Dear Diary.
Monday is a happy day. I woke up early, like always, so that's not so special. I also went to bed earlier because I was bored and my mother was too lazy to cook again. That's going to become a nasty habit. That woman is all talk on the phone or typing messages on that thing and I'll tell you honestly, I've had enough. Couldn't I put her up for sale because I'm really not happy. When she finally fell asleep on the couch, I searched the basement for some food. I fought another can of sardines; there was no expiry date on it. You can imagine how old it is, and it was also a rusty one, and there was one of those little keys to pry the thing open, and in the process, I cut my thumb. What idiot invented such a thing? It must surely have been a man or someone like my mother who has never cooked a day in her life.
Tuesday morning, I noticed there were shadows on the wall watching me. I got up early again but I was dead tired and could barely open my eyes. I heard the alarm clock ticking and the dog snoring in the hall and the letterbox rattling. It could be the newspaper or the wind. It is cold in the house and I did not feel like getting up but if my mother noticed that I was still in bed, I would get a beating.
It's weird how I sneak around the house to wake up no one. Why do I actually have to get up first to light the fire and boil water for tea? I feel tired and haven't brushed my teeth but that doesn't matter because I have to eat in a while anyway and then brush them again and so on. It never ends. I set the table and waited for the water to boil and poured it into the teapot because the water doesn't do that by itself and I burnt my hand and dropped the kettle on my foot so my toe which is now blue and if my mum doesn't hurry I'll be late for school again and the teacher will swear at me. It promises to be a nice day at least if there is some shade because I can't stand the sun and my eyes hurt when I have to look into the light.
Wednesday, it was me and mirror, I should say mirrors. I got up early and so on, well you know the story; every day is the same ritual. I get up and sleep badly, and then I try to survive the day. Not that the nights are so nice because I hear all the voices and hey, I don't talk but my father does bang on the wall and tells me to shut up and go to sleep even though it's only 5 pm. Believe me, the dog has it much better.
I had to do another crap job, uh I mean I was so happy that I got to clean the mirrors in the house and not once but ten times because my mother kept seeing spots that don't exist or could there be something wrong with my eyes and do I need glasses? Well glasses I probably won't get glasses because there is never any money so I just polished and polished those eleven mirrors in the house and of course I went to school without food and was late but at least the mirrors are clean including the one that I think tells who is the cleanest in the country. I asked but the thing didn't say a word. That must be because I am not the owner. Would I inherit that mirror o? I surely can't shatter it if it says I am the ugliest in the entire country? Not that that matters because the ugly duckling was not a duckling but a swan
Now that I think about it, say diary, could I be a wizard and that is why my mother acts so strangely towards me like with Harry Potter who slept in the cupboard under the stairs? I would actually like to have a room like that but there is no cupboard under the stairs. Oh yes, before I forget, I only got knocked down the stairs twice today- I mean, fell. I limped a bit and had a bloody nose, so I had to clean that too. Have you ever scrubbed the stairs and walls while your nose was bleeding?
Thursday, a book is a forbiden. I am tired, tired, tired, but all I hear is that this youth is the best time of my life. I don't believe a word of it.
A diary is a book that you can read, but a book is not a diary and people want to read it because they know all sorts of things about you and you are bullied for it.
I stare at the empty page a lot and there is nothing left to write about, except that I think it is stupid to write in a diary since this is a book that will never be published and never gives an answer. It is a worthless friend that only costs paper and ink and time.
The only books I see are those in the library, but I am not allowed to take any home. The librarian has piercing eyes and sees everything, and he follows me when I walk between the rows of books looking for something to read. I have already finished Harry Potter and I don't like it because the spells in it are fake. The writer could have tried them out first. I have already brushed my teeth with Signal, and it tastes bad and also,o the bristles of my toothbrush are coming loose and my gums are bleeding. My foot is blue and hurts, and my thumb is not healed, but at least it is not bleeding.
Friday, you are a secret but secrets don't exist because God sees everything and if not, my parents, teacher, librarian, the neighbors, the dog or those nasty kids at school, the shop assistant or the mailman do and then there's this diary. I feel pretty depressed but I assume that everything is fine with you and everything is fine with me too. Life is great, I read on a poster at the bus stop today. I wonder what that means.
Saturday was such a waste of time no conversation with you again. Writing a diary is like having a conversation with myself. No matter how long I stare at the paper, there's never an answer. I got up early, I brushed my teeth and I still have a nasty taste in my mouth. There is blood on the towel and I haven't looked in the mirror for a long time because I am a shadow of myself or the unwanted monster. I brushed my teeth and got dressed, although I don't know what I was wearing today. I made the fire, made the tea and set the table and waited for the day to be over. Yes I was late again and got a dressing down twice from my mother and then from the teacher. Life won't get any better if I don't learn to do magic or at least have three wishes like in the fairy tale of the three stupid wishes.
Sunday, I am longing to get out of here. I long for Mondays I hate Sundays are the most boring days of the week, and both my parents are home and stinking grumpy. If I find the spells, I am out of here and never return and the longing for a better life is gone.
4.3.25
Prompts: 7x @freewritehouse
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