Young Writers Society

Every fiber in my being screamed for him as I stood there silent, watching him walk away. I had to let him go. This wasn't in the plan. I wasn't suppose to fall in love, especially with him. I%u2019ve tried to rationalize it in my head hundreds of times; he'll be dead soon, but I still ache for him. My heart was bound to be broken. Leave it to me to have my heart stolen by a stranger and have him disintegrate before my eyes.

The calmest of my grandchildren, she was sent here because her parents are on a business trip for their local bookstore, some kind of convention. I knew what she was thinking, what is she going to do with an old granny, knit? So, when I told her to get the blankets from the top of my closet and dust covered the air as my secret diary hit the floor, I bet she was surprised. She was intrigued, so I let her have a peek; who knows, maybe she’ll think her grandma was hip, doubt it.

aturday June 5th

Every fiber in my being screamed for him as I stood there silent, watching him walk away. I had to let him go. This wasn’t in the plan. I wasn’t suppose to fall in love, especially with him. I’ve tried to rationalize it in my head hundreds of times; he’ll be dead soon, but I still ache for him. My heart was bound to be broken. Leave it to me to have my heart stolen by a stranger and have him disintegrate before my eyes.

As my eldest granddaughter closed my teenage diary, I could feel the tears stinging the corners of my wrinkled eyes. Just from her reading that tiny part out loud a rush of old, forgotten feelings seemed to knock at the back of my brain, making my head hurt.

“Do you still want to read the rest?” (I asked?)

“Yes… grandma, please.” Elizabeth was quiet, but gripped my propelling (she called her own story propelling - I think she'd say something more like "painful") story firmly in her hands.

The calmest of my grandchildren, she was sent here because her parents are on a business trip for their local bookstore, (should be a semicolon?) some kind of convention. I knew what she was thinking, what is she going to do with an old granny,(period?) knit? So, when I told her to get the blankets from the top of my closet and dust covered the air as my secret diary hit the floor, I bet she was surprised (Too much detail in one sentence - you go from being fairly general to noting exactly how the book landed on the floor. Big step up. Tone it down a notch). She was intrigued, so I let her have a peek; who knows, maybe she’ll think her grandma was hip, (period?) doubt it.

(but what rational did she have to let her granddaughter read even more of her secret, personal thoughts?) “Just be careful with it. I am going to bed. Make yourself comfy. I’m sure the drive down here was tiring.” My old bones creaked as I hunched my way towards the stairs.

Barely a whisper, Elizabeth said, “Goodnight, grandma.” (Like I said in my review of chapter two, she sounds like she's ten in my mind... I don't know, just the dialogue style...)

I kissed her cheek as I made my way towards the spiraling staircase. Lifting one leg at a time, I made it up all fifteen stairs with a pair of amber eyes watching each step of the way. I turned down the covers of the queen bed I use(d) to share with my husband, (No comma) once I entered my bedroom at the end of the hall (shouldn't this detail be at the beginning of the sentence?). Memories rushed to my side as I slowly sat on the edge of the bed. Swinging each leg into the bed, I tried my darnedest to push those old thoughts out of my mind(comma) because along with those old thoughts came back old feelings that no one has time to figure out anymore (that's insensitive). The goose feather comforter laid thick on my old tired bones.

Footsteps soon awoke me from slumber; Elizabeth was finally going to bed. This old house creaked and heaved with each movement she made. Each crick and creak of her mattress startled me, but as my large imagination got use to having another living, breathing person in the house again, my heavy eyelids closed the world away, allowing me to sleep once again.

Elizabeth

I clicked the door shut and plopped down on the old, dusty mattress. I bet my grandma hasn’t used this room since my grandpa died. (Thoughts should be in italics to not confuse the reader) At least I only have to be here for a week, and maybe this old diary will be entertaining, (period?) doubt it. (I thought she was the one who wanted to read it in the first place.) She probably wrote about knights in shining armor and rose bushes. I wish I was at my house, surrounded by my things, sleeping in my own bed; this one is so loud. (again, italics)

I laid the diary on the nightstand next to me and turned the light off. Making my way to the bed seemed like an easy task before the light went out, but now I seemed to be bumping into every edge in the room (aren't night stands typically right next to the bed?) . Cursing under my breath, I hoped I didn’t wake up Grandma. Once on the bed I was too afraid to get comfortable because the bed made entirely too much noise. Stupid mattress, I want to be home; I want to be home. (Italics?)

After ten minutes of looking at the back of my eyelids, I opened my eyes; sleep wasn’t going to come easy tonight, even with the five hour drive here. The musty smell of the room was restful, but I felt an uneasiness saturating the room. No, I don’t (didn't?) believe in ghost(s), but the feeling of something watching me would creep out of my mind. The morning couldn’t come fast enough.

Counting sheep, I closed my eyes and wished to be any where (usually one word, also you don't need the comma after this), but here. Ninety-nine sheep, ninety-eight sheep, ninety-seven sheep… (I thought you count sheep up... otherwise it's not really counting XD)

I awoke to silence. Peering out the window just above the window (a window on top of a window? Okay) just above my bed, I saw my grandma gardening. She sure is agile for an old lady(Italics), I thought as I stretched and reached for my cell phone, not to check for a text, but to see what time it was (I don't need to know what you didn't do. However, that's a cool story idea: write a book entirely about what didn't happen *tucks that one away*). One o’clock in the afternoon,(period?) I felt lazy; why hadn’t she woke me? My back ached from the horrible sleep I had received. I slinked my way to the bathroom and rubbed my eyes profusely.

The bathroom smelled like old lady lotion and crusty toenails (maybe leave the toenail part out... XD) . I could slowly feel the bile burning in my throat. Why we didn’t just throw her in an old folks home and call it a day remained a mystery to me. Old people just took up space and fought for a time no one cared about any more. I hope she doesn’t try to sit me down and tell me stories of long ago when gas was only a dime a gallon. Maybe she would let me into town, to the library or the department store. (With what money?)

As I reached for my tooth brush I could feel an aching in my stomach that I tried to fight. There were no birds chirping, no squirrels handing me toilet paper (*thinks about it* I'd like that), no smell of homemade muffins and a complete breakfast of pancakes, eggs, sausage, and bacon. My grandma wasn’t begging for me to be apart of her life, just as my parents weren’t begging me to be apart of theirs; this was highly disappointing. (even my grandma, who can barely stand, would at least try to make breakfast for me. She may fall down and break her leg, but she'd do it. This grandma sounds... evil)

As my eldest granddaughter closed my teenage diary,

The calmest of my grandchildren,

and maybe this old diary will be entertaining, doubt it.