free danced around in my head. I could have a life and so could my people. I really had done it. FUTURE I fall down, unable to move I am laughing so hard. I was filled with so much joy. “It’s not funny beautiful. I could have died” Justen states laughing along with me. He was soaked. “I don’t know why you thought you could swing across the river” I say laughing.

He doesn't know if his father will return. He was two hundred in age, his father was almost thousands. He can still recall his father's order, "If you want to leave, do it. Don't worry about me. Go in a year where peace is at hand..." His diary dated February 1915. He was doubting on leaving his father. It took him hours before he decided on entering the room with the diary clipped in his armpit, the pocket watch on his left hand, and the gold key inside his pocket and chanted the same.

She pulled a volume free, a worn copy of The Sun Also Rises he’d read in high school. She descended the ladder with a natural grace, the book in her hand. When she reached the bottom, she was close enough for him to smell the clean scent of her shampoo. She held the book out. “Hemingway. So brooding. So… repressed.” A smile played on her lips. “Was that you in high school, Oliver? Brooding and repressed?” “Maybe,” he said, his voice rough. She stepped closer, using the book to gently push against his chest, backing him up until his shoulders met the cool wood of a bookshelf. “And now?” she breathed, her eyes searching his. “Are you still repressed?”

“You were born with something inside you. A flame that was dormant—sleeping. But it didn’t come from me. I only… woke it up.” Her breath caught. “You’re saying I’ve always had this?” she whispered. “The visions? The fire?” “In a way, yes. It was buried deep. Most people never awaken it. You would’ve lived your whole life never knowing—if it weren’t for what’s coming.” Evelynn’s skin prickled. “What is coming?” He walked slowly to a shelf, pulled down a tattered journal, and handed it to her. Inside were sketches. Of creatures. Of symbols. Of her.

He eyed the food with irritation and sarcastically mocked us for wasting it. At the end of the video, Quentin slammed his bedroom door, and Ruby stared at the spread, bursting into tears in disappointment. I sighed and turned off the camcorder. After that, I shoved the camcorder under the bed and never touched it again. "No… no…" Quentin gripped the camcorder to his chest, his voice thick with emotion, like he was trying to hold onto something. "Sharon… please come back. Please forgive me, okay? I'm sorry to you and Ruby…"

A sleepless night left me running on fumes. I was just about to make myself a coffee when a delivery guy brought in a large box of milk tea and small cakes. Then came the cheers of my colleagues. "Mr. Baldwin is buying afternoon snacks? When did he get so generous?" "Clueless! It's for Leticia's new diet. We're just lucky to get free snacks!"

"No. We should apologize instead." We held each other and broke down in tears. Leonard was still in a critical stage. Meanwhile, the content of his diary was published on the Internet. The diary recorded every moment we had spent together. I sat on the bench outside the ICU, and my phone kept vibrating. "Liv, have you seen the news? Leonard's diary has gone viral on the Internet!" "Oh my God! You guys had such great memories together!" "He loves you so much…" I tapped on my phone. The topic at the top of the trending list read, "high school memories of Leonard Burton."

I wanted to see my classmates who were studying their notes, writing something on their papers, answering tests, reading books, and listening to our teachers' discussion. Nothing could stop me from going to school and doing everything I could to achieve my dreams. I understood that the power I had would not help me achieve my goals and might even endanger me. My beautiful teacher, Jayne Salvador, fixed her things on the desk. She carried them with both hands and walked towards the door. She opened it and got out of our classroom. My classmates hurriedly followed her outside. They were crowded at the door. I didn't know what they were thinking. What I only knew was that they seemed to be in a