A Lost Diary

I made up my mind to open the diary that I found on the desk of my classroom.

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It was five in the evening and I had to take it with me as I was afraid of the janitors.

I still wonder what the janitors would do to the diary if it had stayed where it was.

It started to rain as soon as I stepped out of the bus. I couldn’t run as there were a lot of puddles on the street.

I quickly pulled the diary out of the backpack and held it over my head as I walked along the sea that stood still but growing with time. I was afraid of the rain because it had the power to mutilate the book. I still walked, hoping the book to be waterproof.

The first thing that I did when I reached home was – drying it up as the edges of all the pages were damp.

I ran the fan at full speed and got out of the room as the temperature was too low. It was still raining. I couldn’t see the hailstones but I hoped for it to hit the ground as soon as possible.

“The book should be just fine” I talked to myself as I walked towards my room after five hours. I turned the fan off and I walked towards the book. It was still damp.

“Because it’s not open, idiot!” I shouted. I was angry. I just wanted to tear the book into two for wasting a lot of electricity, for nothing.

I sat down. I threw the diary away. I got up again and fell flat on the bed. Thinking about the diary couldn’t keep my eyes shut. I wanted to see what was contained in the diary. It looked special. I switched the lights on as it was quite dark to read. Also, my mother never allows me to read when there’s no light.

I carefully opened the page which was bookmarked as I was curious about reading whatever that was written in it. The name could wait.

I think there’s a saying which conveys that expecting too much from someone or something will always disappoint you.

Well, I did expect something great out of it. It’s my fault anyway.

The book was filled with Mathematics and Physics, which wasn’t fascinating. The handwriting looked as if someone had written with their non-dominant hand.

I had to take my revenge. I had to give it back. I skipped to the last page of the diary.

Thirty-one, December.