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.