Semi-Daily Scribbles

"Are you snooping through Sophie's diary again? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. No wonder she doesn't say more than two words to you anymore."

"Yeah, well I get now why she doesn't have anything to say to me, or anyone else made of blood and muscle. Listen to this rubbish…"

"I will not. What's in that book are private matters which I don't need to know about. Weren't you ever 14?"

"Never. Now get a load of this…" Mr. Shepherd cleared his throat. It was done for dramatic effect. The sound that came out was his customary mix of sandpaper and phlegm. He looked over the top of his spectacles and began reading from Sophie's diary.

     It feels so good to write words down on blank canvasses. Do I understand everything that leaks out the end of my pen? Nope. All I know is that I feel real when I write. As soon as I stop, I'm lost. I lose definition, and nothing else can replicate the calm that keeps the crazy at bay. Restless, restless, start one chapter, jump to a completely different story. Do I accept this ending? Time bending. My will sending shockwaves from one end of the universe and back. This is no drill. This is a full-on attack. Choose a side and cheat death, cheap consolation that it is. If I live forever, nothing has any meaning let alone value. I've fallen down a well of my own design. Will I ever reach the bottom?

"How do we make her stop this nonsense? That girl is full of unwholesome thoughts, and I think you have more than a little hand in all of Sophie's daydreaming." Mr. Shepherd slammed the pages shut before shoving the heart covered journal in Mrs. Shepherd's midsection. She winced at the jab to her belly. Mrs. Shepherd also recoiled at the thought of approaching her daughter with yet another one of their discussions. The talks always ended the same; someone got hurt. Privacy would be the least of Sophie's possessions stripped away with the arrival of day's end.