Mummy Mysteries

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  • Published: 5 Apr 2012
  • Updated: 8 Apr 2012
  • Status: Complete
There are many, and i mean MANY, ways a class trip can go wrong.
But somehow, I didn't expect that finding my best friends mummy would be one of them.
-I won second place in the diary contest with this -thx a lot!-


2. Before we start

There are many, and I mean MANY, ways a class trip can turn into a disaster. I had tried many of them, too many, and was prepared for almost everything. Almost. But somehow I didn't expect finding myself in that bizarre scenario, finding my best friends mummy.

Sooo, why am I writing this? I am still not quite sure. A psychologist would say, I write for my own sake. So I can, somehow, feel better. It doesn't make me feel better. At all. I write this, only for you. Your life is surely boring as hell, so now you can feel good at having a boring ass normal life.

Sometimes, boring is good. Boring is normal. Not as my life. Bizarre and not-so boring. Oh, I'm sorry, did I insult you? I would happily trade lives with you. I can't actually believe I just wrote that!

Usually, I am the one searching for new adventures (or trouble, as my mom calls it). But again, usually I had a best friend. A not-dead best friend. Usually, I didn't meet with some random lady once a week to talk about "how I felt today". Usually I wasn't scared for museums. Like, are you serious? Scared of museums? If someone told me about me going to be afraid of museums, I would crack up! Not because I like museums. I don't. Didn't. OK, this is getting really confusing. Just to get it straight: I have musiaphobia. And no, I did not just invent that. Usually I just wasn't a big fan of them. Now I have a fancy name for it. Oh look, there it was again. Usually.

Hm, I think I changed my opinion from the start. This does feel good. Not because it is nice "to get it on paper". But maybe, and just maybe, you will believe me. My far-fetched, crazy, out-of-my-mind, brittle history. It is not my words that just described it. Various people, counting in my parents, teachers, psychologist, doctor, have stuffed me with these words. They say it really convincing. They even give you scientific proof. But, honestly, their proof is just as far-fetched, crazy and brittle as my story. They might as well have told me, that I had an allergic reaction to Briannas topped with frosting cupcakes and everything was a dream. Even my classmates don't believe me. Chrissie would have believed me.

No, hold on, what I just wrote, before, isn't true. Matt might believe me. I'm not saying he does, we haven't talked since Monday, it is now Friday, and that only very short. He didn't say anything about it. How could he? The whole class was there. I have an excuse for the story. I just had a traumatic experience. He doesn't.

I will put that on my list of things to do, when I come back to school Monday. That leaves me 2 days for writing down my story. I want it finished on Monday. Then I can send it to Sophie. She will publish it on the net. We don't know if someone will believe us. Sophie barely does herself. I suspect she just thinks it's a good story. But at least she wants to help me.

Shouldn't have started so late. Should have, would have, and could have. Yay, it rhymes. Ok, Kat, focus.

Now you, my dear reader, may be irritated of my late start of my, hm, story. I hate that word. Story. It makes everything sound less true. Makes Chrissies dead sound less true. At least, that one fact, the others got right. Kind of hard to oversee, with all that tumult I made. What can I say? I'm a drama queen. But an awesome one, not like Jess or Mel.

Ok, so now that is said, I will start this...let’s call it an account of what happened at the National Museum of Denmark.

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