A childs old diary. Apr 27, 2009 14:56:33 GMT -5
Post by endymien on Apr 27, 2009 14:56:33 GMT -5
In a town called Brenton, at a bank, in an area beyond where the public is allowed sits a desk where is a drawer containing old papers stuffed under a yellowing paged leather bound copy of a bible. If one were to happen to this town and bank, manage to get behind the bars, into the desk, then rummage through the personal paper this certain individual may happen across a grimy journal that could easily be ten years old. And by the looks of it could easily have been carried by a particularly dirty child, or a young boy. On these pages, in horrible script with not the best of grammar is an account of a child‘s life according to his own perspective.
I wonder if my mother and my teachers think I am a girl. It is my tenth birthday, and in pretty pink and white parsel paper is you. Miss Mandin thinks that you are a better gift idea. I would have rather had that tin train in the shop window at Barney's. Can you believe it, it wound up! But no, I guess they want me to turn into a woman and write my thoughts! Not have a wind up train! Miss Mandin also says at the end of every entry I should write a rhyme, to improve my soceals skills and understanding of leteracture. Whatever those things are. If you ask me, that falls under the school supplies, not birthday pressents! Here is your silly little rhyme Miss Mandin.
My teacher is much enthoosed
to turn me into a boy with boobs.
Reading, writing, arithmatic,
the makers of these need a kick
for making all us go to school
and make us study till we drool!
Okay diary, it is still May 25th and all.
I just wanted to take something back. My mother isn't all too bad. I feel kind of bad now. We had my favorite cake and after she gave me a different present. It was the wind up toy train! I guess it is only my teacher who is a horrible woman that ruins birthdays. And life, I should say too.