Chapter 1
She's behind me. Ib thinks as she writes in her notebook. She's right behind me, smiling at me. As Ib writes, the words get darker and thicker on the paper, slowly becoming more scratchy and boyish instead if Ib's italic penmanship.
Just ignore her, she will leave eventually.
Ib could no longer call her handwriting her own as they words became choppy and pressed together becoming harder and harder to read.
She's not leaving, why is she not leaving?
Ib gritted her teeth as she continued to write, ignoring the presence behind her. The words were now uncomprehendable but she kept on writing. Her distraction was soon put to a halt when she heard the pencil snap. She reached for her small pencil sharpener only to realize that the point was still in tact but the pencil was sapped into two. Slowly, Ib took a shallow, shaky breath and turned around to see blue eyes looking at her.
"Ib! Wanna play outside? Dad just added that new swing outside in the yard." Mary asked, her blue eyes twinkling as they met with Ib's crimson ones, unable to see the anger and sadness hidden throughout the red.
"Can't, busy." Ib said through gritted teeth, walking around Mary and to the cabinet where they stored all of the craft supplies. She grabbed to pencils before stiffly walking back to her desk and resuming to write.
"Why not?" Mary said, slightly pouting as she moved to the side of Ib's desk slightly shifting her weight between one foot to the other.
"Like I said, I'm busy." Ib explained as she began writing again. The words were comprehendable now but still nothing like the italics Ib normally did. Mary suddenly took the book from Ib and held it up. "Mary!" Ib exclaimed in shock and anger.
"What are you writing about anyway?" Mary asked as she began to read the page Ib was on.
"November 21st,
I am beginning to think she doesn't remember anything that happened in the-Hey!" Mary yelled as Ib swiped the journal back from her.
"Never read this!" Ib yelled at the eight year old, "You are never aloud to look at this!" Ib could feel the anger that she kept for so long rise inside her. She had to compose herself. Ib silently counted to ten in her head as Mary recovered from Ib's outburst.
"Sorry, Ib. I won't look through it again, but who were you talking about? And what doesn't she remember?" Mary asked. Her questions were ignored as Ib shoved her out the door making Mary tumble out into the hall. Mary, now in a bundled heap of her green dress and wild blonde curls was shocked.
"Ib!" She yelled only to find her sister's door shut and locked. Separating her and the nine year old still in her room. Stunned and hurt, Mary got up as she walked out to the yard by herself.
Ib sighed with relief as she heard Mary's footsteps go farther and farther into the hall. She slid down until she was sitting at the foot of her door, still gripping the red journal. She released her grasp and began writing again.