Juniper's Diary

Student Join date : 2013-06-16 Age : 26 Posts : 107

Day One

In a hospital on Eulirin a woman was with child. Doctor's rushed about, screams echoed down halls and soon a babies crying could be heard.
"Get that thing away from me!" The mother screamed at the nurse who tried to hand the baby to her. "I want nothing to do with that disgusting creature!"
The babies crying was hushed by the nurse who carried it to the nursery. "What do you think they'll do with the child?" The nurse asked another nurse. "More and more they're killing them off. Should tell the family they can't do that anymore. Can't kill the child if it's already been born." The other nurse says to the first. The first nurse nods. "I hate hearing their cries when they put them in the furnace. Breaks my heart." The first says, holding a hand to her heart sympathetically.

"What would you like to do with the child ma'am?" The nurse asks.
"Kill it. I certainly don't want the filthy thing." The mother said harshly.
The nurse frowned, looking at the second nurse who stood by the child's bed. "I'm sorry ma'am, but they've ruled against the execution of children already been born." The nurse said.
"Then put it up for adoption!" The mother shouted, glaring at them.
"I'm sorry ma'am, spots are all full. We can't place any more adoption children up for a while." The first nurse says.
"Then what am I supposed to do!?" The mother screams at them.
"You'll have to keep the child Miss." The second nurse says.

The family leaves, the eldest son carrying the basket the child lay in. "What are we gonna do with it, mum?" He asks, swinging the basket.
The mother scowled. "Can't kill it. So might as well put it to use. Stupid thing." She muttered harshly.

Once they got home, the mother locks the child in an empty room, leaving it in the basket. Every once in a while the eldest son or youngest son would feed the child left overs from the day before's dinner. The child was clearly unwanted, and it knew it the moment it took it's first breath.

Year Two: Day Sixty-Two

From day one she was locked in that room. 792 days in that empty room. It'd drive you insane if you were older, but she was there since she had first gotten to the building the room was built into. And she only knew the walls from the inside. She knew that room like it was part of her. From each corner to the door to the ceiling and cracks up above. This room was the only place she knew, and she didn't mind. Not really. They fed her, gave her water. The youngest son, the only one who cared enough to keep her alive had, at some point, snuck her a small piece of chalk to draw with. The dark room had a small window that was caked in muck and grime, letting in little light if any at all. There was no light bulb, but what was a light bulb to a child who had never truly seen the light of day? Just deluded light of a dank and dark room.
She drew another short and small line on the northern wall, which she called the line wall. She didn't know her directions, didn't know what she drank daily was water, let alone know how to talk. Even in gibberish, it was all nothing to her. Just shapes, lines and squiggles. So the lines were only significant to her because her mind was able to pick up enough from what she had heard and seen so far in her miserable life.
She pressed her ear to the door and listened to the muffled voices. She did this daily. Her matted hair and dirt covered skin would blend into the warped wood if someone took a look at the little shape huddled against the door.
Withdrawing from the door and voices, she crawled over to the basket that was just big enough to accommodate her size. if she took the blanket and padding out, she had just enough room to wriggle her toes if she wanted. Most nights she would spend huddled in a corner, away from the window and door that provided the noise and dim light. She preferred the dark when it was warm in the room. Sometimes it got so hot she'd even take off her her scraggly dress and wrap the thin sheet around her body. When it got cold, she'd curl into a ball inside the small basket and lay there, sometimes not moving for days on end. Most of the time she only ate half the food given since she knew food would eventually stop of the portions would grow smaller.
The door clicked open and a boy just a few inches taller walked in. His cheek was red and she could make out the voices from behind his, out the door and down the stairs. 'The voices of anger and hate,' she thought. She squinted at the boy, his silhouette that of someone who tries their best to care but is losing patience and the will to go against his parents any longer.
"Let her starve to death already!" A voice shouted up the stairs, something shattering being heard not long after the shout.
Juniper cringed at the sound and moved her hand sup to her ears as best she could, having little room to move in the basket. The boy never said a thing. Just brought a bowl or plate and a small cup and left it there. Sometimes something wrapped in soil paper and that was it. But today he stopped and dropped a small bundle at the foot of the basket, sniffling.
"They told me to-" his sentence was cut off by a hiccup from what Juniper would later describe as crying.
She hadn't cried since she was real small. There was no real use to it. Just something to do really. And she drew pictures and practiced moving her lips in the forms she thought would later help her form words. 'Something to do,' she thought, 'Does he have something to do too? Or is he lonely like me?'
"-let you sleep. But I thought you might- *hick* - want this. the weather's going to- *hick* -get cold this time 'round and I thought you could- *hick* -use this." He explained before turning around and walking back to the door. "Good luck." He whispers to her before closing the door shut with a creak and a snap.
Juniper lifts her head and pokes at the bundle before pulled the coarse string and unfolding the cruddy cloth. Holes dot the fabric and stains litter ever possible place. Some so red she fears to think of what had caused them. 'Thank you..' she thinks, hugging the blanket to her body.
"Thank you." She whispers, surprised to hear her own voice. A fast learner maybe? She wasn't sure. But when she felt the wet tears slide down her cheeks, she smiled into the fabric and sobbed quietly. "Thank you." She said meekly.

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