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Story Time Animated 2
I would say that I was your pretty average teenager. I didn’t do anything weird or crazy, or even adventurous. I went to school, I came home, I joined a few clubs, I did my homework, I kissed a few boys, that was all. There was nothing about me that was more or less special than any other teenager in the country. There was nothing about me that stood out, or was worth writing down, beside whatever social media gossip was happening at the moment. I wasn’t under some delusion that I was particularly awesome, and my parents didn’t tell me that I was special. They didn’t demand my teachers give me special treatment, or scream at them when they didn’t see my full potential or something.
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So imagine my shock and surprise when one day, while looking for lipstick in my Mom’s room, I found a journal with my name on it. And inside was the stuff nightmares were made of.
Let me back up a bit. I always knew that my mother kept a journal of her own, and I didn’t really think there was anything weird about it. She wrote quite a few notes, on napkins and on the back of envelopes, and always said that she was going to put them in her journal later. I didn’t think that was weird, considering that I grew up with her doing it. The only thing that I thought was weird was that I never see her journal, but I assumed it was in her bedroom somewhere.
When I found a notebook with my name on it, I assumed that maybe it was a present for me or something. I picked it up, and I was surprised to find that it was littered with hundreds of notes that my mom had torn out of napkins and journals.
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