The Diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle
A Stolen Diary.
“Tom?” calls a voice, Mrs. Cole’s voice.
I sit alone in my dark room and I smile at the lights that float over my head. There was a time when I worried I had run mad, but I am no longer afraid of this power that floats from my hands.
“Tom, Tom Riddle!” she shrieks again. Her voice echoes off the walls, bouncing up the cold, wooden steps and down the hall into my room. I ignore the shriek; instead I focus on the floating orbs above me. I twitch a finger and two of them crash into each other, sending a white, hot light into the deepest corners of my room.
There are footsteps rushing down the hall.
“Damn.” I close my eyes, and when I open them, the room is dark and there is nothing but the sound of my own heart and the quick steps of the woman outside.
She bursts into the room, her outline huge in the hall’s bright glare.
“Tom! What was that?” she asks me. As if I would share with her this power that makes me so special. This power that separates me from the others.
“What was what?” I say dully, not bothering to sit up.
“That light!” she says, stepping deeper into the room. She crosses to the small table at the head of my bed and with a quick motion, turns the lamp on, chasing away my shadows.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I say, allowing the edge to sound in my voice. But she was not a child, and if she feared me, she did not show it.
“Come now, Tom. If you’ve got matches, hand them over. I won’t be having you burn us all down in the middle of the night!”
I spread my hands wide, showing them empty. “I have nothing.”
She eyes me suspiciously, and then her dark, sharp eyes drifted over the room, as if she could find the source of the flash.
There was an awkward moment, and then, finally, “Dinner.”
“I am not hungry.” I reply, turning to face the wall.
“You’ll eat when it’s dinner.” She said firmly.
“I am not hungry.” I say again, willing the woman to leave.
“Now, Tom. I won’t be having them say I don’t feed all my children.”
“I am not your child.”
“You’ll eat now, and I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in the head of yours. Gracious Tom, you could show your elders respect!”
I sat up, slinging my feet over the bed, and stared her right in that beady eye, “I said, I am not hungry.”
She stepped back at that, and I saw her fingers twitch, as if she was itching to cross herself.
“Leave me alone.” I said, still staring at the older woman.
She lifted a flabby chin, and then marched to the door, as if it was her idea.
“Fine, Tom. But you’ll learn respect!”
I wait until the door closes before I reply softly.
“Respect? Oh, yes. Respect will never be a problem.”
I giggle, and then I hold out my hand again, immediately a small, red ball of light shimmers in my open palm. I flick my fingers, sending it soaring across the room. When it comes to hover over my head, I snap my fingers sharply, and the light flickers, and then…dies.
3:17, Tuesday Morning.
I have filched this little book from Mary, the serving girl. It is not as nice as the one the Doctor had, but it still is a nice writing book. I don’t see why a girl as worthless as Mary should have a diary, when I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, should not? What could she have to write about? It is not as though the stupid girl is nearly half as special as me, and she is not so very pretty either.
She has only written one entry, and a stupid one, filled with lovesick ramblings of a silly girl. I would never write such nonsense down, but she and I are not alike, and for that I am grateful.
I despise it here. There is not one person I can call a friend. They are all the same, silly and stupid. They stare at me, oh yes they do! They watch me, and I have seen the teachers whisper behind their hands. They call me a smart boy, a clever boy, but I scare them! They do not know the half of it; they do not know all of what I can do. The way I can make them obey, the way I could make them hurt. I am special, and they are too foolish to understand it, too stupid to see it. I sometimes catch myself staring at my hands, and I wonder what else I could do with them, what other powers lie beyond my fingertips.
I wonder if there are others like me.
Well, there is no one here like me, and that is all that matters. Even if I couldn’t do all the wonderful things that I could do, I would still be better than all the other brats.
And not one person to trust, not one person to call a friend.
Sometimes, I feel as though I should have someone to talk to, but then I look around, and I know that not one person on this Earth could understand my brain. I am not like them, and one day, one day, I am sure that they will all know my name. For I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, and I will not be forgotten.
