For a few moments, Sophie just sat there staring at the blank pages, a numbing sensation spreading through her. Snapping out of her reverie, she turned towards her safely stowed art box, and scrabbled around untill her fingers finally closed around the items of her frantic searching. A quill and ink. She had decided - though she was not 100% sure when - that if this book was empty, with no signs of ownership, she would claim it as her own, and keep her own diary. She had also decided - again, not sure when - that this beautiful, thick creamy paper, should only be written on with proper ink, and luckily she had bought a new quill and ink in an old antique shop for only a few pounds not long ago. Shaking the bottle, she carefully unscrewed the lid and placed it on her desk, the one on the other side of her bed away from the door, incase her mother woke up and went on a rampage. Dipping the fine nip into the purply ink, she took a deep, reassuring breath and wrote: "21st July 2012, This diary belongs to Sophie Grace." Satisfied, she turned the page and began her diary.
' My life has been filled with misfortunes from birth. My mismatching eyes for a start. My tendency to avoid crowds, leading to people avoiding me. My father's untimely death when I was only 6 years old. My mother's alcoholic and abusive behaviour. The pity in the eyes of my teachers. The sneers and glares I get from my classmates. Becoming a social outcast. '
Stopping, Sophie removed the diary from her lap and retrieved a hankerchief from one of her rather empty clothes drawers. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she composed herself. Tears would make the ink run! Clambering back onto her bed, she continued:
'But I have been strong! But even this strength will not keep me alive forever. Something needs to be done to get myself - and hopefull my mother too - out of this awful predicament. I have kept us both alive for 9 years, but our resources are running out. My main focus should be on school, as this year my final exams are imminent. But all I worry about is how drunk my mother always is. I can't get a job as 1. my mother would never allow it and 2. I can't commit all those hours. My paintings don't sell for enough or fast enough to use that long term. My mother wastes all her money on buying alcohol. She never leaves the house, always buying off the internet because when she's really drunk she can't taste the stuff anyway. I need a new plan.'
Blowing gently on the page - enough to help the ink dry without creating streaks - and re-dipping the quill in the ink, Sophie started a new page:
'NEW PLAN' she put as a title. 'I've decided it is time for drastic measures. I will start selling any salvageable pieces from the house. Start with the smaller stuff so mum doesn't notice. Maybe raid the attic when she's passed out.I'll use the old shed in the garden of the abandoned house down the road to store the stuff that I sell.'