The writer in us keeps evolving!
🔰Here is the result of the @WritersClub First Person Narrative Challenge 🔰

There is always hope for the hopeless and that is where I come in to save the day. Or as Casey says it, to ease the pain. I am Casey's closest friend. I am her outlet. She has many of those, though. There's the piano, the paint brushes and there's me (her favorite). Here's how we met.
 
Nobody wants to be a diary but that's what I am and sitting on a book shelf waiting to be bought and never used eventually, is depressing. I, as usual, was laid flat on the surface of the book shelf in a huge supermarket, all black and dusty, with a pen (my Little buddy) attached to my side, amongst other books. Today  will never be my Lucky day, was my usual chant as folks never bought me. Who knew that a girl was going to find me worthy of all her secrets? Most diaries don't get all the secrets. They usually end up useless under pillows, under a pile of dirty clothes, you know, the usual hiding spot and stay forgotten all in the name of "secrecy" and all the juicy secrets end up in the heart of a "best friend" who eventually betrays them. I mean, why purchase us in the first place?

But laying there, watching the  blonde girl point at me, I wondered why she never responded when spoken to but shook her head or nodded instead.

Straight up rude, I thought. But the sadness in those starry browns and the faint smile that appeared on her face when she held me convinced me other wise.

My owner.

I was intrigued. Curious. She never said a word through out the ride home. All she did was stare out of the window and I just watched.

Who are you?

Her first entry gave me goosebumps. I know I'm Just an object but believe me, I get those things too.

She had carefully lifted me off the table that same night, dusted me, settled herself down on her bed and believe me not a word still!!!!

Then slowly, She opened me and I held my breath. She took my Little buddy and set him on my surface, ready to write. She took a deep breathe and then wrote : My tongue is the pen of a ready writer.  I'm Casey Ricee. And I'm mute.

As if she felt the grief that filled my paper heart and couldn't stand it, She gently closed me, laid on her bed and placed me beside her. Then, I knew she would keep me, love me, protect me, confined in me with everything.

Every morning she wakes, I'm there. School, waiting in her bag pack. EVERYWHERE.

My tongue is the pen of a ready writer.

That is her mantra except that Casey cant speak. She had lost her ability to speak. Her tongue definitely couldn't be the tongue of a ready writer. She is dumb. Forever. But she is a ready writer and I love her hope.

#wcn
#EA
By Black

-Admin
@WritersClub