A Canadian Journal

Image of Short Story
Bella had long brown hair that swayed behind her as she walked down the library aisles looking for some books. Suddenly out of the corner of her eye she spotted an old tattered burgundy journal one of the dark oak shelves between a red cookbook and a yellow DIY book. It clearly didn’t belong. Thinking “where did this come from?” she took the journal off the shelf. Covered in a layer of dust the cover had faded gold intricate flowers and swirls that stood out against the burgundy that was underneath. In the middle of it all was cursive letters spelling out “journal”. She walked back down the library aisles, she was thinking of nothing other than all of the possibilities of what could be inside. Recipes? Ideas? Thoughts? Articles? Notes? The list went on. She sat down on a rainbow cupcake chair, placed her head on the cherry pillow and opened the Journal.
Inside the Journal on the first page was

Property of __________________.
If found please return to _________________
Or to ________________.

In the same cursive handwriting that was on the cover. It had clearly came in the book. “Could this be unused? That's not possible, it is too worn down to not have been used. It wouldn’t be this beaten up from just sitting on the shelf.” Bella thought. Turning the page, Bella found doodles. Doodles of foods with faces, arms, and legs, holding hands with numbers, shapes, letters, all with faces, arms, and legs. Eyes widened in shock, trying to take in all of it, she forced her hand to turn the page. In the same loopy handwriting, was written

Dear Diary,
Today I wanted to

Before Bella read further she looked around. Finding she was alone, Bella continued to read.

Dear Diary,
Today I wanted to bake cookies, cakes,
Everything. I must go now, my mother is
calling me, KAS

“KAS? Who could that be?” Bella flipped through the rest of the book, finding only more doodles. In the back of the book, right before she closed the journal she noticed in the same loopy handwriting, in tiny letters, Kathrine Alison Smith. “My great-grandma?”
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