EXERCISE Diary Entry

Discussion in 'REFINING WRITING' started by Zen, Nov 26, 2012.

  1. This exercise is going to be done in first person, otherwise it defeats the purpose of it being a diary entry.

    You are going to choose one of these prompts to write from a character's point of view. It can be as long or as short as you wish, so long as the content answers the prompt.

    Prompt 1: (open)

    You've been taken prisoner by your worst enemy. There is a piece of paper and some charcoal for you to write with. You've overheard from the guards outside your cell that tomorrow is your execution day. This paper will hold your last written words. What will you write?


    Prompt 2: (open)

    Yes, your first crush. You can't seem to get them out of your mind, and your thoughts are filled about them. The way that person smiles, walks, talks, perhaps even how they eat - it all somehow gives you that feeling of butterflies. You can't stop feeling giddy and you gotta get it out somehow.


    Prompt 3: (open)

    That person you really hate? Yeah they screwed you over. Big time too. But you can't do anything about it, can't throw a punch, and you can't even say let loose a snarky little insult. Noooo you gotta keep it all in and let it fester and ooze. Good thing you have this diary right? So you can curse them out and hope they die.



     
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  2. Re: Writing Exercise: Diary Entry

    I am writing this in hope that someone will find it and be able to tell my parents and friends about what happened to me if they don't already know. I will most likely be dead if you find this note, they will most likely have killed me. I can't say that I am not afraid because I am. I can't say that I am not crying, because I am. I won't tell you whom did this since I don't want any blood to be shed because of me, I don't want my family to take revenge on anyone because of what has happened. Just tell them that I love them, and I will see them soon.

    My name is Leclair Fox, my mother is Teresa Fox and my Father is Stephan Fox. If you who find this note can bring it to them then I would be able to rest in peace. I would have wanted to write so much more to my parents but the paper is running out of space. Please help me fulfill my last wish you stranger who finds this. Let my parents know, so that my soul can go on.

    //Leclair

    (Wow she must have found a pretty big piece of paper and have a really small writing to be able to fit it all xD hahaha)
     
  3. Re: Writing Exercise: Diary Entry

    It is now realized that tomorrow shall be my last to walk this earth, even if in these shackles that cripple my movements. I've just supped upon the living flesh and fur of a rat, quenched my thirst of its disease riddled blood. Its pained squeals will haunt me until I take within me my last breath of this world, and I will savor it, however polluted or enriched the oxygen may be. I thought I should make some account of my life prior to becoming incarcerated, so that these words may be read if even for entertainment, or so that one may make limericks of my tale.

    The method of my execution hasn't been disclosed, and it is the unknowing that makes for a worse torment, being cast into the seas of uncertainty. I desire greatly to obtain a few details of the manner of death I will be facing, but the guards show me no such kindness. Will my blood run red from beheadment or firing squad?

    The last brilliant splendor of the morning sunrise painted upon my gaze as the lids become heavy, shutting me in a world of black forever? Will the smite of the ax be true to sever my spine, will it be sharpened, or have upon it a blunt edge? I hope that my scrawlings may find some ledgibility to the viewer, but fear grips my veins and I cannot relax myself to write without some smudging. As I am writing I hear the steady breath of the guard upon the steel door. Is this careful supervision to ensure that I do not take my life tonight, and deprive the people of seeing this criminal brought to justice tomorrow?

    I wonder If I will dream, or if I shall be robbed of such a whimsical collage of the thoughts and memories of my childhood. The sound of his respirations act as a strange sort of serenade, lulling me into the sense of tranquility one would feel as they lie beneath a quilt packed generously with goose down, in a climate appeasing room. I will not let myself fall into somnolence, not tonight. I shall experience the world with all my senses, if only within the walls of my cell. The scent of the moldy soil that invokes in me the feeling of nausea, the very cold of it which will keep my bones for all of eternity. No sounds wrestle beyond these bars, not the chirping of crickets or the hoots of an owl.

    There is my deafening thoughts, matching rhytym of the guards breath at the door. My dainty hand slips easily between the bars and I yearn see the moonlight dance across my hand, so that I may say that I've physically held the beauty of such magicks. Alas, there is barely a silvery thread to light the path of my pen. How will the mob greet me? Will the sheer hatred of the community become a life force all its own, or will some tears be shed for me? Will my ear pick up the utterances of prayer, or will there be naught but a volley of foul curses hurled at me?

    I could not help but to drift to thoughts of hanging at the gallows, my tortured body suspended above the ground as I desperately seek to touch the flinty soil if even with a solitary toe, feeling the blood recede from my upper body to pool at the lowermost regions. My pleas unto a forgiving or spiteful God becoming choked as the noose cinches tighter about my throat. Will they opt for a more cleanly means of extinguishing my life or will my limbs be strewn to the four corners? As I've previously expressed, I shall share with you the sins I've committed which have resulted in my damnation.

    My life went not without its indulgences, and I've performed almost every depraved act the Good Book speaks against in trying to obtain a bit of wealth, or to satisfy the desires I have never been able to exercise within me the restraint to counteract the temptations. I've become awash in the blood of many, I suppose that it seems poetic if my blood were to let upon the hands of those who condemn me. As time has consumed my thoughts with this entry, I have not noticed that the guards had gathered outside of the cell until I was aroused by a rapping of a gauntleted hand upon the door. They observed me with a hollow look to their gazes, prodding this caged animal with their words.

    "You shall suffer the fate of the Pear of Anguish. It hasn't been used for quite many a generation, and hasn't been cleaned for longer. I'm sure it shall make for a very uncomfortable entrance."(The Pear of Anguish?) The title of the cruel device fascinated me, for I have never heard of such a thing before. It seemed to have debuted long ago, but they've brought it back from the realm of the forgotten just for me. How could such a succulent pome be used for any reason which would pervert its nature? This knowledge will die with me, I'm afraid.