Cecil's Gambit

Chapter VII: The most valuable birthday gift

Author's scooched note:

Welcome to part two!!! Part two is going to encapsulate Cecil's diary, and Cecil's diary only. From the time when she receives it, until the very end, THAT will be Part two. When the diary ends, so will Part two. And Part three will be like the "conclusion" of it all. Enjoy!!!
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February 26, 1956,

What a bright morning it is! The birds outside are already standing on the spire of the fountain, whose water has become rock frozen from the past months of freezing winter. It is not really snowing anymore, as spring is nearing Pennsylvania.

Spring, my mother's favorite season, because of all the flowers and their scent in the cool air. I do love spring too, but not as much as I do winter. It is as if winter was everything in my life; I love the snow, making snowmen, the little icicles that hang down from roofs around the neighborhood — everything. It's lucky that I was born in February, even though I was still eight months in my mother's womb. I was a big child, she said, that was the reason why. Funny, really.

Anyway, I just had you, Cerulean (the name of my diary, you) three days ago for my ninth birthday; and I would never forget that day; I would never forget the curiosity, the excitement, the gayness, the vivacity of my soul once I saw you, all bundled up, with the other gifts my mother and father bought for me, layed on the wooden table, by the piano, in the living room, on the day of my ninth anniversary.

I now shall recall everything that had transpired on this wonderful day, and the inspiration for writing on you, making you my diary...

First of all, being a girl like Anne Frank, a Jew who hid in a secret Annex in their apartment in Holland during the occupation of the Nazis in the Netherlands and documenting almost everything that happened in her life during that period in a diary as well, is quite a very triumphant and—a bit of a—rewarding experience, because a girl, as young as she was, and very very intelligent enough to be writing her own stories during the span of their hiding in the Annex, as well as creating such beautiful quotes in her diary entries, is truly inspiring; being able to be like her, and writing on you, Brownie, can really be a wonderful experience, being able to document things in my life, experiences in my life, joys in my life, sorrows in my life, everything; I have named you too, Brownie, because Anne Frank also named hers, only it was named Kitty and not basing off the color of her diary, such as what I have done in naming you, Brownie.

I do hope that I could spill my thoughts, my feelings, into you, whilst making it a fun and comforting experience, especially during my extreme sorrows, after realizing how many people died after the war ended in 1945.

Such sorrow did I experience once I realized how many soldiers, with hearts of warriors died, fighting for their own country. But why do I care so much? Could I help them now? They're all already dead; I couldn't help them anymore; one thing a person cannot do, in this unfair world of ours, is resurrect the dead; so I shall think less of them and not cry over them.

Besides, it has already been eleven years since the war ended; about a year since I had realized this, reading a tenth year anniversary book called The Second World War and its sufferers.

Mother was horrified to see me on the sofa, my little legs not reaching the ground, swinging back and forth, scrutinizing every frightening picture, every horrific word that described the scarred faces and the gore that spread across the world after the catastrophe that happened.

Those poor soldiers; their scarred faces; their severed arms; their severed legs; their whole state and countenance; the blood that reddened the grass and sand; everything that the war had left.