The Parchment and Quill Collective

Written by Lou Turnbull (2022)

“Dear Diary,

Y’know, I always thought more people would pay attention to my scar.

It wasn’t like it was hidden from anyone, the misshapen healed flesh scoring a permanent line from my brow to my jaw.

When the scar first healed over, my parents warned me that people in the street may stare. The Kids at school might point and call me unoriginal names that were meant to be hurtful. That some people may even ask me to cover it up because it makes them uneasy. And somehow, at eight years old, I prepared myself for that; I was ready for the ridicule and the shunning.

But it never came.

In fact, it was almost like people tried to focus on anything but my scar. When I was in high school, my friends would almost purposefully focus on my hairline. At first, I thought it was just because they found the scar, and by proxy, me, ugly. Then I realised that it was out of pity-some feeble attempt at showing respect for the girl who had her face hacked open by a psycho.

Well, that’s what I liked to think anyway.

But then High School came and went, and soon enough, I was going to university. Where dreams went to die and debt came to thrive. And that’s where I met Erik. Erik, my roommate in the shoebox that we called University Accommodation. Erik, a theatre student who dreamed of making it on Broadway. Erik, who had the audacity to tell jokes about my scar.

But it was fair. I made fun of his birthmark.

It was this big, Prince Zuko-esque birthmark on the right side of his face. There was a reason that he earned the nickname Phantom of the Opera. It certainly didn’t help that I had photographic evidence that he had played the Phantom before.

The best thing was if someone else made fun of his birthmark. Erik was too kind to say anything nasty. Me, on the other hand? I always had something to say.

I think that’s why we clicked so well. Two halves of the same worn-down coin.”

“Jesus, Gigi, why are you so melodramatic? This is a diary, not a piece of damn Shakespearean poetry.”

“Clearly, you’ve never read anything Shakespearean. And please STOP stealing my diary.”

“Never gonna happen Gigi. And I don’t read Shakespearean, I perform it.”

Gigi gave Erik a half-hearted glare as she yanked her diary from his hands.

He was smirking victoriously, his pen now tucked behind his ear.

“You are a menace, Erik,” she stated, slamming the diary shut.

“Perhaps. It’s all part of my charm, isn’t it? I mean, if you hated it, you would’ve spat out one of your creative threats by now.”

His lanky frame was draped over her bed lazily, not unlike a cat on a pillow.

“Trust me, I was close,” she gave him a faux smile, before the pair dissolved into giggles.

“Okay, but seriously. Get a better hiding place for it. Everyone knows to look at the desk if they wanted to find a diary.”

Gigi gave a snort as she slid gracefully from the bed. “And where did you learn that, Erik?”

“All those crime dramas you like. Be creative is all I’m saying.”