The Diary Of A Secret Writer

By , Corona, NY
Dear diary,

My name is Lucy, Lucy Adams. I am a creative prodigy. I have been homeschooled my entire life. Ever since I was two yes, I said two. My mom taught me how to talk when I was two months old. I was taught how to read when I was six months old. I was taught how to play the violin, piano and flute by one and a half. So far nothing has ever stood in my life. I hope this stays that way. No way am I going to become a weak girl, especially since I am technically not a little kid anymore.

Today, I am only twelve years old; three days from now (my birthday) I will be thirteen. I am simply young in body. If you ever saw me you would think I was nine years old. My mom says I'm just a late bloomer. I say it’s because I’ve never seen sunlight or even grass! I was born in the dark of my house and have never left it.

I know, you must think that this is a weird thing to just tell you in the first entry of this diary. Well, it’s my life and it will always be. Sometimes I dream about the way the world looks. During my advanced world geography class, I doodle all the time. My teacher tells me to pay attention. I ignore her while she talks about the way volcanoes erupt. Sometimes I want to escape, see the world, feel the rain and most of all feel the sun.






Wishing,







Lucy Adams
Dear diary,

Are there really people in the world? Or is my family the only one? Will I die if I go outside? Or is my mom just over reacting? Today, I asked my mom why I can’t go outside. She replied in a worried face, the world is terrible and if I go outside I will get shot and die by a man holding a gun. Regret fullness shone on her face. Wonder shone on my face.

I wonder if my whole life has been a lie. Maybe, I have been dreaming my whole life. What if this is a dream?! I would love it if it was a dream. Sometimes I hear the pitter-patter of the rain. My mom always comes and tells me to practice my music. I know she does this so that I can’t hear the rain. I have this “sense” where I can “feel” what I hear. If I hear a cry of pain, I feel it. She thinks I will escape one day. Maybe I won’t. Or maybe… I will…






Scamming,






Lucy Adams





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