Wow. I haven't written in you for ages. The last time I saw you, you were falling from my desk and down into a crack in the floor. Now, after about three years, you're back in my posession. Dad said he found you when he was moving around the furniture, looking for his axe. (Turns out it was at the foot of his bed. Right where he left it. Most Vikings tend NOT to use the glorious thing that Thor gave us called a BRAIN.) Let's just say, he wasn't exactly happy when I politely asked for it back. He told me that real men don't write in diaries. I told him it was a journal. He glared at me before telling me that this was why I didn't have any friends. I don't think that's quite the right reason. I draw, I read, I write, and to put it bluntly, I'm a walking stick figure. THAT'S why I'm the outcast. I'm different from the other Vikings. I prefer to keep to myself and not run around brandishing an axe and screaming battle cries at the top of my lungs. Now if I could LIFT and axe properly, things might be different. I hope that someday, people will accept for who I am and not the person that I should be: The fearless son of the mighty chief, Stoick the Vast. Yes, I know. It's hard to believe but the chief of our tribe, is my father. And what am I? I'm the skinny fishbone that get's thrown away and accidentally/purposely stepped on. (That was both figurative and literal by the way.) Usually, I sit in my room all afternoon alone. No one bothers to visit me. Not even my own father. He thinks that something is seriously wrong with me up in the brain department. I've created a few imaginary friends to keep me company (that proves nothing!) although they're not as good as real friends. More than anything, I just want friends to laugh with, confide in, and to be there for me during the ups and downs. Please Thor. Please just give me one friend. That's all I want. I'll never ask for anything ever again if you could only give me a friend who could accept me for who I am. Pssssh, who am I kidding. That'll probabally never happen.
Sorry, my dad just came in to tell me that dinner will be ready soon so I had to frantically hide you because last time he saw me writing in you, he yelled,
"REAL MEN DON'T WRITE IN STUPID BOOKS HICCUP! WE HUNT AND KILL!" before proceeding to slam my door and leave me staring at the cracking door frame. (He slams things that hard. It's really quite terrifying actually.) I don't cry anymore. At least, I try really hard not to. (It's REALLY hard when you're me though.) Dad heard me once. It's not fun to have a sleepy, 7-foot Viking with a beard like a hedgehog struck by lightning stumble in your room only to find his 14 year old son curled up miserably in his bed and quietly sobbing into the pillow. He picked me up and carried me down the stairs and over to the door where I was sure he was going to chuck me out into the cold night but instead, he hung me by the back of the shirt on a hook where we hang our vests. He roared at me for a good 15 minutes before leaving me there all night. The next morning he asked me what I doing up there to which I answered,
"Oh, just being lazy. You know me. Always, 'hanging' around."
I laughed at my pathetic joke as my dad pulled me violently down from the hook.
"In case you don't remember dad, you put me there?"
"Hiccup, no stories please. It's too early in the morning."
I'm stuck in a house with a fruitcake with a brain the size of a pea. That said, after dinner I think I'll go outside and get some fresh air. I plan on staying in the woods though. I said something really nasty to Snotlout yesterday and sadly, I he's still out to kill. Luckily, it took him awhile to work out what I said, giving me enough time to make a break for it before I got any fatal injuries. Dinner's ready. Oh, I hope it's not burned tonight. My dad isn't the greatest cook. He's more of a 'lop its head of with an axe and serve it all bloody and gross' kinda guy. Gotta go. Great. It's eel. I've always hated eel...
-Hiccup H. H. III