Minty opened her diary and looked at the first page. Her scrawly handwriting in glossy blue ink glared up off the lined paper at her. Eyes skimming the words, she turned the page and flipped through the thirty days of January. Letters blurred before her and she could only pick up a few words; ill, writing, work, night, sleep, mum.
Reaching the next blank page which was labeled Sunday thirty-first January 2016, Minty took up her pen and began writing. She pressed the fine nip onto the line and created loopy letters. Sighing, she poured her mind onto the paper, not pausing once. The blank lines filled up before her until there was no room left to write.
Minty stabbed a full stop at the end and looked back over what she had written. Putting the lid back on the ink pen and setting it aside, she let the ink dry before closing the fake leather bound A4 book. She tapped the cover then turned to the first page again. She pinched the top edge next to the spine and made a little tear. She held her breath, pressed her lips together as slowly, she ripped the page out.
Holding the loose leaf in her hand, she looked at it then the jagged strip of paper left behind. A sense of doing wrong crept across her, but she shook it off. Setting the page aside, she repeated the pinch and tear on the next one and ripped that out too. Placing the second diary page on top of the first, Minty looked at the third page.
With more determination, she tore the page out and flung it away. The paper fluttered then landed like dying butterfly with only one wing. Quickly, other pages followed, creating a white and blue cover across the carpet. The loud ripping sound all that could be heard in the quiet apartment.
Minty reached January fifteen and paused. Her breathing came out in a rush, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. Trying to stop herself from reading the page, she turned it over and gathered the next four together. She ripped them out as one and sent them scattering behind her.
Another four followed. Falling like autumn leaves to the floor. Minty looked at the date she was now on; the twenty-fourth. The ink glowed across the page, a true record of her thoughts and feelings. She fingered the bottom of the page before sliding over to the other corner and tugging it away from the binding.
Minty ripped the page upwards and out. Setting it on top of page one and two, she gathered the next five together and started to pull them. She struggled against the combined strength of the paper and the tear threatened to jag across instead of up. She stopped, divided the paper with clenched teeth and removed three sheets together. Dumping them on top of the three beside her, Minty found the next two pages came out easily and cleaning.
Placing those down, she tore and yanked out the thirtieth. Letting that fall from her hand, Minty lingered over the page she had just wrote upon. The letters looked slightly smudged on the last few lines. She pressed her fingers underneath and re-read what she had written.
I wish I could start the year over again. Nothing has gone right since that first day. But I don’t know how to do it. How can you remove a whole month from your life without the use of some fancy un-invented science fiction mind device? I need a clean start. Perhaps, there is another way though…
Minty tore out the page and sent it fluttering amongst the others on the floor.
‘And now its done,’ Minty whispered.
The Story Files 