Little Diary Novels & Stories

Yet, there was an unmistakable presence that lingered behind. My eyes immediately landed on the disarray of belongings scattered around—a half-folded sweater draped over a chair, a pen precariously close to rolling off the edge of the desk, and a small leather book shoved clumsily behind a lamp. As I stepped closer, curiosity got the best of me. I pulled the book out, brushing away a thin layer of dust that had settled on top. It was a diary—Reya's diary. My heart dropped. I opened it carefully, flipping through the pages filled with notes from class, doodles of flowers and strange symbols, and the margins packed with her thoughts—snippets of poetry, quotes she adored, and random observation

LESLIE’S JOURNAL ENTRIES 001 ******* Dear Diary, Scratch that. Dear Journal? Well, you’re sort of pink, handmade and gotten from the roadside stall of a little girl working on some class project so maybe you're really a diary. However, I am going to pretend this is a journal and this is the beginning of me journaling my new life in a new city. I read somewhere online that it’s a therapeutic practice. For me, it’s an escape. The only way I can express myself in a world where I feel more alone than I have ever been.

It was the first step towards her survival plan. Her hands fell to the top draw, where she pulled out the paper sanctuary. Her diary was covered in navy blue velvet, the sensation under her fingers always giving her a warm feeling inside. Mia used her diary in the conventional sense, i.e. writing out her thoughts and feelings, but she also used it to make lists. She loved lists. September 8th

I was in disbelief that Henry could actually have a thing for literature. Checking through the books, I noticed a black diary which laid under the books and it got me curious. I don't know why, but having to read Henry's diary became an urge that I could not resist. I picked up the book and flipped it's pages opened. All the stuff he wrote bored the hell out of me and I was about giving up on the diary when I saw a recent write up and it had my name written. Dear Diary It's been long since I last opened you. I guess life issues could actually make one forget a friend. Anyways, lots have happened over the past few months. I have hit my ninety nine mark on the register of girls I will fuck bef

I jumped out of bed quickly and headed straight to my desk, picking my diary up out of the drawer. This diary was invaluable in managing my day-to-day life. I recorded my mood daily and a summary of the events of the day, I also kept track of official functions and pack-related affairs in there so I didn't forget a single thing. Every morning I wrote a list of the things that I needed to do that day. I turned to the page that should have held the list that I clearly remembered writing as soon as I woke up on the eve of my anniversary, but the page was blank.

he ignored my question and called the server. “Do you have anything spicy here?” “Um...like what?” “Never mind, Do you have French fries?” “Yes.” “I will bring it.” When the server left, he turned to me. “Then what’s that note? Any study stuffs.” “It’s my diary. I will write about myself and my daily life. But I don’t feel like writing it anymore” “Why?” he said without taking his eyes off me. “Cause nothing good happens in my life, so why should I have one. I want life to be happy, interesting with a little of passion, adventure, love which I never found.”

“They found out I have the code. I don’t know how, but… I’ve seen them watching me. I’ve been followed. Two nights ago, someone tried to break into my place. I have to disappear, Lexi.” My voice trembled. “So what do you want me to do?” He handed her a single page—a torn scrap filled with symbols, numbers, and scribbled lines. It looked like chaos. “I need you to write this down. Copy it—exactly. Keep it somewhere safe. Somewhere no one would look. I’m burning this journal tonight. You’ll be the only person left with this.” I stared at the paper. My hands shook as I took it. “Pastor Dav…”

Diane’s POV I silently tiptoed across the room, grabbing my journal from the locker and heading downstairs to the living room. I took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and warmed up my left over food in the microwave and settled down on the sofa, crossing my legs and opening my diary. I stroked my chin, taking a deep breath to settle down and release my shaking legs before reminiscing on everything that just went down and putting them into my diary. DEAR DIARY,

Dear Diary, I’ve decided to keep a book recording all my days here at High Hill, should make pleasant reading in the future! Well, let’s start with the basics. I’m Gabriel; surname’s irrelevant as I’d rather not link myself to my parents. I’m 15; average height, wavy mousey brown hair, hazel brown eyes, and I’ve just arrived on my first day here. My parents sent me here because apparently public school isn’t good enough for me. But the reason they don’t know is that my parents would rather not have a son like me around them, snobbish twats. I’m just not good enough for them because I’m gay... Oh yes, did I not mention, I’m gay...and single... and full of a house with lots of boys in it. Oh b

But, The ones above were harder to reach, forcing me to stretch, my fingers roaming blindly across the upper shelves. Suddenly, something solid brushed against my fingertips. Frowning, I pulled it free. It fell to the floor with a soft thud. A black diary falls right at my feet. Frowning, I picked it up out of curiosity. Its leather cover was worn, its pages yellowed with age. My heart skipped as I picked it up, and curiously opened to the first page... A date stared back at me— it was 27th August, 2005. “A twenty year old diary in the bathroom cabinet? What the hell?”