Marie-Anne's Diary Entry

If you are reading this, be prepared for a short, bad, writing blurb. I am only giving this to you Mr. Man Chi because I am terrible at writing and also because I didn’t complete all my homework. Extra credit is especially helpful. Anyway, enjoy it, but don’t show it to Ma’m. She will be furious to see me catalogue a devastating event in my journal. If you aren’t Mr. Man Chi, I will consider myself scolded or dead. If it is the lather, I am going to be more than happy. If you are still reading this, you must be quite the curious soul.

So here it goes, my beautiful piece of contemporary work that was bad enough for only my eyes to see.

Well, I suppose a story is considered a story if something goes horribly wrong. Our dinner party went wrong, what should be done? Call it a day and go to sleep or write about it. I, Marie-Anne, can't call it a day and sleep. Ironic isn't it, Marie Antoinette said, "Let them eat cake" and cake was the reason it went wrong.

My parents decided that having a person jump out of cake at my

Uncle Sam's fifty-third party would be a fantastic idea. Little did they know that he wouldn't have enjoyed it and hit Tim, his son, with a broomstick. In Uncle Sam's defence, Tim did look like a witch coming out of the cake, but that wasn't what went wrong. It was simply the beginning of disaster.

I believe my younger brother has had enough of experiments,

especially after it was his experiments that began the chain reaction. He burned a hole through the ball room roof and created this lava experiment, a volcano of sorts, that left more than half our guests looking for towels to clean their ball gowns and custom made suits. All the guests were driven out by the commotion and the flying cake. Yes, there was flying cake. My brother had also tried to employ a flying device in his list of disasters for the night. The flying device crashed into the cake, leaving nothing behind. I mean some of it was on the walls, but no one would have eaten it. By the end of the commotion, the only ones left were my Uncle and Aunt, and my parents. My brother had run out, scared for his life, along with my cousin. I believe my cousin ran out in order to keep my brother company, he is a lonely person after all, though I am told that is not very kind to say.

I hope my brother returns. I am curious to see how his flying

craft works. Though I don't think it will work anymore, since Ma'm took every piece of rubber bands and equipment in his room to the dumpster. I hope he can retrieve it so that he can create more, less disruptive experiments. I had a lot of fun though; I doubt Uncle Sam will ever forget this.

In the end, we all ate bread, breaking bits like birds, hoping for all of it to be over. "Happy Birthday" were the final words that rung the

walls of my house, the cake still stuck on the walls, as everyone slowly made their way back. Though the commotion shouldn't have been so great, after all the volcano only had vinegar, it exploded quite like a real volcano driving everyone to the streets and leaving poor Uncle Sam in a pickle. Or maybe they ran out because of the flying cake. I guess we'll never know. Just remembering the day’s events makes me exhausted. I guess I'll turn in for the night, but I sure hope my Uncle has a much better day tomorrow and perhaps every day for a whole year. He deserves it for being a great uncle. I suppose I can edit quite a bit of my diction and show it to my literary teacher, but I am too exhausted. Or maybe I am not. I might take some time debating whether I should show this to Mr. Man chi, or not. He is very strict about the writing style I use in my work, but then again, I am only ten. Until next time, and the next diary entry, good night and let’s hope we can all sleep tight.

Remarks given by Mr. Man Chi, because I had nowhere else to write them: Marie-Anne, thought this seems to be a diary entry, but it is as bad as it gets. The theme may have been to write about a disaster at a dinner, but it was meant to be a pure work of fiction. You have truly frightened me and given me yet another reason to not attend one of you great balls. Recomposing ourselves, it was interesting, but not what I was looking for. You have done poorly thus do not qualify for extra credits, but rather extra literary classes. You need a lot more work on sounding lady-like. The ridiculousness of this piece has baffled me. You have now been assigned a few more things to work on because of this. Please work on them for next week. You further need to work on your story structure. I haven't seen something this terrible in my entire career! You need a lot of writing help young lady.

           I guess I learned my lesson. I shouldn’t have shown this to anyone, not Ma’m, not my literary teacher, not anyone. It is meant for my eyes only as they contain a piece of my pure and innocent soul. Anyway. I hope future me reading this had a somewhat great laugh looking back at that unfortunate night’s events. If you aren’t future me, BURN THE BOOK AND NEVER LOOK BACK. It isn’t meant to be in the world, and the reason you may have been reading this is perhaps because I left this world for good before I could get rid of this story and others that lie ahead. Anyway, happy book burning. I mean this one, don’t burn any of your other, beautifully illustrated book. Good bye and good day to you all.