Francis

In a small town, Francis- a young girl with dreams as vast as the horizon – began her journey. As she wandered through the quiet streets, Francis pushed open the door to the little shop, its bell jingling softly. Francis searched and searched her determination slowly dissolving and a bubble of disappointment consumed her until she ran her hands on a little brown, leather notebook. This was the one.

The journal had been with her ever since then, two years later, an invisible anchor to the past that hyperlinked with the present. It was a hive mind of her most cherished memories and untold dreams.

Francis, once wide-eyed and innocent, now found herself spiralling as her fifteenth birthday approached. The parties and the allure of rebellion seemed to offer an escape the endless confusion within her. Each diary entry captured a new layer of her repeated, overwhelming cycle of struggle, a teenager teetering off the edge of innocence and into an adolescence she was scared to embrace.

Francis’ mother was concerned about her mental well- being. Her rebellious partying had started when her dad died. Her mum decided to take her on a off-the-grid camping trip in hope of restoring her peace and clarity.

Weeks before the camping trip, the invitations kept coming. Each weekend, another party another chance to step further from the girl she once was. At first, she hesitated -texting excuses, pretending she had better things to do with her time. But the pull was relentless. Everyone was going, everyone was laughing and living.

She ran to the park hoping to hide from her troubles. She sat down on an old chocolate bench. She picked up her journal and started scribbling furiously. “Are you ok button?” Only one person ever called her that. “Daddy?” She looked up at her father in disbelief. “But your….,” she began. “I know. I came to say. Well, done.” However as quickly as he came , he went.

Francis thought this was unfair everyone was enjoying the life she believed she deserved. She wanted to be fun. The type of fun that made the world feel weightless. Weightless is all she wanted to be.

Francis stared at the letters on the paper, each word a fragment of the identity she was shaping. She closed the journal gently, pressing her palm against cover as if she could hold onto the last bits of who she used to be. Change was already underway and an unstoppable tide pulling her forward.