After It Happened

Chapter 2: 1

19th January, 2018

Miss Peters really over-reacted after seeing my essay. The essay wasn't even a big deal. I just decided

to put more effort since Grammy and Aunt Amara had given me that talk about potential. I wanted to try

and be good for people who had really tried so hard to take care of me.

Anyways, back to Miss Peters. She kept on commending my work in class that I just had to bow my

head to avoid the pointed stares of my classmates. After the class, she called me to her desk and I

considered ignoring her, but I managed to drag myself to her table. If I was going to be a good girl, this

was the least I could do.

I was really considering walking out the classroom door when she started getting all teary-eyed. Crying,

really? I won't lie that her next words got to me. Me? A writer? The girl that got C's and D's and maybe

one or two B's in a term was a good writer? I was laughing so hard that I didn't see her drawing a

journal from her big bag.

You see, that journal looked interesting and more my style. It was a sleek midnight purple book with a

silver skull in front. I loved it, too bad I wouldn't use it. I didn't want to dedicate my time to another tiring

activity. I was still thinking of who deserved the book when my teacher spoke up again telling me I

could put down my thoughts here. I thanked her and gave her my signature smile, or maybe it looked

more like a smirk, before I left the class.

Now, I'm awake two days later in my room in the middle of the night writing how I got this journal in the

journal. I couldn't get any weirder. All thanks to one of those stupid nightmares.

Well this is my first entry in this pretty journal. I don't know if I will write here again. I doubt it, though. I

still don't know if I hate Miss Peters for this or not.

23rd January, 2018

I never thought I would write here again. Maybe this will be a constant or just a one-time thing.

Whatever happens I'll flow with it. That's all I seem to do - flow with everything life throws at me.

I had another nightmare. Funny enough, like all my other nightmares, I don't remember this one. I just

know it was a horrible dream because of the feeling of dread I get and how I'm drenched in sweat. It's

the usual one. There's smoke everywhere and everything is blurry. People are screaming and I feel

almost dead.

This is why I'm sitting at my desk writing in this journal. I am too scared to sleep. I just don't know if I'm

scared of the nightmare or if I'm scared to remember.

I don't want to get rid of this journal so easily. I also feel the book doesn't deserve to be just referred to Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

as my journal because it's now more than that. It's a friend that knows all my thoughts. A sibling I never

had. Maybe I'll just call you, Danielle. The name sounds so familiar and perfect. It's always floating

around in my head never finding an anchor.

Just another memory puzzle. A puzzle I do not want to connect.