According to Irma

Irma is like any other teenager. She has no special power, she does not battle evil on a day to day basis, get sucked into time vortexes or fall in love with erratic vampires. Instead, she fights with her four other siblings, battles with her science teacher, rages an anti-starbucks reveloution with the help of her best friend and more than anything, shows the pains and gains of growing up. Please like and comment if you want. I am entering this into the Diary competition and would like feedback and criticism. Check out my other work if you have time! Update: It got me 1st place in the diary compeition, which I'm quite chuffed about but thanks to everyone who commented and everyone else in the compeition :D

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1. Thursday, Februrary 13th

Thursday, February 13th

Today, I found a phrase that sums up "interolerbale pain and damnation beyond the abhorrent and loathsome realms of hell-fire." It's Parent's evening. Despite everything, it was quite fascinating to see my parents turn at least 4 different violent shades of red, purple, green and white during the event. With Dad stuck on the Victoria line for 45 minutes, Mum had to fly solo for Maths with Mr. Kavan. He seemed optimistic- which is quite a feat for a man who wears yellow trousers, collects knitting patterns and probably keeps half of the coffee bean farmers in Brazil in business. Mum says that cafeine isn't the only thing that he is addicted to. But I know she is joking. I think.

English with Ms. Munchin was alright. She has thin, matted strands of grey-blonde hair, is noticably obese and has an inexcusable habit of wearing socks with birkenstocks. But, she has liked me ever since I proved that I could spell antidisestablishmentarianism. And we share an affinity for Jane Austen's literature. Sometimes, she even calls me "Emma" rather than Irma.

I was feeling conveniently nauseious just before Science. "Oh, no, no. I'm fine, really. I think I should just take some fresh air for, ooh, the next 15 minutes. Go on without me- no, Mum, I'll be alright be myself, I'm sure there aren't any axe-murderers waiting for young girls on the playground. Apart from the care-taker."

I can't say I felt bad for lying. Persons such as myself and my Science teacher are like caesium and water. When we react, an explosion occurs. He is the type of man that doesn't appreciate the possibility of oxygen being made up of invisible donkeys. He does not understand how filming your rabbit for a week can qualify as a presentation on the seven life processes (once he said this, I showed him footage of Heidi's litter tray and what happened when she met our cousin's male rabbit). He cannot comprehend why anybody would want to save energy by powering the planet with fart power. Indeed, we do not mesh. I tried to explain this to my parents once we were reunited. My words were reflected off of their pulsating veins. I am almost positive that I could see Dad's brain boiling behind his steadily dilating pupils. Oh dear.

Mum's phone rang just as my Music teacher was suggesting that I should take both myself and my oboe out of orchestra. Thankfully he didn't mention the incident with the saxaphone reed and the deputy head's ears. Grandma was on the phone. She told mum that Susan was chasing Abner around the house with a sieve, the cat was trying to eat Stevie, and Hal had stuck a Haribo egg up his nose. I've often wondered why my parents ever had so many children. Either they were once young, free and wanted a family or they were so untouched by society that they only discovered contraceptives when it was too late. I'm gonna go with the latter. We left abruptly and Dad almost ran into the Head, Ms. Palmerston on the way out. She's middle aged, with cropped brown hair. The sides of her mouth were probably altered at birth, preventing her from smiling and I'm sure that she must have secretly founded The Women's Institute. So it fits that she runs a girl's school. The air became cold and I had an unpleasant flash back to the incidents of last summer term concerning the two of them, a lemon rind and a copy of Bram Stoker's "Dracula". I ushered Dad out with little more than some pathetically vengeful growls directed at her pin-striped back from him. I reminded myself that this was the same man who has a vendetta against a 7 year old. Dad yelled "Wrinkly Bat" at the school. And I wonder why teachers think I'm troubled.

Dinner comprised of Onion Bhajees on toast.

Susan's consistent snoring provided me with a somewhat obscure lullaby that night.

 

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