Gracie shivered as she shrugged on her new fluffy coat over her slender shoulders. It was Autumn, her least favourite season, and she was not surprised to find that today was cold and wet much to her dismay.
I had walked past the house many times before. I still don’t know what drew me in that stormy morning. Probably, because of it being it being winter, the snow and the and the threat of thunder and lightning.
Dear Diary,
A young boy with a dream,
to be a scientist,
I am the child of Frankenstein,
A deadly beast,
Shouting
Clattering of pans
Slamming of doors
Stand in a gloomy thicket.
Quiet as death.
The gravestone
He wasn’t truly at rest…
The twisted ironwork
And the queer looking flowers
Fell asleep on the 6th of February 1871.
Goodnight sweet prince.
