#2

Dear Diary,
I mean,
Dear Frances,
Still in shock about this whole being-the-Devil's-son-and-thus-being-the-air-to-his-flaming-throne. WHY in the world did he choose my mom, of all the people ion the world he could have chosen? I've still been locked in my room, pacing, wishing, hoping, begging. Like, WHY?
I'm a nice enough person! I'm not a troublemaker, not a home-wrecker, I'm not even a prank caller for Pete's sake. I don't seem like the kind of person to be a Devil. I'm not particularly sinful. My favourite pastime is laughing. I like to read, and do math stuff. I like physics. I'm SEVENTEEN. I'm not old enough to even live in my own house, let alone rule some nation of unsaved demons for the rest of my days. I am so un-ready for this it's painful. Why, Frances, why. Why why why.
I wanted to ask mom so bad about the whole scenario, but I was too scared to go any farther from my room then the bathroom, which is just down the hall. I peeked over the railing of the stairs, though, and I saw her hunched over a bowl of cereal, looking awful. I went back to my room and dwelt on her.
It would hurt her so much to see me leave. It would hurt me so much to see me leave. I hoped she didn't feel responsible.
Oh Frances. I only have four days left, and all I've done is sit around, wallowing in my own salty tears.
I can't deal with this. I don't know what to do. Oh, Frances, oh Frances...why the heck did I name you Frances?
I don't belong in Hell forever.