5 Days Where I felt Productive

5 Days Where I Felt Productive

September 8th, 1960

Three words that describes me:

Stupid

Stupider

Stupidest.

School swallowed my every single will to keep going, failing after failing only made me more confident when I say I am stupid.

Well, what are you going to say? “Maybe if you try–” Gosh, I have maybe, I dunno. Poured my heart and soul trying for that A?

Forgive me if I sound like a stereotypical teenager–bad grades, horrible temper, and most of all, arrogant!

Oops! Can’t believe I almost remained anonymous on this little rant. Scarlett, nice to meet you, erm, big empty diary which my mom sworn by will improve my English.

At least someone is still hopeful!

September 9th

Do you ever know what something means but can’t put it to words? ‘Cause that’s exactly what happened today. It was so obtuse I could laugh about it in a few years with my future bestie(Yes, I daydream about the future but who are you to judge?)

So, basically. Ms Jenny is doing the thing where she just eeny meeny miny mo her way into picking students she knew who couldn’t answer the question and today I’m the lucky gal.

“Scarlett.”She called me in her squeaky voice that reminded me of Dobby. “Would you mind telling me the range of possible solutions for x?”

Right after I told her 3-8, she started asking me for how I got it.

“So you subtract this from both sides and then do that and this.”

I was halfway there explaining before I confused myself, it made so much sense in my head but I guess my brain doesn’t like sharing.

Her nails tapped on the table in front of the board, 9 times. It was always 9, it must’ve been her favorite number.

“Scarlett,”She called my name, interrupting my train of thought of 9 doing handstands pretending to be six…my thoughts are weird and random. “Stop drifting off while I explain things specifically targeted towards you.”

See? She admits she’s targeting me, what more proof do you need? Case closed.

September 10th, 1960

Something is wrong.

Oh my holy gosh, I’m going to die.

I got a letter in my locker today telling me to open it alone in my room, it was the most basic kind of letter with no return address or anything else. Is that supposed to scare me? Well, it did its job.

The moment I got home I ripped the letter open, my heart dropped.

Inside, there is a picture of me scrolling on my phone in my room and another folded note.

This can’t be happening.

I got more, go to *********(You’re not getting my whereabouts that easily) at midnight today and told no one. I can hurt everyone you ever loved.

10 times, that’s how many times I read it. I’m literally going to die.

11:00 p.m..

September 15, 1960

Holy sh** I survived.

Yes, I’m really here. I escaped and the police got them.

Okay, story time.(I always wanted to do one but my life was too dry until now)

First thing first, the person who kidnapped me was my dad(my mom divorced him like 5 years ago). Believe me I was beyond shocked. Apparently his new daughter is desperately in need of a heart and he somehow found out that I was a match(suspecting his wife who’s a doctor). He planned a whole elaborate “suicide” from my part with a note and everything, but problem is…somehow he’s dumber than me, ha!

Let me set the scene for you, you are in the room with your kidnapper and his wife. He is guarding the door that is already locked and his wife ready to attack me if I try anything.

I cannot have a breakdown there, don’t fail me brain!

He and I both knew that I can’t have a scrap on me before I die or the death will be "suspicious".

Well, here’s something I noticed.

There is a really gross little piece of soot by the stove and fireplace.

The strange odour when the wife is making something to eat while constantly eyeing me of course(the odor excluding her questionable cooking ability).

Yep, a gas leak.

These idiots might as well die in the gas leak if they didn’t kidnap me. Well, guess I’ll have to save the day.

The look of horror when they realized I’m not bluffing, chef’s kiss.

They fled like flees, thinking I’ll die in this room that they locked, that is not a padlock lock.

Picking locks is already in my second nature, though I had to continue breathing uncomfortably shallow. My head was pounding already like a steady beat of drum and my stomach is threatening to puke out everything I ate yesterday.

The lock opened, my hands didn’t fail me!I wobbled to the street, coughing loudly and crawling on all fours after deciding it was easier. A concerned passerby called an ambulance for me but fortunately, I’m alive.

The next few days I spent in the hospital, the police interviewed me and caught the bad guys(yay), my mom sobbed by my bed every night(I felt bad). But no damage was done, I was out and running before I knew it.

June 5th, 1963

Wow, I can’t believe I didn’t write an entry for almost a whole year.

A lot has changed(Except for my annoying personality definitely),

I think I finally realized that maybe I’m not so stupid, I never was.

Maybe I’m not the stereotypical teenager that has bad grades(I can never shake this one though), a horrible temper(I’m working through it), and arrogant(I’ll let you be the judge of that).

My dad and his wife are in prison now, his daughter ended up getting a new heart. I almost would’ve died for nothing. I still sometimes wonder if they feel bad about what they planned to do with me, is it all worth it in the end if it meant it could save their daughter?

Well, I should put this behind me now. I don’t think I will forget but I should definitely not let this get the better of me.

Scarlett signing out.