I sit alone in my dark room and I smile at the lights that float over my head. There was a time when I worried I had run mad, but I am no longer afraid of this power that floats from my hands.
“Tom, Tom Riddle!” she shrieks again. Her voice echoes off the walls, bouncing up the cold, wooden steps and down the hall into my room. I ignore the shriek; instead I focus on the floating orbs above me. I twitch a finger and two of them crash into each other, sending a white, hot light into the deepest corners of my room.
There are footsteps rushing down the hall.
“Damn.” I close my eyes, and when I open them, the room is dark and there is nothing but the sound of my own heart and the quick steps of the woman outside.
She bursts into the room, her outline huge in the hall’s bright glare.
“Tom! What was that?” she asks me. As if I would share with her this power that makes me so special. This power that separates me from the others.
“What was what?” I say dully, not bothering to sit up.
“That light!” she says, stepping deeper into the room. She crosses to the small table at the head of my bed and with a quick motion, turns the lamp on, chasing away my shadows.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I say, allowing the edge to sound in my voice. But she was not a child, and if she feared me, she did not show it.
“Come now, Tom. If you’ve got matches, hand them over. I won’t be having you burn us all down in the middle of the night!”
I spread my hands wide, showing them empty. “I have nothing.”
She eyes me suspiciously, and then her dark, sharp eyes drifted over the room, as if she could find the source of the flash.
There was an awkward moment, and then, finally, “Dinner.”
“I am not hungry.” I reply, turning to face the wall.
“You’ll eat when it’s dinner.” She said firmly.
“I am not hungry.” I say again, willing the woman to leave.
“Now, Tom. I won’t be having them say I don’t feed all my children.”
“I am not your child.”
“You’ll eat now, and I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in the head of yours. Gracious Tom, you could show your elders respect!”
I sat up, slinging my feet over the bed, and stared her right in that beady eye, “I said, I am not hungry.”
She stepped back at that, and I saw her fingers twitch, as if she was itching to cross herself.
“Leave me alone.” I said, still staring at the older woman.
She lifted a flabby chin, and then marched to the door, as if it was her idea.
“Fine, Tom. But you’ll learn respect!”
I wait until the door closes before I reply softly.
“Respect? Oh, yes. Respect will never be a problem.”
I giggle, and then I hold out my hand again, immediately a small, red ball of light shimmers in my open palm. I flick my fingers, sending it soaring across the room. When it comes to hover over my head, I snap my fingers sharply, and the light flickers, and then…dies.
3:17, Tuesday Morning.
I have filched this little book from Mary, the serving girl. It is not as nice as the one the Doctor had, but it still is a nice writing book. I don’t see why a girl as worthless as Mary should have a diary, when I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, should not? What could she have to write about? It is not as though the stupid girl is nearly half as special as me, and she is not so very pretty either.
She has only written one entry, and a stupid one, filled with lovesick ramblings of a silly girl. I would never write such nonsense down, but she and I are not alike, and for that I am grateful.
I despise it here. There is not one person I can call a friend. They are all the same, silly and stupid. They stare at me, oh yes they do! They watch me, and I have seen the teachers whisper behind their hands. They call me a smart boy, a clever boy, but I scare them! They do not know the half of it; they do not know all of what I can do. The way I can make them obey, the way I could make them hurt. I am special, and they are too foolish to understand it, too stupid to see it. I sometimes catch myself staring at my hands, and I wonder what else I could do with them, what other powers lie beyond my fingertips.
I wonder if there are others like me.
Well, there is no one here like me, and that is all that matters. Even if I couldn’t do all the wonderful things that I could do, I would still be better than all the other brats.
And not one person to trust, not one person to call a friend.
Sometimes, I feel as though I should have someone to talk to, but then I look around, and I know that not one person on this Earth could understand my brain. I am not like them, and one day, one day, I am sure that they will all know my name. For I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, and I will not be forgotten.