April 19, 2010
Dear Diary,
It is the nineteenth, isn't it? I haven't really been keeping track. I slept through yesterday entirely. My parents apparently thought I was dead. Ian relayed their conversation to me:
(F for Father, M for Mum, I for Ian, N for Natalie)
M: Dear God! The girl is dead!
F: No she's not. She's only asleep.
M: Don't be silly. She is dead.
F: But that queer thing on the moniter is still beeping and jiggling. What does that mean?
M: I don't know! I didn't go to medical school!
F: Fine. What color do you think she would want her burial shroud to be?
M: Pink. Definitely pink.
F: *Sighs* Pink is too happy, and too girly. We raised an assasin, not a cupcake!
M: Pink is a lovely color. And why do you think she would care what color her burial shroud was? She is dead! She will never see it!
F: She'll see it in heaven. *Nods solemnly*
M: *Snorts* What makes you think she'll go to heaven? You said it yourself; the girl is an assasin!
F: *Shock* That's an awful thing to say, dearest! Our little princess is going to have a throne in heaven!
M: Oh, so NOW she is a cupcake! I--
N: *Yawns* What about cupcakes? What time is it? I'm tired... *Yawns, falls back to sleep*
I: I don't think she is dead.
M: I never really thought she was dead. It was entirely your father's notion.
I: Er... yes, mum.
M: DON'T CALL ME MUM!
THE END
I suppose I understand now why my parents are getting divorced... they are forever arguing.
But that doesn't mean that I want them divorced.
I am going to go sleep now. My friend Charlotte is going to visit me tomorrow, so I must get my beauty rest.
Until then,
--NK
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A/N:
Fondue is only good in small portions.
Be warned.
