12/04/2015 10:32AM Well hello there…
My parents are separated, so holidays are hard on my family(us). I’m currently on a plane flying to the Americas for the rest of the season. Where I’ll reside with my mother and her side of the family before I go back to my dads in Austria for the new year. The day before I celebrated Christmas early at my dads mums house. That’s where my great grandmother gifted me a small empty book. She said it was for “My travels”. I assume it’s meant for me to write in. So that’s what I find myself doing, writing in this small leather bond book. I hear people call them diary’s and that’s what I think you are, book, a diary. And as I am not thrilled by the idea of continuing to refer to you as book, I’d like to start calling you diary. And since you don’t seem to have opinions of your own I don’t think you’d mind the sudden name change. If we are to be friends or at least as good as friends as a 15 year old girl and a inanimate object can get, you should know some things about me. Let’s go over what you already know. My parents are separated, I’m fifteen, a girl, and in a plane. That sums it up quite nicely. Now on to what you don’t know, I have paper white skin that can’t tan for the life of me. My hair is dark brown basically black, it’s straight all the way till the ends where it seems to curl, and falls at my waist line. I seem to get along well with most but I do get made fun of for not being athletic and strong. Just “weak” and “sickly for my age”. Before the separation I lived in England all my life. My two closest friends are a girl named Elcee with thick red locks, baby blue eyes, and whose half a year younger than me but still 15. As well as her sister whose a year older than us. Her name being Mary-Beth and of the pair, she more closely resembles their mother. With thick blonde locks kept mostly in a bun, and dark blue eyes. Oh last thing I’m called Elizabeth. You’ll hear from me soon diary.
12/04/2015 11:41AM Something’s wrong- maybe?
Hello Diary, the people seem to be having a fuss. Rumors of hostages, and electrical problems are spreading like wildfire. Though it does cause me to wonder-. We’ll talk ever so soon diary.
12/04/2015 12:00 PM It’s bad.
Diary, there are terorists on the plane. The pilots and some flight attendants along with a passenger have locked themselves in the cockpit. They’ve separated us into groups. I’ve assigned myself the responsibility of watching over a five year old girl whose mother was put in a different group. She keeps crying about “Tommy” but for the life of me I can’t get her to say who Tommy is.
-Elizabeth
12/04/2015 12:15 PM It’s worse than I thought.
So the terorists have broken into the cockpit, diary. Every one is being held hostage now, well except for the dead. They killed a flight attendant for refusing to follow their orders and they killed the co pilot along with the passenger that was hiding in the cockpit. Apparently the four of them kept they’re heads down till we were over the Atlantic. At least that’s what people have been saying. On the bright side I found the boy “Tommy”. It seems to be her brother. The two of them look just alike. Same shade of dark brown skin with short hair, the girls just a tad bit longer and fuller. She’s wearing a light pink dress sinched high on her waist with a beautiful design on the front and white lace trimmings, paired with white tights, and shiny black shoes. While her brother just shy of 7 wears a black cap, trousers, brown leather shoes, high white socks, and a baby blue shirt. Both have foggy grey eyes and rosey cheeks. Tears new and old stain they’re faces as they hold on to each other as if for dear life.
12/04/2015 12:30PM Nothing to be done but wait.
Diary, I found out the children’s name’s. They’re called Julia Cole, and Thomas Cole (Tommy)curtesy of the boy. The mother I find out is two groups down. Her name being Katelyn. I try to keep the children happy since I hear the whispers that we are not making it out of this alive.
-Elizabeth
12/04/2015 12:52 PM I won’t live to see another day.
It’s been confirmed in two hours time they’re going to crash the plane no one will make it out alive.
12/04/2015 1:07 PM Can we fight back?
The back two groups joined together and killed one of the terorists. He was 19. I boarded the plane just in front of him Diary. He seemed- normal. Elija, was his name I think.
12/04/2015 1:40 PM Death is of common occurrence.
The remaining three have killed most of the rebelling passengers. My group met in a circle we consist of nineteen, twenty if you count the dog. It’s me, Julia, Thomas, an old lady named Rebeca and her husband Steve. A 20 year old named Johnny, two teenage girls who already know each. One is named Alice, the other she didn’t say. Three middle aged woman, Danny, Beatrice, and Susan. A couple, their child, and their dog. Their names if I can recall are Tom, Diana, Tilly, and Clover. We seem to be the smallest group. Time is slipping out of my fingers Diary. The small talk of the group feels forced and pointless. Will this really be the end of me?
12/04/2015 1:55 PM Diary please!
Dear Diary, If this ever finds my mother or father tell them I love them. Tell them- tell them oh what do I tell them Diary? Help me, save me Diary! They started shooting at the passangers like mad men killing left and right! Johnny was hit he bled out! And Julia, poor poor Julia died right in my arms! They killed all the flight attendants ALL of them, every last one! Before two of them locked themselves in the cockpit with the pilot! We started going down right over a crowded city! Diary!
-Elizabeth
12/04/2015 2:05 PM This is goodbye.
Oh my dearest Diary, The last thing I hear as we plummet downward into a city is Ajus, brother to the one who died and leader of the terrorists scream “This is freedom, we fought the good fight!” Liar. Coward. Goodbye my Diary. I hope you find someone. Someone who’ll give this to my family.
-Elizabeth
Nothing survived the crash not even a single piece of paper. Well nothing besides the burnt shell of a book. Hey, it kinda looks like a diary.
The poem is written from Anne Frank's perspective.
The arms of silence they pull me down. Friends and neighbors scamper and squirm, as fish do when they see a sudden movement outside their pristine glass bowl. Be it big or small, it still brings turmoil. Some fight the bears, some run to silence. The silence does not shelter, just tears at you and scrapes at you. I fight the silence with words on paper, words that protect me. They fill the cracks the silence leaves me. We fight in the light of the yellow star. The bears, they steal the does away to forests bleak and grey. I’m ice, frozen in time. I watch as the world breaks around me, melt a little with each heartbreak. The bears, they’re taking, killing so many. My heart, the ice, I’m breaking, falling through the floorboards. The green police, they’ll catch us, all because of me. Oh, wait, it’s just a dream. But this is not a dream.
The fog drips endlessly. Grey horizons fill my dreams. The crunching of leaves is all I know. Except of course that I’m not alone.
I’ve seen them here in my humble abode of forest land I call my own. Just behind that farthest tree, I’ve seen them lurking look and see.
Cloaked in shadows, always close. It’s not a hoax. Just look close!
Purple skies
And grey cold nights
Living life like non before us
Magic beasts
And purple feats
Done like non before us
All because a little mass
A common mass
All this wonder
All this magic
Hidden away
In this slice of enchantment
But do be warned it also holds
A defense wall
Rejecting all
But me and my purple parasol
