Journal of a Secret Keeper
Chapter 1 - The Intro
The story of my life is not one that I can say is very exciting. That’s pretty obvious since I can’t remember any of it anyway. So I guess that instead of starting this journal with my birth and simply listing the events until now, I will instead tell you everything that I can about myself that I know before I begin describing what’s going on right now.
So, my name is Genevieve Marie Noling, though I wish it were something different, such as Kara or Karen, for what reason I doubt I’ll ever know. I usually go by the name of Gen or Genna, though I actually just prefer Gen. I am often random, laughing at odd times and making practical jokes that nobody understands. I am more comfortable talking with adults at the age of thirteen then I was talking with kids when I was nine, and I’m even more uncomfortable talking with other children now. My books and writing are my life, and without them, I would be a shell, a husk with no inner being or identity. I can scarcely imagine what life was like before man figured out how to write and use paper. It must have been horrible!
I have brown hair, blue eyes (with twenty out of twenty vision), and skin so pale that you could, almost literally, mistake me for a ghost if you saw me wandering about outside at night. I love to wear jeans, and any shirt that’s comfortable, whether it’s big or small, is at liability to be snatched from its place and pulled on over my head. I am a walking catastrophe just waiting to happen, being that I’m tall and a total klutz. I could trip over just about anything that’s lower than my waist, and since I often DO trip, it’s surprising that I have only the few bruises that I do.
And that is basically everything about me that I can say or care to mention at the moment, whether because I forgot to mention it, or because I just don’t feel like doing so right now. But don’t worry; by the time you’ve finished reading this, you’ll know everything about me, plus more besides...
Chapter 11 - The Beginning
Everyday after school, my mom picks me up and drives me back home. Sometimes, if she’s in the mood, she’ll even pick the mail up. Well, today she picks the mail up and hands it all to me, as usual. And, as usual, I start sifting through the junk that we normally receive in our mail box. As I’m sifting through it all, my eyes catch sight of an envelope addressed to me. Okay, not terribly unusual, but definitely not normal either, especially since there wasn’t any reason for anybody in my family to write to me.
But this card WAS unusual, in that it looked as though it had been written on parchment (I assumed it was parchment, since it most definitely wasn’t the normal kind of paper that you could buy at the store), and with what was most definitely a quill handled with extreme excellence compared to how I handled one (for I had a quill, I just sucked at using it).
Deciding that it would be better that my mother not find out about the unusual nature of my letter, I waited for the car to park in our parking lot, got out, handed the other mail to my mom (whose name is Kristen, by the way) and headed for the door, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I made sure my mom didn’t see the letter, and managed to sneak away up to my room without being found out.
There, I dropped my bag onto the floor; eyes glued to the mysterious correspondence, I walked over to my bed and slowly sat down. Then I carefully turned the note over, slid my finger under the wax seal (yeah, I know, really old fashioned, huh?), and warily slid out the paper that was inside.
So far so good, I thought with relief, until I read what the note said. Then, my jaw dropped, and I was suddenly very thankful that I was sitting down. It read:
Dear Ms. Genevieve Noling,
I am writing to you in haste, for I know that you are the only one who can help me now. In the box I sent with this letter are stories that I have painstakingly rewritten so as to preserve the secrets that they hold. Unfortunately, the secrets they keep are dangerous and must not be allowed to become known. For if these secrets were to be revealed to the wrong people, mankind’s very existence would be at stake. I beg you, therefore, to please keep these treasures safe no matter what, and above all, do not reveal the truth: The existence of Fairy Folk, and their whereabouts.
KEEP THIS AWAY FROM ALL PRYING HANDS for you never know who might turn against you.
Best of luck,
Kara M. Beddingfield
Master Scribe
&
Friend in Need
I stared and stared at the last three words on the page. A friend in need, I thought. When have I ever been known to turn down the call of help from a friend? The answer was a simple one: Never. And I wasn’t about to break my personal record now.
Suddenly, I heard my dad come walking down the hall. Quickly but carefully, I hid the letter under the bed and took up my computer so that it looked like nothing suspicious had been happening. Luckily, it was Friday, so there was nothing wrong with me messing around. I heard the tap, tap of my dad’s fist on the door, the quiet creaking of the hinges, and the drop of something that sounded heavy, as well as the quiet, “This just came in the mail for you.” My dad never speaks very loudly. It’s a bad habit of his. I looked up from the blank screen of my PC to the box now lying on the floor of my bedroom. It was also addressed to me in the same untidy scrawl as the one in the letter. And then I remembered that the writer of the memo had mentioned something about a box and a ton of stories in it.
Well, this must be the all-important box of secrets that girl was talking about, I thought with droll amusement. And, putting my PC down, I got off my bed, opened the box, took out a sheaf of papers, and began to read.
