Mandy Dauntless/Diary

'''((You're reading Mandy Dauntless' Diary. All the text below was transcribed from a mish-mash of audio recordings, iphone notes, and scribbles on scrap paper. Mandy's never been an organized person))'''

--

You know, Diary, I'm bored.

I'd go to Hell, but Satan doesn't want to play Mahjong with me anymore.

Cthulu never answers his phone; and his dialtone got a lot more unpleasant ever since he switched to Rebecca Black's 'Friday'. (I preferred it when his tone was a wordless cacophony of a thousand tortured souls, but who am I to come between an eldritch god and his shitty music?)

And much as I love my skeleton flatmates, they're both off on "a quality cheeky Nando's". They're going to come back wasted I can tell.

With Kirby at the vet's for his phantom fleas, I guess it's just you and me, Diary. Blech. I might not be afraid of anything, but loneliness cuts it quite close.

The Girl who didn't bother to Learn Fear
Being the daughter of the Boy Who Went Forth to Learn Fear isn't all tomb raiding, and dungeon crawling, and exploring spooky manors. It's also fear, or more accurately, not being able to feel fear - and this constant, nagging worry that you're missing out on something the rest of the world just simply can't teach you.

When I was little, I wasn't learning as fast as the other kids. Exams never stressed me out, because, well, nothing stressed me out. In primary school, I got put in the fifth class, "Class F", and even the homeroom teacher joked the F stood for 'Failure'.

School wasn't the most pleasant of experiences.

They called my dad down once. I sat with him in the principal's office trying not to make eye contact; his butt took up two little plastic chairs at once. It kind of looked like he was in trouble and not me.

Mr Perrault narrowed his eyes.

"I hope you know why I called Amandine into the office, Mr Dauntless,"

"I know," My dad rumbled under his crossed arms. "Mandy's grades suck testicles because the tests are too hard for her."

"Well, I... I wouldn't put it in those words...?" Mr Perrault swallowed. He was big on censoring everything he said. "But I was hoping to provide her with a learning experience. Here, today."

I groaned on the inside. Everything was a learning experience for Mr Perrault.

"If there's anything you need to tell your daughter, now would be the time."

My dad drew himself up to his full height, and I looked at him pleadingly. What could I learn? I already knew I had to study faster, or harder, or whatever it was I couldn't push myself to do. I was at a loss.

"I'll give you something to learn," My dad began, his words like distant thunder: "Mandy's brain doesn't work as good as the other kids. And Mandy's grades aren't going to get better even if she tries. But bumblebees fly even when they're not supposed to, because no one told them they couldn't!"

I was grinning. He pulled me up onto his shoulders, and in that moment I thought I was flying.

"The last thing I want my girl to learn is that she can't do something. It might take her longer than the other kids, but she can do everything they can and maybe more."

Last year my funding came through for my PhD studies. I got my first part time job. I even have a flat to myself now (give or take a couple skeletons in the closet). But every so often I still think about that day. I'm just a little different, and even though there are some things I'll never understand... well, maybe I'm better off not knowing.