It was a bright cold day in January, and the clock was striking thirteen. Baby, her chin nuzzled into her breast in a desperate effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the wooden door of her grandmother's mansion. Baby walked hastily towards his rooms, her steps echoed on the marble floor. It was a sound Baby had come to like. Or dislike. It depended on her mood and of the memories that it unleashed in her mind.
Baby paused in front of her room. It smelled fresh paint and was almost empty. The only items left were her desk and her bed. According to her mother, it would have not been appropriate to have kept all her stuff given the fact that she had left for college. Baby let out a sigh, entered her room and closed calmly the door. She sat down of her bed and glanced rapidly at her room. It was partly the unusual feeling she got when she was in this room that had suggested to her the thing she was now about to do. But maybe it had also been suggested by the book that she had left for 2 years in the drawer.
Baby got up and took the book out of her drawer. It was a peculiarly beautiful book. She touched with her finger tips the smooth creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, of her book. It was her mother that offered it to her. She said it was a gift from her grandmother. At that time, whenever Baby visited, her grandmother was persuaded that she was being sincere to him. She couldn't write in it back then. She was frustrated and full of hatred towards her grandmother. That may be why she intentionally left it in the drawer, just in case her grandmother found it.
This idea had never occurred to Baby before. She never felt like having to confide in someone or something. The thing she was about to do was to open a diary. She pulled her chair and sat, looking for a pen. She grabbed one and then faltered for a second. A tremor had gone through her bowels. To mark the paper was a decisive act. She wrote hurriedly, in scrabbling handwriting:
January 4th, 2010
She sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had descended upon her. She picked up her pen again and wrote:
I don't really know much about diaries. I know that most of the time you need to write the date but frankly who cares what the date is? You always have to put the date at school in your notebooks. But it may be a law or something. The sort of things you have to do because it's the wisest thing to do or just because everyone does it.
Baby raised her head, and cocked her ears. She thought of hearing footsteps in the corridor and after a while nervously let out a laugh. She eased up a bit and for some time and she sat gazing stupidly at the paper. It was curious that she seemed not to have merely lost the power of expressing herself, but even to have forgotten what it was that she had originally intended to say. The seconds were ticking by. She was conscious of nothing except the blankness of the page. She closed her book and shoved it into her Miu-Miu bag. Baby opened the door of her room slowly and noiselessly. She walked hastily in the corridors towards the wooden door. She twirled as to face the hall. Her silky brown hair stroked gently her face. She blinked, sighed and hurried outside. New heaven couldn't wait any longer. Or is it new hell?